Basic bread. That’s all I wanted to make. Nothing crazy. Not baguettes or sourdough or ciabatta or bagels, although that makes more sense, knowing me. Just a crusty bread at altitude. But successfully producing something so simple proved elusive. Pun intended.

Several years ago I made the unwise decision to attempt a first-ever loaf of homemade bread after a full day of holiday baking. I pictured the heavenly, crusty boule of Kalamata olive bread that my friend Laurel’s neighbors made to share with us, back when she lived in Corvallis, Oregon.

What I wrought in Boulder was closer to hell.