As I’ve discussed with several people in the last few days, I don’t know quite know what to call this genre of music, and I don’t think it really matters. It just ends up being a crazy blend of interesting people, month after month. But if you really need a name for it, Jen – the promoter – sums it up with “cold/minimal/new/no[w] wave.” I’ll let you figure out what exactly that means.

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Aside from that, I don’t really eat that well – or that interestingly – when other people aren’t watching. My meals tend to be little snacks. A piece of cheese with a tomato, a tablespoon of tahini paste, a few pieces of cauliflower dipped in mustard (and not even fancy mustard – just the cheap yellow stuff). Today I actually ate a slice of processed cheese spread with red pepper paste for a mid-afternoon snack.

I can cook well when I want, but I’m not by any means a food snob. In fact, I’ve managed to gross out my boyfriends with my bachelor-style eating habits. But I think that was their eccentricities, not mine. I will defend my stance that pizza tastes better after a night in the fridge – and doesn’t everyone like cold Kraft Mac ‘N Cheese for breakfast?

I’ll have a new post with a recipe coming in the next few days. But in the meantime, I just wanted to share some photos from my new favorite food photographer. This man makes portraits of zucchinis and apples so beautiful that I get a lump in my throat. Just look at that bunch of sage and tell me it doesn’t make you want to burst into song. (OK, I’m a little eccentric, I know – but really…)

The kicker is, he lives in Long Beach, CA. We used to be neighbors.

Matt, if you happen to read this, can I come hang out at your studio when I’m home for the holidays? I won’t break anything, I promise!

Over Christmas, as I first started suspecting that my life-long allergies might be related to gluten, I tried my hand at a loaf of artisan-style gluten free bread. The recipe, from Gluten Free Girl, got rave reviews from her readers, and the photos were mouthwatering. I assumed that, with all my past baking experience, there was almost no way I could go wrong.

But alas, no. I might be able to bake wheat bread with one hand tied behind my back, but gluten-free is a different beast all together. On my first attempt, I added enough water to make the dough resemble a normal wheat dough. Turns out that wasn’t enough. I ended up with a whole-grain, artisal-style brick.

Not easily deterred, I tried again with a wetter dough. And it was an improvement – but not by much. I couldn’t blame the recipe – just that something in my technique was totally amiss.

When I got back to Berlin, the local organic market happened to be clearing out their 2007 stock of gluten-free products. I happily picked up a loaf of cornbread and two boxes of gluten-free bread mix. I was particularly skeptical of these being any better than what I’d made from scratch, but for 50% off I had to try.

A few nights ago, with an evening free, I suddenly had the urge to bake again. I pulled out my packaged mix, dumped it in a bowl, and read the instructions. After pouring in exactly the amount of water called for on the back of the box, I found myself looking at a bowl of… goop.

This was not bread dough as I know it. If this is what gluten-free dough looks like, I thought, no wonder my instincts led me astray on my first two tries.

Bread dough should be a creamy, silky mass – like pulled taffy, lightly dusted with flour. This was a mass, yes, but more in the sense of glob.

“Kneading” a gluten-free bread is like squelching through mud in your bare feet. The thrill of watching the dough’s metamorphosis from sticky to smooth is utterly missing. But I kept it up for the requisite 6 minutes, and put the bread in a warm spot to rise for the next hour.

60 minutes later, I was surprised to find that the dough had actually grown. The yeast was working! The wet, gloppy batter was soft enough to bubble and grow, even without the support of gluten. I left it for a second rising, put it in the oven and began, tentatively, to hope for a loaf of real bread.

The scent of warm yeast filled the apartment. After 60 minutes of longingly sniffing the air, I opened the oven door and peeked inside. A beautiful, golden-brown crust looked back at me. I pulled the loaf out and, unable to wait, cut a wedge straight from the pan. Blowing on it just long enough to avoid third-degree burns, I popped it in my mouth.

Buttery. Delicious. Fluffy, with just the right chewiness. I had baked bread again! It was all I could do to keep from devouring half the loaf right then. Somehow I refrained… until breakfast the following morning.

What was left after that, I shredded into breadcrumbs and froze. I had no particular plan for them, but only days later I found a cake recipe calling for breadcrumbs. More on that next week.

Now I’m determined to try for a gluten-free sourdough bread. And the dense, wholegrain Schwarzbrot that is so common here seems like it would lend itself perfectly to a gluten-free recipe. I have to order some different types of flour by mail, but I can’t wait to get started.