![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A few days ago I bought a mountain of tomatoes at the local market. They were discounted and very cheap, and I just love tomato salad (olive oil, salt and Worcestershire sauce or ground garlic).
I decided that, in order to lessen the risk of their going moldy (it is summer, and my fridge is rather inefficient), I would cut and garnish them immediately and then place them at the back of the fridge, in the coldest possible spot, in a sealed plastic Tupperware-type container.
It worked - in a way. The tomato salad did not get moldy. Every day I had the pleasure of some cool tomato salad, in the midst of summer, fresh from the fridge.
Yes, the tomatoes did not get moldy. But four or so days after I'd made the giant salad, I found that they had started fermenting. I could actually taste the increasing acidity and the alcohol. Soon the tomatoes that were left would be inedible.
At that point, I had a brainwave. Among my most treasured possession is a breadmaker. My mind associated the concepts of fermentation and alcohol (which are what makes bread rise) with the fermenting tomatoes, and I came to the conclusion that I could use the tomatoes and their liquid instead of ordinary water and salt, to mix in bread dough. And as it turned out, the amount of liquid was just about compatible with the amount of water required in the recipe for bread. So I mixed them all in.
At first all seemed to go well. But an hour or so ago, as I was sitting here reading some website, I started smelling burned bread. I went to check - and I found that the dough had risen miles beyond its usual habit. The fermentation in the tomatoes must have added itself to that of yeast. As a result, the dought had overflowed its tin and fallen right on top of the incandescent tube that heats the breadmaker. I had to turn it off in a hurry and clean all the spillage, because dough on the incandescent tube is a fire hazard. And now I suspect I may have kissed the bread goodbye, because the sudden loss of head and process when I had to turn the breadmaker off seems to have stopped it growing and left it damp and over-soft.
Ah, the things that happen in an ordinary kitchen!
I decided that, in order to lessen the risk of their going moldy (it is summer, and my fridge is rather inefficient), I would cut and garnish them immediately and then place them at the back of the fridge, in the coldest possible spot, in a sealed plastic Tupperware-type container.
It worked - in a way. The tomato salad did not get moldy. Every day I had the pleasure of some cool tomato salad, in the midst of summer, fresh from the fridge.
Yes, the tomatoes did not get moldy. But four or so days after I'd made the giant salad, I found that they had started fermenting. I could actually taste the increasing acidity and the alcohol. Soon the tomatoes that were left would be inedible.
At that point, I had a brainwave. Among my most treasured possession is a breadmaker. My mind associated the concepts of fermentation and alcohol (which are what makes bread rise) with the fermenting tomatoes, and I came to the conclusion that I could use the tomatoes and their liquid instead of ordinary water and salt, to mix in bread dough. And as it turned out, the amount of liquid was just about compatible with the amount of water required in the recipe for bread. So I mixed them all in.
At first all seemed to go well. But an hour or so ago, as I was sitting here reading some website, I started smelling burned bread. I went to check - and I found that the dough had risen miles beyond its usual habit. The fermentation in the tomatoes must have added itself to that of yeast. As a result, the dought had overflowed its tin and fallen right on top of the incandescent tube that heats the breadmaker. I had to turn it off in a hurry and clean all the spillage, because dough on the incandescent tube is a fire hazard. And now I suspect I may have kissed the bread goodbye, because the sudden loss of head and process when I had to turn the breadmaker off seems to have stopped it growing and left it damp and over-soft.
Ah, the things that happen in an ordinary kitchen!
