This same time, years previous: roll and twist, sticky toffee pudding, spinach lemon orzo soup, crumbs, eyeballs and teeth, kiddling shenanigans, rum raisin shortbread, creamy blue cheese pasta with spinach and walnuts, kisses and band-aids, and earthquake cake.

At our family Christmas gathering, my cousin served homemade crackers to go with the assortment of cheeses—blue, goat, gouda, etc—that the rest of us brought. The crackers were made from sourdough starter. She had written about them on her blog, and, while I had thought about them off and on since reading about them, I’d never taken the time to make them. There are so many good store-bought crackers—when I’m struggling to get well-rounded dinners on the table, I’m inclined to let go of the little extras.

But these crackers! More than just good, they were outstanding. My cousin had said they tasted cheesy without having any cheese in them and she was absolutely right. Their secret cheesiness made them kind of incredible, not to mention very, very addictive.

So of course I came home and made them. And then yesterday I made them again, a double batch this time. The kids kept stealing them—heck, I kept stealing them—from the cooling rack, so I had to jar them up so I’d have some left for the evening’s Milkmaid gathering. (To go with the crackers, I cobbled together a simple cheese ball with some leftover walnut cheddar from our Christmas Eve feast. My kids saw the cheese ball and commenced a-wailing, “What! They get cheese ball and we don’t? No fairrrrr!!”)

The great thing about these crackers is that they use up the little bit of leftover starter I have every morning when I’m having a bread-baking week. It’s the easiest thing in the world to just get out another bowl, toss in the bit of leftover starter and then stir in a bit of flour, salt, and butter. After mixing up my second batch of cracker dough, I ran out of time, so I just stuck the dough in the fridge. Then yesterday I rolled the dough out and baked the crackers. The extra wait time in the fridge didn’t hurt them one bit. Translation: refrigerator cracker dough always at the ready!

Sourdough Crackers 
Adapted from Zoe’s blog Whole Eats Whole Treats.

I like my crackers on the thick side, so a single recipe only yields about a quart. Yesterday’s double recipe made a half-gallon worth. There’s only a few left in the jar. (Update: the jar’s empty.)

I went out and bought granulated garlic for these crackers. I only had garlic powder, and my cousin says it’s easier to work with the granulated stuff. She’s right. It sprinkles more evenly and it has a nicer texture. Also, I like my crackers salty, so I sprinkle the dough with a couple pinches of coarse salt prebaking.

Locals: I have starter to share. Just ask! (The feeding schedule is in the right hand column of this post. And here’s a post on the origins of the starter.)

1 cup sourdough starter
1 cup whole wheat flour, slightly heaped
½ slightly rounded teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons butter, softened
coarse salt and granulated garlic for topping, optional 

Stir together the starter, flour, salt, and butter. The dough will be soft and sticky—chilling it in the fridge for an hour (or several days) will make it more manageable.

Grease a couple cookie sheets and roll out the dough directly onto the sheets. In the oven, the dough will puff up about double, so plan for their thickness accordingly. Sprinkle the crackers with salt and granulated garlic, if desired. Pass a rolling pin over the crackers one more time, to help the toppings stick. Cut the crackers with a pizza cutter.

Bake the crackers at 350 degrees for 15-30 minutes (or longer—it all depends on their thickness) or until the crackers are golden brown and crispy. The crackers around the edges will brown first—I just pull the pan from the oven every few minutes and remove the ones that are done. I let the last of the crackers, when I finally pull them from the oven, sit on the tray to crisp up even more.

Store in an airtight container.

This same time, years previous: one year and one day, between two worlds, the quotidian (1.9.12), hog butchering!, moving big sticks of wood, and baked hash brown potatoes.

This fall my parents moved three miles down the road into a house that they (and my husband and a few other hammery folk) built. We were in virgin territory, living in such close proximity to my parents. I did not know what it would be like. What would it mean—really mean—to live this close?

Here’s what it means:

*We are neighbors! We are far enough apart that we don’t cross paths if we don’t choose to, but close enough that we can walk over for a visit or to borrow a tool.

*For the first time since I left home when I was 17, I can visit my folks without baggage, husband, or kids. I just hop in the car and zip over. Or I walk over. Or run. Besides my own house, there is no other home in the world where I’m perfectly at home, except for my parents’ place. It’s like my living space has doubled. I’ve got two places to crash now.

*For Thanksgiving, we ate the main meal at my brother’s house (a half mile down the road) and then had dessert at my parents’ house. A bunch of us walked over in the dusk, enjoying the chilly air, exercise, and conversation.

*We pick things up in town for each other—groceries, plants, etc. If we spy a deal, we call the other to see if they want to take advantage.

*My parents do lots and lots (and lots and lots and lots) of child care. One of their goals for moving here was to soak up the grands. I keep thinking they’re going to reach the saturation point any day now…

*So much flexibility! The other night we had supper at their house and when it came time to leave, my youngest didn’t want to come home with us. So he stayed. My younger daughter had already fallen asleep in the downstairs bedroom, so she stayed, too.

*The kids can go over there randomly, just to hang out. Last week my older daughter called up my mom to see if she might spend the night. My mom said sure, so we dropped my girl off that evening. She didn’t come home until the next evening. Mostly, my mom said, she just read all day. (I think she wants to go over there just so she can get out of work and read herself cross-eyed.)

*When my dad gets the urge, he rides over on his bike and gives the kids science lessons.

*My parents sometimes take the kids to their choir rehearsals or whatever, just to see what it is they are up to.

*My children invite their friends over, not only to our house, but to their grandparents’ house. The other week, my younger daughter and her friend went over there and made a ginormous batch of tapioca pudding with my mom. Next up, my younger son and his friend are scheduled for a sleep over. 

*Last minute dinner invitations.

*Woods! My parents’ 13 acres is all forested. So now my kids have a new place to crash through, explore, and make forts in. In the summer there are blackberries to eat. In the winter my father makes firewood deliveries.

All in all, it’s a pretty sweet deal, this living-close-to-parents thing. We’re loving it.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (1.6.14), date nut bread, headless chickens, so worth it, candied peanuts, salted dulce de leche ice cream with candied peanuts, winter chickens, turkey noodle soup, and what I did.