I woke up, punched down the dough, which looked very bubbly and delicious. I also realized I don’t have a dutch oven, which apparently I’m supposed to have. So instead of putting the dough in that, I floured it and put it back in the bowl. When I came back two hours later I regretted that choice deeply. The dough was beautiful with huge bubbles, but it was also totally stuck to the edge of the bowl, so I had to yank it off the sides while making a grotesque attempt to retain the pockets of air that I’d fostered for the previous 12 hours. It didn’t work. I got it to a baking sheet though, and cried a single tear in it’s memory while I started the oven. The book said to wait until it was “well beyond the blond stage”, so I put it in and waited. A half hour later it was thoroughly blond. Twenty minuted after that it was… still blond. Another ten minutes. Still blond. So I took it out. Apparently it didn’t want to cook any more. It looked like a blob of earwax of something. Not the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made, but at least it’s edible. When I cut it open the shell was thick and deep and the inside had big, moist bubbles. As the crust cooled though, it hardened, and made it almost too hard to eat. By boyfriend Paul and friend Ian were nice enough to eat it without complaint, but I knew it was probably hurting their weak little jaws. It was a very informative process. Day one, done. No casualties.