I thought DDT might get your attention. After all, who can forget Rachel Carson's seminal work Silent Spring that first brought the now-banned pesticide DDT to light. But I don't want to talk about chemicals right now, rather a very different type of DDT: Desired Dough Temperature. 

Why worry about the temperature of dough?

Well, why sauté onions on the stove at a low temperature or bake muffins in a 350 F oven, or slow-smoke a pork shoulder on the grill at 200 F? Because temperature matters, that's why.

In bread-making, temperature is actually a hidden ingredient, one that can determine the difference between a weak and robust rise of your dough, and which, when manipulated, can actually control the flavor and texture of the final loaf. So yes, temperature really IS an ingredient.

Ideally, in breadmaking (with the usual caveats), you want to rise your dough at about 78 F (a pretty normal DDT). And here are the caveats: In the winter (like now) you might want to begin somewhat warmer, so the yeast get a chance to get going before the cool temperature of your home kitchen slows them down; or before you place the dough into a really cool (42-55 F) environment to really reduce yeast activity and get a long rise. And to me, a long rise means superior flavor and texture.

So how do you get the right DDT? By measuring the temperature of your kitchen, the flour, and water (I'll leave out the complexities of a sourdough starter and mixer here). If you lived in an ideal 78 F degree world, the temperature of those three ingredients, 78 (flour) + 78 (kitchen temp) + 78 (water)  would equal 234 if added up. But my kitchen isn't ideal. 

Recently the kitchen was 71.7 F and my flour measured 68.4 F. So what do I do to get a final dough of 78 F? I alter the temperature of the one ingredient I can control: water. I take the desired total of the three variables, or 234, and subtract the temperature of the kitchen and flour to figure out what the water should be. So: 234 (total) - 68.4 (flour) - 71.7 (kitchen) = 93.9 (water).

This tells me that if I add 94 F water to my initial mix, I should end up with a dough at around 78 F. That's what I did and got pretty close, ending up with 78.5 F in the dough pictured above.

Generally, I know that in the winter I should mix my dough with water that's about 90 F. Then, because my kitchen's relatively cool, I also rise the dough in the oven, heated by the oven lights. If your kitchen is really cool, turn on the oven for 1 minute (not longer!). It makes a huge difference. But don't forget to turn the oven off, and also MAKE SURE you remove the dough before preheating the oven to bake.

Another tip for baking in winter: Before you mix your dough with the warm water, remove a tablespoon or two and proof your dry yeast in it for 5 minutes. You don't need to proof instant (or bread machine) yeast, but I find in the winter, yeast love a warm water bath before they go to work fermenting your dough. 

After my dough has been folded several times and risen for about 1-1/2 hours, I then put it in a cool closet in the basement to get a nice, long 24 rise to really develop the flavor.

It was quite cold last night, so when I removed the dough this morning it was only 43 F. You can use this long-fermentation technique up to temperatures of around 60 F. Much more than that and the dough can overferment.

Here's a final tip: If your kitchen is really cold, like 65 F, and your bread is hardly rising at all, put a pot of water on the stove and bring it to a rolling boil. Let it boil away and your kitchen should warm up fairly quickly.

For more on DDT (with the added variable of a mixer, which can also heat up dough), see this post at King Arthur Flour. For another take, see this post on Wild Yeast blog or this one on Farine.

Here's an essay I wrote recently posted on Zester Daily, excerpted loosely from my book. 

By Samuel Fromartz

In artisanal bakeries from Brooklyn to Seattle, the bread counters are piled high with lovely loaves, from the hardiest Scandinavian ryes to French country sourdoughs, from spelt and buckwheat breads to baguettes. Yet this bounty of choice was pretty unusual in the roughly 20,000 years that humanity has been eating grains. While these breads are often associated with European traditions, the long-ago impetus to make a loaf a particular way — or make it into sustenance — has largely been forgotten. Choice — and here I’d include contemporary gluten-avoidance regimes —  didn’t determine what was eaten. Necessity did.

If you go back to the pre-modern era, before bread became a commodity and flour was sold in supermarkets, those who depended on grain largely ate what was grown nearby. It might have been wheat. It might have been barley. It might have been rye. Or it might have been nothing at all, if the harvest failed.

To forestall such events, farmers hedged their bets by planting diverse cereal crops. Bakers — both craftsmen and homemakers — then had to figure out how to make this variety of ingredients palatable. Grains, after all, provided up to 80% of the calories in a diet.

Scots made cakes from oats and barley, since both grains were hardy in northern Europe. Rye prevailed in Eastern Europe, because the soil and climate were hospitable. During shortages, coarse bran was mixed into bread. Bakers also added walnuts, acorns and spent grains from the brewery to stretch a loaf. In southern France, ground chickpeas were made into socca flatbread. In Cyprus, bakers fermented chickpeas for wheat and barley loaves. Much later, a New World starch, potatoes, became a buffer against famine in 18th century Europe as the population exploded. Maize or corn served this purpose as well. Corn-rye proved crucial to early American settlers, where it was known as “rye-injun bread” because wheat grew poorly in the southern New England climate.

Now, of course, the impetus for such innovation is gone. Agricultural science has done much to ensure fairly steady wheat harvests, with high-yielding varieties. Industrial millers long ago came up with the means to provide standard flour to produce a steady supply of bread products. As this new wheat took over, their ancient progenitors largely vanished from the landscape — and the palate. By the late 1990s, researchers estimated, 97% of all the spring wheat grown in the developing world came from closely related modern varieties. “Landraces,” those seed populations saved and passed down by farmers, became a rarity.

As for the wheat kernel, about 30% to 40%  was siphoned off in the milling of white flour. We often hear about the fiber, minerals, lipids and vitamins in wheat bran and germ that are lost. What is less appreciated is that these nutrient-dense grain fractions also contain a lot of calories. Wheat bran, for instance, represents about 12% to 16% of the wheat kernel. With every kilo of bran removed in the milling of white flour, 2,160 calories are squandered, including 160 grams of protein. “Everyone understood that the whiter the flour, the smaller the number of people who could be fed by a given amount of grain,” historian Steven Kaplan has written of 18th century France. Wheat still provides the second-highest source of calories and is the top source of humanity’s protein, yet we’re content to waste such a significant amount of its nutrition.

Also jettisoned along the path to modernity was the baker, who came up with the methods to make such whole grains palatable. In the age of industrial bakeries, we may cheer that freedom from drudgery. But I realized, in baking my own loaves for more than a decade, that we lost something else as well. It wasn’t simply the old world loaves that were largely left behind, or the grains that went into them, or the farms that grew diverse cereal crops. We also lost the craft knowledge that came from turning grains into food. This kind of knowledge could only be learned with practice, attention and tactile sensation.

To make really great bread, I found I had to put away my cognitive mind and learn the essential lessons of touch itself. I had to forget about following routine steps, since different grains — and different batches of them — often required adjustments. My sense of touch told me what tweaks to make, turning passable loaves into desirable ones. My hands were learning. At that moment I realized, if we really want to understand what sustained our species for millennium, spurred numerous innovations, and ultimately increased the supply of food in scarce times, our hands and craftwork are going to be at the center of that process. Our thinking minds will follow.

Russ Parsons, the food editor and columnist for the Los Angeles Times, wrote a terrific review of  In Search of the Perfect Loaf. He seemed to really get what I was after: celebrating the craft of bread making and all that it entails and also looking at the myriad ramifications of bread, which can be sliced in so many ways. Here are a few excerpts:

Fromartz is much more than an obsessive cook. He’s also a fine reporter and writer. And “Perfect Loaf” is much more than a book about baking bread.

In true bread baker fashion, Fromartz takes what might seem like the narrow window of bread baking and uses it as an opportunity to explore a wide range of topics. 

And so in searching for the perfect crumb and crust, he also teaches us about starch chemistry, about the history of bread, about the development of sourdough and some of its ramifications, about the biology of yeasts, about the history of wheat, about the implications of industrial agriculture, about the psychology of bakers, and about bread as a cultural artifact. And that’s just a small sample.

...Although the book is ostensibly about baking, what Fromartz is really writing about is how a deeper understanding of something leads to a deeper appreciation of it.

He is showing us the world through a slice of bread. 

 

 

Reprinted from Slow Food Blog

Sep. 23, 2014

By Megan Larmer, Manager of Biodiversity Programs at Slow Food USA

Sam Fromartz’s book In Search of the Perfect Loaf: A Home Baker’s Odyssey was recently published by Viking and it’s already causing a stir. Mark Bittman tweeted it “bread book of the year.” The Washington Post described it as a "brilliant memoir." Alice Waters and Daniel Leader of Bread Alone have been singing its praises. He travelled through Europe and the US, working next to artisan bakers and perfecting his craft, but in this memoir-cum-travel-cum-baking narrative he weaves in the history of grains, the science of bread making, and the personalities of bakers. Fromartz, who is editor-in-chief of the Food & Environment Reporting Network, sat down to discuss the book with Slow Food USA.

Slow Food USA: As a home baker, you won an award for the best baguette in Washington, DC. It seemed to take enormous attention – ie, you don’t seem like the usual home baker.

Well, as a home baker for more than 15 years, I kind of went off the deep end with this obsession. I went to Paris to work in a boulangerie, mostly because I wasn’t familiar with the many steps it takes to produce a good one. Shaping is probably the most difficult. But it also takes time to learn when dough is properly fermented. Once I put those elements together, I was able to make the award-winning loaf. That said, I don’t think I’m really that different from other committed home bakers out there. Scan the internet, and you’ll see many amazing loaves. Home bakers are really having their day.

Slow Food USA: You also traveled to the South of France to work with a baker who grew his own ancient grains, and to Berlin to focus on whole grain breads. Did those experiences change the way you bake at home?

They did. Learning at the elbow of a master makes a difference. But I would say, it wasn’t simply European bakers who provided tips. I worked at places like Tartine Bakery in San Francisco, Little T American Baker in Portland, Oregon, and Della Fattoria in Petaluma, California and with a world class solo baker in Sonoma, Mike Zakowski. Bakers at all these places taught me techniques that I adapted into my home baking. I think we have this conception that the Europeans are really ahead when it comes to bread, but I don’t think that’s the case today. There’s a lot of exchange between European and American bakers and recognition of how far bread baking has come in the US. In some cases, I’d say the US is ahead because we’re not bound by tradition. We can borrow and mix and match to come up with our own ideas of what great bread should be.

Slow Food USA: The beginning of the book focuses on more classic loaves like the baguette and then as the book progresses it turns more brown—that is, you add more grains into the loaf until the last chapter, you’re baking with organic whole grain flour from a small farm in Maryland. Was that by design?

It really followed my own trajectory. White flour has been designed from seed-to-mill to be very consistent. But I’ve come to view the sweet, delicate quality of white bread loaves as more of a treat than daily sustenance. I find loaves made with whole grains, with rye or whole wheat or even buckwheat, fermented with sourdough, to be much more satisfying. In Berlin, a baker told me he ate just one slice of whole grain bread in the morning for breakfast because it was so substantial and burned so slowly—that is, the bread digested over time. Nutrition studies bear this out, plus there are the substantial health benefits from eating whole grains, as we know.

But whole and especially local grains can be less predictable than white flour, so it requires more craft and attention from the baker to make a loaf that isn’t a brick. You need to coax a loaf, and ultimately unleash the flavor locked in the grain. And that’s what’s exciting. I think we’re discovering or rediscovering tastes and textures that have long been absent from the palate, or at least since white flour began to dominate with the age of industrial milling.

Slow Food USA: So you’re going backward to the way people used to eat?

In part, I am. By using sourdough, which relies on wild yeast and bacteria and working with single varieties of locally grown grains, it does in a sense mimic what bakers used to do—make loaves from the wheat and other cereal grains they grew in nearby fields and baked in village ovens. But there’s a real important difference. I am doing this by choice. All those wonderful and varied loaves that people made in the pre-modern world, with nuts or grains like millet or chickpeas, were the result of necessity. People baked with those ingredients because the supply of wheat was variable. Today we do have enough wheat, at least in the wealthier parts of the world, and we have the luxury to use other ingredients.

And it’s a good choice, because with whole grains at least, we’re using the entire kernel, rather than leaving 30-40 percent of it as a waste product for animal feed, as is the case with white flour. If the world ate whole grains, the supply of food would rise sharply. That’s because wheat provides the second largest source of calories in the world and is the top source of humanity’s protein and yet we’re wasting a lot of this sustenance.

Slow Food USA: Really? Wheat is top source of protein that now everyone, it seems, is trying to avoid?

Well, gluten-free is a choice of modern life in richer countries of the world. A small number of people must avoid gluten due to celiac disease—about 1 percent of the population—and another small portion appear to have gluten intolerance issues. But a large number of people are choosing to avoid gluten by choice rather than medical reasons. For most people in the world who depend on wheat for sustenance that simply isn’t a choice. Wheat is food.

Slow Food USA: So you’re obviously not buying into the Paleo diet?

In one chapter of the book, I deal with the earliest archeological evidence of why people started eating grains. It began with nomads harvesting wild grain in the Fertile Crescent. It might have been spurred by a desire for beer, since wine made from fermented fruit was seasonal. Grain could be stored. It may have also stemmed from communal religious gatherings. Plus grains were a good source of stored calories that wouldn’t spoil. So our ancestors chose to give up the nomadic life of hunting and gathering, and eat grains and legumes, and domesticate livestock instead. And something else happened as well. Our bodies actually developed the ability, through an enzyme known as amylase, to process the starch within grains and its inherent calories. This genetic adaptation is more prevalent among people who historically have eaten grain. In other words, we have genetically adapted to eating grain based foods. The problem—and here’s where I agree with the Paleo folks—is with consuming all the heavily refined foods that can lead to a host of diseases, such as obesity.

Slow Food USA: Getting back to the bread, do you have the ideal recipe for the beginner?

Well, I make clear this isn’t a recipe book, though I do offer several recipes. I also offer tips for and book recommendations for beginning bakers. But I take more of an expansive view of bread in this book and try to explain, within this travel narrative, what bread is and the principles to make it. Bread making is all about technique and tactile feel—I really believe the recipe determines about 10 percent of success. The rest comes from the techniques and principles I explain. In part, the reason I wrote this is that I wanted to articulate these principles for myself. I had questions I wanted answered. Writing the book was a way of answering them.

Slow Food USA: And did you find the perfect loaf?

No, and isn’t that the point? Jim Lahey, a great baker who owns Sullivan Street Bakery in New York, told me that the perfect loaf doesn’t exist. I’d have to agree and that’s what makes this craft so fun.

I heard a comic say last night that instead of offering gluten free loaves, she would offer free gluten -- which is actually what I've been doing when I offer bread samples at book talks. And with those samples of free gluten I've found that people have been given permission to enjoy bread at a time when it's so often maligned.

Then again, I'm not simply talking about bread, but rather all the facets of what it takes to make Great Bread like the loaf pictured above. The Wall Street Journal highlighted this in a piece by Jim Lahey, reviewing the book. (The link is here but it's behind their paywall, so if you don't subscribe you can only see it if you google "wall street journal fromartz" and click on the link for the review.) 

I liked Jim's closing paragraph the best: 

Beer and wine have come a long way since the 1970s. It is my hope, and Mr. Fromartz's, that something similar is happening to bread now. May the ragamuffin collection of farmers, millers, bakers, seed savers, home bakers and bread enthusiasts he describes bring about a revolution in how we bake and eat bread. We need to shorten our supply chains and strengthen our regional economies by growing wheat locally. Local wheat might not be white, but it will probably taste better. I hope his book leads other people to go on their own search for the perfect loaf (even if it doesn't exist) and to open small-scale bakeries all over the country. It might put me out of business, but that's OK. Long live the revolution.

The loaf pictured above, made by Mike Zakowski in Sonoma, California, illustrates this revolution in all its glory. He said this was the first loaf that routinely sold out at the farmers' market, even among his gorgeous baguettes. Einkorn by the way is one of the "founder" grains of the Fertile Crescent, with a history going back 20,000 years.

Across the pond in Paris, David Lebovitz also mentioned In Search of the Perfect Loaf in a wrap of of six food books he's reading. He didn't find a revolution brewing, but I was still gratified to be among such august company: Ed Behr, Michael Pollan, Michael Ruhlman, Hank Shaw and Alexander Lobrano, and of course, written up by David, who is a force in his own right. And my loaves rivaled those he's had in France? Nice...

Finally, I gave an extensive interview recently with Portland radio station KBOO, where I discuss some of these "revolutionary" concepts, especially on the value of hand work. (The interview begins at about minute 2:30 into the segment and ends at minute 22.)  In our age, that's truly something we've forgotten as a culture.

When I was interviewed for the Washington Post about In Search of the Perfect Loaf, I actually didn't have a recipe on hand that would work for the paper. Most of the recipes in the book are made with sourdough, the ingredients are measured by weight, and I explain them in detailed steps that run several pages in some instances. So what to do for a newspaper with limited space? 

I came up with this recipe, which still uses whole wheat, whole rye and white flour--classic components of the pain de campagne loaf. I also knew I wouldn't be able to use sourdough, because I wouldn't have space to explain the technique. So I substituted a minute amount of yeast instead and added fermented cider for flavor. Risen overnight, then baked in a covered pot the next day, the loaf has a marvelous and mild taste.

Here's the full recipe as described in the Post. (At the link, there's also a nifty calculator to increase the size of the loaf if you want). 

Washington author Sam Fromartz has been making sourdough variations of this yeast bread for years. Here, he adds fermented cider for flavor. A mild beer may be substituted; an IPA would be too bitter. The loaf is sized to last a few days.

The optional tablespoon of water is to compensate for the variable absorption of the rye and whole-wheat flours.

You'll need a colander, a pastry cloth or clean dish towel and a covered cast-iron or enameled cast-iron pot.

Make Ahead: The dough needs four 20-minute rests, plus an 8-to-24-hour stay in the refrigerator and a final 1 1/2-hour rise.

Storage Notes: Store the cooled loaf in a paper bag for a day, and store in a plastic bag for a few days after that. Do not refrigerate.   

Tested size: 10-12 servings; makes one 11-ounce loaf 10 to 12 slices

INGREDIENTS

• 1 1/4 cups (160 grams) white bread flour, plus more for dusting
• 1/4 cup (38 grams) stone-ground whole-wheat flour
• 1/4 cup (32 grams) stone-ground whole rye flour
• 1/2 teaspoon instant yeast or bread machine yeast
• 1 teaspoon table salt
• 1/4 cup (55 grams) dry fermented cider (may substitute Pilsener beer; see headnote)
• 1/2 cup (120 grams) lukewarm water (80 degrees), plus an optional 1 tablespoon

DIRECTIONS

Whisk together the flours, yeast and salt in a mixing bowl. Combine the cider and water in a liquid measuring cup.

Add the liquid to the flour mixture; use a spatula or bench scraper or your hand moistened with water to blend them for about a minute. The dough should be shaggy yet cohesive. Cover the bowl with a towel; let the dough rest for 20 minutes.

Moisten your kneading hand. If the dough seems stiff, add the optional tablespoon of water. Stretch one edge of the dough (still in the bowl), then press it into the center of the bowl. Repeat this about a dozen times, moving clockwise to catch all sides of the dough. (This should take 1 or 2 minutes.)

Turn the dough over so the seams are on the bottom. Cover and let rest for 20 minutes. Repeat the clockwise stretching and folding two more times, with 20-minute rests after each. Cover and refrigerate at least 8 hours and up to 24 hours. The dough should have doubled. If it hasn't, leave it on the counter until it does.

Lightly flour a work surface. Use a pastry cloth or clean dish towel to line a round colander. Dust the cloth with flour.

Transfer the dough to the floured work surface. Fold the edges toward the center to create a round shape, turning it over so the seams are on the bottom. Let it rest for 5 minutes, then transfer to the colander, seam side up. Cover with a towel and let the dough rise for 1 1/2 hours.

Thirty minutes before baking, place a cast-iron Dutch oven (lid on) or enameled cast-iron pot with a lid (on) in the oven; preheat to 475 degrees.

Carefully remove the hot pot from the oven.

Turn the dough out onto the counter so the seams are on the bottom. Use kitchen scissors to make 8 snips on the top of the dough in an evenly spaced spoke pattern, each about 1/4-inch deep. Lift the dough and carefully drop it into the hot pot. Immediately cover with the hot lid. Bake for 30 minutes, then reduce the heat to 450 degrees. Uncover and bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until the crust is dark brown. Try to minimize the amount of time the oven door is open.

The bread is done when its internal temperature registers 205 degrees on an instant-read thermometer and the loaf sounds hollow when knocked on the underside.

Transfer the loaf to a wire rack to cool for at least 1 hour before cutting.

RECIPE SOURCE

From Sam Fromartz, author of "In Search of the Perfect Loaf: A Home Baker’s Odyssey" (Viking, 2014).

Tested by Bonnie S. Benwick.

 

Here's what Library Journal had to say in a starred review (July 1, 2014):

*Fromartz, Samuel. In Search of the Perfect Loaf: A Home Baker’s Odyssey. Viking. Sept. 2014. 256p. ISBN 9780670025619. $26.95. COOKING

Fromartz (Organic, Inc.) might push the boundaries of what it means to be an amateur baker. The author was, after all, asked by chef Alice Waters to bake the bread for a charity dinner she gave in Washington, DC, after winning a local contest against professional bakers. He’s a bread obsessive, and his exhaustive knowledge of the craft, history, and culture of bread making is on display here. This impressive work falls somewhere between a cookbook, an exploration of bread-baking techniques, and a history of bread. It’s thoroughly researched and engagingly written, and his dedication is inspiring. He uses careful description to impart to the reader something of a craft that can truly only be learned through practice. In addition to writing about his own experience, Fromartz has interviewed (and baked with) some of the biggest names in the bread business, including Chad Robertson of Tartine and bread historian Steven Kaplan. Even those who think they know bread will find something to gain here.

VERDICT: Highly recommended for those interested in food history, the evolution of artisan baking, and learning to make the perfect loaf at home. —Laura Krier, Sonoma State Univ., Rohnert Park, CA

 

As a writer, I’ve often approached the written word through an instinctual and sometimes painful process. I’ve put a lot of currency into a kind of gut feeling of what works and what does not. But now as an editor, I’m working with younger writers. In many instances, I’ve had to think about what I actually do and how to convey it. So here are some tips to consider on getting your project done.

1. Ideas are cheap—but don’t always go searching for the next one. You’ll ignore the ones you already have. Write everything down, pick one and proceed. I use the memo function in my smart phone to take notes. Many never get beyond the jot-down stage. Some do. Like this one on writing.
2. Research—yet know when to stop. This is one of the hardest things in the process of writing non-fiction because research and interviewing can be endless. As a writer, I’ve worked with editors who wanted more and more research and then ended up discarding it all. But I think this endless research reflects an inability to see the story. For a writer, it can also stem from a fear of actually writing. As you learn more about your project, you should begin to see a narrative structure and that should inform your research. It forces you to ignore certain paths, avoid potential dead ends and pursue the questions you really need to answer, often with a lot of research.
3. Sit down. Everyone says it takes 10,000 hours to become proficient at any craft and writing is no different. You actually need to write, in order to learn how to write. Early in my career, I read a lot of “how to write” books. Some were quite good, but I don’t think I remember one lesson from any of them. All the lessons I learned were from keeping my ass in the chair. When things are especially bad—whether due to distraction or procrastination — I turn on Freedom, an inexpensive software program that disconnects your computer from the Internet for a set amount of time. This tends to work.
4. Pick a time of day to write. Many writers are most productive at certain times of the day. That’s true for me and that time usually starts at around 8:30 a.m. and goes until noon or so. As a staff reporter for a news agency, though, I also faced deadlines from 4:30-7 p.m. Years later, my body and mind engages in the early evening and I’m often quite productive at that time. You can tell people you’re booked during this particular period of the day (for some that isn’t a problem, if it’s in the middle of the night). Do your calls and emails in another window. That way, you’ll avoid constant interruption.
5. Outline but don’t be a slave to it. I write outlines in essay form. Often, they start with a paragraph or two. Then, they grow and grow. I’ll get obsessed with a detail or explore tangents. Then I’ll pull back and consider the bigger picture. Sometimes this outline writing emerges fully formed and goes into the piece. I don’t obsess over what’s in the outline, because I’m trying to stay loose, almost free associate (more on this in another post). Nothing you write at this stage is wrong, though it might not end up in the final piece.
6. At first, try not to care too much. Big projects are intimidating, especially at the beginning. One trick I use is to admit I don’t care what I write, because I know it’s going to be terrible. Since it’s going to be shit, I’m personally not invested in it. I don’t obsess about what other people think, or even what I may think. I can just write. You might surprise yourself and write five quick pages.
7. Stop before you’re exhausted. Hemingway advised this:

The best way is always to stop when you are going good and when you know what will happen next. If you do that every day when you are writing a novel you will never be stuck. That is the most valuable thing I can tell you so try to remember it.

Here’s another reason to stop before you get tired: if you don’t, you might make a really bad mistake. I’ve deleted text or reworked a day’s worth of writing at the end of the day, only to find the next morning that what I had previously written was much better. I had lost my judgment. I was too tired. So stop before you get to that point. Think about what you’ll do next. And then put your writing away and do something else.

For the past two years, I've been watching Borgen, a Danish television series which tracks a female politician who rises to become prime minister. The series is quite entertaining and actually addictive, since the stong-willed but principled leader is someone you could relate to: Season 1 began with her riding her bicycle to Parliament. It deals with the conflict of work and home life, and all the intrigue of multi-party politics.

I've only had access to Borgen online, at linkTV, careful to watch the shows in the two-week window after they air on cable. (Season 1 and Season 2 are out on DVD). I've found the themes fascinating. They focus on immigration, right wing free marketers, left-wing social issues, the greens and, of course, The Media, which is ever-present as the third wheel in the story. It's narrative drama, well done. 

But I was very surprised by the most recent episode, in season 3, which took up the issue of Danish hog farming and the use of anibiotics in confined animal operations. Now, this is pretty wonky stuff in the US, and it hasn't made much headway in breaking out of food and policy circles. But in Denmark, industrial hog farming is obviously the stuff of television drama, including the memorable line from a farmer who says he doesn't eat the confined hogs he produces but rather the swine out back, in a field.

During the episode, when issues of antibiotic use and humane treatment of hogs break out in the media, a right wing politican who is also a hog farmer declares: "We make a product for the supermarket!" (You can almost hear the echoes of agribusinesses declaring, "We feed the world!"). The show had just featured this politician docking the tail of a baby pig. When he's questioned about these practices repeatedly, he finally bursts out: "We produce garbage because that's what people want to eat." But the show is not entirely one sided, and highlights the difficulties these farmers face.

We've got good television writers in the US, so David Simon (The Wire) please take note: there are great dramatic possibilities when it comes to food but this is about the best I've seen. Here's the link to episode (24), but it will expire online within a couple of weeks.

It makes for riviting television. 

The Adventures of a Cardboard Box by Temujin Doran Audience Choice Award winner, Disposable Film Fest 2012 http://disposablefilmfest.com/ Twitter: @DFFest

On an 8-minute video shot with a smart phone that won a film festival prize

I recently heard Carlton Evans, the director of the Disposible Film Festival, speak about “disposible films”— all the video that is made when you click open your smart phone and start shooting away.We’ve all done it, but what I didn’t realize was the possibility of the medium. Luckily, Evans and his team did and created a film festival around it.

The festival celebrates “the democratization of cinema made possible by low cost video technology: everyday equipment like mobile phones, pocket cameras, DSLRs and other inexpensive devices.”

This sounds good in theory, but what does it mean?

If you have 8 minutes and 19 seconds to spare, I would direct you to “The Adventures of a Cardboard Box,” by Temujin Doran.

The short, an entry at the 2012 festival, starts out with the filmaker holding up a Nokia N8 smart phone a bit larger than his hand. And then the film rolls. It’s about a boy and the cardboard box that arrives at his house one day. The countryside setting is vaguely northern European (I’m guessing), the day sunny, and the creative possibilities, within a warm family, large.

If you’ve ever had kids—or spent time with them—you know the allure of cardboard boxes. My daughter has spent more time playing in them, making up stories around them, and then cutting them to pieces, than any toy we’ve ever bought. The attraction of cardboard is only matched by colored duck tape. So actually if you buy a few rolls of duck tape and get it delivered by mail, you get the ultimate twofer. Often the duck tape ends up around the box it came in, or rather the sail boat that the shipping box has now become.

So, I was transfixed while this movie played at a recent conference I attended, on a large screen no less. At the end of it, the audience broke out in applause.

Is this the democratization of film? The vast possibility of art, made with whatever you have on hand? A way to be an auteur on the cheap? I don’t know, but it won the audience choice award at the festival. If you have 8 minutes and a love of creativity it’s worth viewing. It will brighten your world and make you think of disposable objects—cardboard boxes, childhood memories—in a new light.

The Adventures of a Cardboard Box from Disposable Film Festival on Vimeo.