Country Bread from Tartine Bread Book and a Review

I make my first Basic Country Bread from the Tartine Bread book

A Review of the Tartine Bread Book by Chad Robertson and Eric Wolfinger

I resisted buying the Tartine Bread book for some time, even though there has been quite a bit of excitement shown for it amongst online bread enthusiasts.  Like many popular bread recipe books you can buy, I supposed this one would be similar: it would have lots of nice pictures and few recipes that I can actually use.  

The Recipes

I have found from experience that many coffee-table-style bread books that appeal to the Barnes & Noble breadophile crowd are pretty -- but, when you get them home you discover that they actually only offer one or two bread recipes that are variations on a single theme.  Disconcertingly, this "single theme" generally turns out to be a white flour, straight-dough bread made with a long rise -- precisely the kind of bread I am tired of.

Tartine Bread seems on the surface to fall into this pattern.  First of all, it is very pretty.  The writing is good, but the pictures are much better than the writing.  The bread recipes are geared to appeal to the bread afficionado who is willing to commit to a process that will require mastery of a single style of bread.  But while it does use a lot of white flour, it also always uses some whole wheat, and -- what really sets it apart from other bread recipe books -- it is uncompromising in the use of wild yeast starters.

Tartine Bread contains almost no recipes for 100% whole grain loaves: in fact, it contains only one, and even that one is built from a starter composed of 50% all purpose flour.  

I found myself telling people who were curious to see me carting the book about for days  on end, that I finally ended up purchasing the book for this one recipe.  And furthermore, I've only even considered buying it due to the wonderful picture of the crumb of the loaf of the whole wheat bread on page 115.

This is only partially true, of course.  There are many recipes -- almost half of the book, I think -- that give suggestions for how to build interesting meals around bread.  For me, a vegetarian, few of these suggestions are going to work without adjustment.  But I'm betting that these recipes alone would interest most people who are drawn to this book, and they will go a long way toward proving the book's enduring worth.  There is value here.

And the 'single style of bread' that the Tartine Bread book details is a bread that Robertson developed out of long experience, and what appears to be his own vision.  It has taken me some time with the book to begin to appreciate this vision because of what amounts to my preconceptions and my own interests: my insistence on whole grains, and my curiosity about many kinds of bread.  But the Tartine Loaf, made from Robertson's starters and doughs, is quite a resilient dough.  It can be elaborated in many different ways.  My wife likes the bread that can be made from it, even if I prefer a denser, 100% whole grain bread.  I suspect that most people will like the Tartine Bread, rather that the ones I love.  I suspect also that I will end up making this bread often enough, for my wife, just as I similarly make specific loaves for her mother.  And I quickly discovered that I can use the Tartine Bread techniques to make bread that I love too.

Biographical Details

There is the obligatory story of the young baker, Robertson, chasing his vision of the perfect loaf, through his baking apprenticeship with Richard Bourdon in Massachusetts, then with Bourdon's teachers in France and finally arriving in California, ready to try on his own.  Yes, we need to know something of the baker who offers us this book and its techniques, we must have this story told to us.  But surely there is a bit of myth-making going on!  We are to believe that the entire time he was learning from others and baking with them, he had this ideal loaf in his mind, and it was just biding its time there in a sort of Platonic a priori noosphere until he finally figured out how to make it with his own two hands.  Still, there must be a grain of truth in it.  Evidently he did have something in mind to shoot for.  I guess I'm just questioning whether he actually had it in his mind the whole time, even before he began.  How does anyone know what is possible before one trials a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand different loaves?  Such a personal history smacks of revisionism, to me.  I have my suspicions that the real story would be so much more interesting, and not so much like a Disney cartoon.  But legends are easier to believe in, myths are easier for the mind to grasp.

For the real story, one has to read between the lines, and observe closely the pictures.  Robertson has achieved a measure of success.   His vision of the perfect loaf, whether it came early or late, has taken root in a community that supports his ideal.  He has sold his bread, and he has achieved local legendary status, among those who love it -- and now, with this book, national and even international fame.  He has built a family, and an extended family of friends who appreciate the work he has done.  


But life is more than bread, and the body more than clothing.  Robertson is passionate about bread, but he also finds time to unwind: he himself has found a way to incorporate the cycles of wild yeast ebb and flow into his own lifestyle.  He takes time to enjoy surfing, and to appreciate his family and his friends.  And he says no to overproduction, in order to maintain his artisan ideals.  The real story is that Robertson has defined success for himself as "this much: no more is required."  The real point of the book is the gentle suggestion that you too can live symbiotically with wild yeasts, can live in concert with your loved ones and your community, and bread can be a part of that, indeed a central part of that.  

That is a deeply moving portrait, and without Wolfinger's pictures, we wouldn't have captured a word of it.   So what we have here is not just a coffee-table book full of nice pictures of bread.  We have a story that unfolds as you read the book, take it in, and apply the techniques.  And suddenly you discover that the story of this bread becomes your own story.

That makes this book a true gift.  Like Robertson's bread, it is more that the sum of its parts.

Symbiosis

The book's most interesting feature, in my view, is the way the book's testers figured out on their own how to fit these bread recipes -- all involving wild yeast starters -- into their own life schedules.  In my imagination, there were probably many testers for the book who failed to achieve such a symbiotic relationship with their wild yeast starters, because they gave up trying.  Of course, the book only  showcases three successes.  But what amazing successes!  It really does inspire: reading about the busy lives of the people who managed to make bread that rivals most bakeries, you begin to think "yes, it just might be possible for me too."

In order to experiment with the Tartine Bread recipes -- even for someone like me, who merely wants to trial one recipe in the book -- one must commit to the Tartine Starter, and learn how to bake the "Basic Country Bread" to fully understand the process and relationship between the starter, the leaven and the dough.  Before you can make the Whole Wheat Bread variation, in other words, you have to be able to bake the breads that are made with (mostly) white flour.

That commitment is somewhat problematic for someone like me, who likes to try a multitude of different recipes.  And it is problematic for someone like me, who looks at the pictures of the loaves and thinks that these dark, blistered loaves are coated with dangerous acrylamides.  But mostly it is problematic for me because my mind is too full of questions.  Why this particular wild yeast culture, why this ratio of whole wheat to all purpose flour, to build a starter?  Although he simplifies the process by pretty much excluding math -- not specifying the size of the container to use, not measuring how much water, or how much flour, except by the handful, in the daily refreshes of the starter -- nevertheless, by settling on this type of feeding schedule, and by having us use this consistency in our cultures, Robertson is eliminating a huge number of possibilities.  Perhaps he has explored them, and found them to be dead-ends.  We do not know.  This works, he shows us how, and then he leaves us to our devices.


In terms of theory, Robertson does briefly discuss bacteria and yeast, and the fermentation process, lactic and acetic acids, temperature and pH, and although he obviously knows the science behind it, he doesn't give us a lot of details.  It is as if by not telling us all the details, he is shrugging off all my questions.  He doesn't write it all down, so I have to imagine what he would say to my questions: "That's not important," I hear him say in his Authorial Voice (in my imagination as quiet and patient as the man I have seen speaking humbly and gently in videos).  "Stop trying to reason it all out.  Just start observing and see where it all leads."

What is Tartine Bread about?

It all depends on the starter, what Robertson calls a "culture", and what he adamantly refuses to call a "sourdough", because of the way he uses it.  A "sourdough", he will say, is so named because of the acidity of a culture when it is fully mature, or overly ripe.  You want to use your starter when it is young, when it is fresh.  And to understand when that is, you have to make a culture, and feed it, using your own life schedule, and use all of your human senses of observation to get to know the rhythms of your culture.

Like a surfer on a wave, who I imagine has to make many moment-by-moment adjustments of weight on the board, based on what she or he is feeling and observing during the glide, to make bread the Tartine Way is to get into the correct rhythm with your culture.  Get into rhythm with your own life, and what sustains you, both on the surface and deep deep down.  You get the best curls ever, dude.

That is what the Tartine Bread book is all about.  It is therefore not so much about recipes, or a single recipe that might appeal to you: it is about finding your place in the universe.  That sounds kind of zen, kind of west coast-ish, kind of fringe.  The book is not like that at all, of course.  It is entirely practical, pragmatic, but it suggests endless possibilities.  The pictures -- and Robertson's own life -- reveal that you can harness a culture, and bring harmonious art to it.  

The object of the book is for you to find this state of rhythm for yourself.  You can't really be told.  You have to do the observing for yourself, and there is a substantial amount of fun, loving work involved.  Robertson's book -- and especially Wolfinger's pictures within it -- is like a finger pointing to the moon: don't look at the finger, but look, look: there! is the moon.  Shoot for it.

Now begins my own experience in the Way of the Tartine.

I bought the Tartine Bread book based on the suggestion of Josh, one of the sometime readers of my bread blog who is himself a baker, and who has given me tips from time to time.  I first read some of the book while working through the nightshift one long weekend, as my dying patients on the palliative care ward slept comfortably.  

I began to keep notes.  I was going to try this.  But what about all the other bread I wanted to make?  What about the 3 sourdoughs I was already refreshing irregularly, and keeping in the refrigerator?  Would I just let them all go by the wayside, and commit to this Tartine Bread method instead?

It would be several days before my new Tartine Bread Culture was ready to use.  In the meantime, I still had to make bread to eat.  Not to worry: there are still an infinite number of straight dough recipes from OTHER recipe books that one can try, while waiting for the Tartine Culture to become viable for baking.

Mixing the flour

There is a courtship period, using the Tartine method of making a culture, and Robertson does not give specific recipe-like instructions for how it will all work out.  You have to get to know the culture.  You have to literally feel it, mixing it with your hands.  You have to observe it.  Smell it.  Taste it.  And test it like you would test whether a child can swim, by tossing him in the deep end, and keeping a careful eye should he sink.  You have to get to know the environment of the culture: the ambient temperature, the humidity, the movement of air.  You have to learn -- on a visceral level, if possible, using all the body's senses -- the way your culture rises and falls, in relationship with what you do, and what you do with it.

It all sounds very complex, and certainly there are levels of complexity, but Robertson doesn't make it seem so.  Maybe that is the genius of the book after all, that he doesn't overwhelm anyone with the details, but gets right to it.   There is the Authorial Voice I imagine again, and Robertson is standing beside me telling me, "This is your food.  You must establish a relationship with it.  You have to get to know it."

The culture

The next full day I had off, I tossed away all my old sourdough discards that I had been keeping for far too long.  What was I going to do with them?  Pancakes?  You can only eat so many sourdough pancakes.

I did refresh my old starters, but began to wonder if it might be for the last time.  And I mixed up a couple of new starters: one, using only the method outlined in the Tartine Bread book, and another similar one, using only whole wheat flour (and about a half tablespoon of starter from my whole wheat sourdough).  I tried not to think about the fact that this means I've got 5 sourdough starters going at once, 2 rye and 3 whole wheat.

The Tartine Starter:

I obsessed about what kind of container I should use.  Robertson wants us to use a small clear container, so you can see the culture as it forms bubbles.  The first container I selected was far too large.  The next one I chose had too narrow a neck, so I couldn't easily get my hand in.  Finally, I went to the store and purchased a couple of salads, just to get the clear containers that they came in.  I washed them thoroughly and rinsed and dried the containers.

My Tartinesque 100% Whole Wheat Starter, inoculated with a TBSP of my old starter

The Beginning: Side by Side Starters

My cultures moved in.

I was to keep them in my cool cellar, covered with a tea towel for 2 or 3 days.  I couldn't resist peeking, of course.  After all, the whole wheat culture had been inoculated with some starter already, so I expected it to actually ferment much quicker.  Indeed, within a few hours, the whole wheat culture had a thin layer of dark liquid on the top: the hooch was apparently being separated as the culture settled.

I wondered if my new Tartine starter would become viable quicker because it was sitting right next to the other, inoculated culture?  It is possible that because the two containers were side-by-side under the cloth, the new Tartine starter started working quicker, because there were more yeast spores in a concentrated space.  Who knows?

Both Starters under the same cloth

Day 2

On the morning of the second day, I refreshed the whole wheat culture that I had inoculated with my starter, using Robertson's suggestion of throwing away 80% of it.  I weighed the container and kept only 20%; but I refreshed it by eye, and with a handful of whole wheat flour, not weighing the ingredients.

2nd day: the Whole Wheat Starter on the right needs refreshing

2nd day, after refreshing the Whole Wheat starter on the right

Twelve hours after refreshing the Whole Wheat starter on the right (still 2nd day)

I baked a couple of breads this day, but it was simply because I required some bread to take to work with me.  These were sourdough breads, but they were not Tartine Breads.  

I was still thinking about this book and the culture you work with and the breads that one could make with it.

As chance would have it, in the course of my Internet surfing I came upon an article from 1998 by M.G. Gänzle, M. Ehmann and W.P. Hammes from Stuttgart Germany, entitled "Modeling of Growth of Lactobacillus sanfranciscensis and Candida milleri in response to Process Parameters of sourdough fermentation" for Applied and Environmental Microbiology, vol. 64 No. 7, pp. 2616-2623; and I happened to be reading it at the exact same time that I became interested in the Tartine Bread book.  Robertson, in the Tartine Bread book, discusses some of the things that a baker using a culture or a sourdough should look out for:

• There should be a balance between Lactic Acid Bacteria (LAB) and Yeast in the culture.
• These organisms consume different sugars.
• The LAB excrete lactic (C₃H₆O₃)  and acetic acids (CH₃COOH), which provide flavour and aroma to the bread.
• The yeasts produce carbon dioxide (CO₂) during the fermentation which adds uneven crumb, and alcohols (e.g. C₂H₅OH) which add to the aroma.
• The temperature of the starter determines which organisms will thrive, as does the frequency of the feedings.
• The starter should be fed frequently at room temperature (65-75 degrees F) ideally.
• If the temperature is higher, or there is more liquid, Lactic Acid is favoured
• If the temperature is colder, or there is less liquid or more seed starter, Acetic Acid is favoured: this is what you get if you keep your starter in the refrigerator.
• Lactic Acid is sweeter tasting, milder.
• Acetic Acid is more sour, ultimately vinegary.
• When a culture is fed, the temperature of the water determines how long the bulk fermentation will take.

• At the ambient temperature of 55-65 degrees F, an autolyse or bulk ferment will take as long as 12 hours at a water temperature of 65 degrees F.
• At this point, protease enzymes are conditioned and the gluten is maximized.
• We can adjust this by adjusting the temperature of the water: at 80 degrees F, the autolyse may only take 3-4 hours.  
• You may, if it is very cold in the room,  go as high as 90 degrees with your water, but a 2 hour autolyse or bulk fermenting is probably the absolute minimum amount of time you want: too little time, and the gluten is not strengthened; too much time and the protease begins degrading the proteins, or the culture becomes too acidic.

These notes that I've taken from Robertson's book are guidelines of what to look for.  They are not complete, they are not rules.  They are more like hints.  Many of these things that Robertson describes in a vague way, I found, are more accurately depicted Gänzle et. al's article that I was coincidentally reading at the same time I came across Tartine Bread.

Bread Models

What Gänzle, Ehmann and Hammes achieved was a description of the multivariate elements of a sourdough ecology -- pH, temperature, ionic strength (the effect of salt and the ash content), and lactate, acetate and ethanol levels - and their effect on the growth of the main sourdough yeasts and lactobacilli, using mathematical models.  These scientists performed many experiments on the growth of three main fermenters in vitro and they used their data to define curves of growth to find the optimal pH, temperature, etc. for the unseen beasties.  Then they described these curves mathematically.  Finally, they put all the variables together in a single equation, to give the mathematical equation of a sourdough ecology -- what you might find, with any luck, in vivo.

I am impressed with the achievement.  But while they can guide us, these mathematical models are simple roadmaps, they are not the actual journey.  There is an important distinction that must be kept close at hand.  What do I mean?

When Newton was calculating the trajectories of planets, he reduced a planet to a moving point of gravity.  When Pythagoras discovered the properties of right angled triangles, he generalized them to an idealized abstraction.  In real life, there are planetary perturbations, there are pyramidal bases that approximate right angles but do not achieve the ideal.   Since the time of Aristotle, humans tend to break down problems into component pieces and try to make sense of them, returning the pieces into the whole with a new understanding.  And mathematics is a language that enables us to model what happens, in both the deconstruction and the reconstruction.  Our understanding is advanced by elaboration of what equates.

But the point of all models is to hide some details.  No model is reality, it is a description of reality, and it remains true that our models colour our perception of reality.  But by using all your senses, becoming engaged with your starter as the Tartine Bread book recommends, you are building roadmaps in your brain -- roadmaps of perception, of expectation, of symbiosis, with this starter.  Does a mathematical model enhance, or inhibit such interior roadmaps?  Both are models.  Both are related to the real world, but neither are the real world.  

Zen Bread

Some people name their starters: but you might as well name a cloud.  Your starter will change before the name takes root.  Even that which you call your self is as impermanent as a sourdough culture.  Some people name their children.  Before long they too, will, like you, and like all of your ancestors, pass into namelessness.  We perceive patterns in the Infinite Stillness, the Muge that we assume is reality.  But the Ji Ji Muge, back of the patterns, is perfect stillness, and we do not directly perceive it.  This Ji Ji Muge is not a mathematical model, but something else, something intuited as Reality.  When I name it, it is not the Reality I mean.  Anami, the Great Nameless Name, awaits.  And you are that.

Rereading that last paragraph, it sounds like I'm high on exorphins again.  Deep sigh.  Zazen: just sit, and still the mind.  Eat some bread.  Become grounded again.

Before I left for work on the 2nd day (I was working nights), I noticed that my Tartine starter was showing some signs of fermentation.  I would leave it until the next morning to do anything with it, though.

Day 3

I refreshed both the 50:50 Tartine starter this morning when I got home from working the night shift, as well as my whole wheat starter.  The whole wheat starter is wetter; the official Tartine starter is much more glutenous.  It is because I am not careful about how much water and how much flour I put in: I approximate, I mix it by hand, and I am merely aiming for a 'thick batter' in both.  But they are already quite different.

3rd day

3rd day, after refreshing

Still the 3rd day, about 7 hours after being refreshed

There was quite a bit of fermentation on the official Tartine starter, but I would have to say that it wasn't all that pleasant smelling.  It had a scent of spoilage about it, reminiscent of silage, but not as sweetly nourishing.  I wondered if the predominant LAB was the Leukonostoc I had read about.  No matter: the starter was not yet a culture, not yet ready to use.  The really disgusting bacteria would soon die out, replaced by a ecology of balanced good bacteria and yeasts.

My wife was offended that I refused to use a spoon to mix these starters.  Yesterday she came behind me before I could clean up and complained loudly that I touched everything, and it stuck like cement yada yada.  I could not explain to her, that the touch of this dough is important for my visceral understanding of it.  I could not use a spoon, that would deprive me of the skin-feel of this dough, it would remove forever from me the opportunity to touch it as it is right now, to get to know it through my body's tactile sense.  This was important to me: I had to train my brain in the way this dough behaved under my touch.  This was all part of my courtship with the sourdough.

I think she is jealous.

Day 4

The whole wheat starter had a crust and smelled old.  The official Tartine starter smelled a bit Leukenostic still: not very pretty.

4th day, before refreshing

4th day, after refreshing (with discard)

Still the 4th day, about 8 hours after refreshing

Still the 4th day, about 12 hours after refreshing

I refreshed both starters when I got home from the night shift and then fell asleep.  When I awoke, late afternoon, I peeked at them, and again that night before I went back to bed, making the transition from working nights back to working days.  Using the whole wheat starter on the right, I built some leaven for baking a 100% whole wheat bread in the Tartine Style.

Building a Whole Wheat Leaven from Whole Wheat Starter:

This was not a recipe from the Tartine book, but it used Tartine-style methods and Tartine-style amounts of ingredients.  The results of that baking have already been posted by me, here.

Day 5
The Tartine starter was probably ready to bake with today, but my own schedule didn't allow it.  I would have to wait another couple of days.  But I would used that time to ensure that the starer was refreshed well, and built into a fine, bubbly substance.

5th day: the Tartine culture looks more viable than the Whole Wheat culture
(but that is because the Whole Wheat culture had not been refreshed, its refreshment was in the leaven.
This whole wheat culture became a discard)

5th day, after refreshing the Tartine culture

Day 6
Nothing much is different now with these starters.  They are both rising and falling predictably.  I refreshed them as usual.

6th day, after refreshing

Day 7


Today I refreshed the cultures again, noting that the cultures were still fermenting well, rising and falling predictably.  This is the night I prepared the leaven.

Morning of the 7th day, before refreshing

Evening of the 7th day, just before making leaven

I built both an 'official' Tartine leaven using the 'official' Tartine starter, and side-by-side I had my unofficial whole wheat leaven in the Tartine-style that I'd already baked with once.  I wanted to answer the question in my mind: what difference could it make, having whole wheat leaven instead of the 50:50 starter that Tartine uses?  On baking day I would have my answer!

Making the Tartine Leaven

Two leavens, newly mixed, the night before baking

Day 8: Baking Day!

The signs of fermentation in both leavens, early in the morning, had me excited for a fun filled day of baking.

Float Test
One of the biggest questions I had, after baking my 100% whole wheat loaf the other day, in the Tartine-style, was: why didn't my whole wheat leaven pass the Tartine 'float test'?  I wanted to know if it was something wrong with the starter, or if it was the fact that the whole wheat is heavier?  So I conducted a little experiment.  I gently put some of the whole wheat leaven in a glass of water, and it seemed to want to float.  But by the time I grabbed my camera, it had sunk.  The 'official' Tartine leaven, however, stayed afloat.  From this simple experiment, I conclude that both cultures have enough yeast to raise bread, but a whole wheat leaven will not pass the Tartine 'float test'.  Note that this also means that the whole wheat dough raised with the leaven is not going to be quite as airy, or have a crumb that traps quite as much carbon dioxide as the Tartine dough.  It simply never will.


This little experiment reminds me of a question that my cousin Jim was given once in a job interview, after he became an engineer and wanted to build ships: let's say you are in a boat on a small pond, and at the bottom of your boat is a large rock.  If you take the rock and place it over the side of your boat into the pond, will the boat sit higher, or lower, in the water?  You will reason: if I take the rock out of the boat, the boat should sit higher in the water, since it carries less weight; but the rock will also displace the water of the pond, once it is placed in the water: will the water therefore rise, in relation to the boat, or not?


Working with whole wheat starters, one has to find a way to get the gluten strands to trap the carbon dioxide: the balance between wetness required to create the gluten strands (which assumes that the more you have, the better it is), and the wetness that waterlogs the bran (you've added too much) has to be in perfect balance, or that airy crumb will never develop.  I wouldn't worry too much about it, though, because the Tartine folding techniques allow more stretchiness to develop, even in 100% whole wheat doughs, and these techniques even have the potential to trap more air.

Tartine Leaven passes a float test

100% Whole Wheat Leaven doesn't pass float test

The Baking:

Mis en place, two doughs: Tartine and my Whole Wheat

Side by side: Tartine leaven in the water, WW leaven in the water, about to be mixed

Side by side: Everything added but the salt:

Salt added to the Tartine Dough:

Salt added to the Whole Wheat Dough:

A Series of Folds in the Bowl:

The Tartine Dough is divided, formed, and placed in baskets to proof:

Similarly, the 100% dough is divided, formed and placed in (bowls, I ran out of) baskets

Side by Side: The end of the Proofing Stage

I don't own the right sort of dutch ovens that the Tartine Bread book suggests ought to be used -- yet.  I am merely baking in some casserole dishes.  The one casserole dish is obviously far too tiny.  But, one uses what one has.  The whole wheat loaves had to be squeezed into dishes, too.

All 4 loaves

The Crumb of the Tartine Loaf:

This bread is for you, sweetie

Notes to Myself

• Bread models enhance our understanding, but they do not put one into a closer contact with the reality of a living, growing, vibrant wild yeast culture.  That requires hands-on experience, but not one's hands alone: use all your senses, use all your intuition.  This is your food, learn to exist in harmony with it.
• The basic bread recipes in this book are crying out for further experimentation.  I have made a fig and almond loaf, instead of an olive loaf, for example.  I have used the techniques with spelt flour.  I have made 100% whole wheat versions.  I have made leavenless bread (i.e. instead of carefully elaborated leaven, I have made a Tartine-like bread out of what would otherwise have been sourdough discard).  The Polenta Loaf recipe actually suggests that you try lots of other grains.  The herb possibilities make an endless labyrinth of choices.  Robertson doesn't tell you everything you can try.  You can immediately trial loaves that he and every other person in the world hasn't possibly heard of yet.  They won't be as good as the ones Robertson tells you how to make, perhaps -- certainly not the first few attempts.  But this book invites experimentation, and inspires you to try.  What more do you want, in a bread book?
• I've been watching all the Tartine Videos I could find:
• Tartine Bread (best video)
• Wolfinger photographs Tartine Sessions
• Robertson promoting Tartine Bread at Book Signing (audio low)
• Wolfinger explains the Tartine Loaf to Peter Reinhart
• Wolfinger makes a pizza for Reinhart out of the Tartine Dough
• James the Travel Guy visits Tartine Bar (not the bakery)
• A tourist visits Tartine and buys a half loaf of sourdough bread 
• PizzaHacker's FrankenWebber: a Tartine Bread Book tester makes pizza
• Thanks, Chad and Eric!