While there will be money coming back this year from the IRS (which simply means we did not caclulate our deductions deftly enough) the two universities we are currently supporting will inherit that windfall directly.  You're welcome. 

Counting pennies doesn't mean we suffer, mind you. I am reminded of my honeymoon.  We had nothing to speak of,  my new husband and I, save each other.  But we scraped and schemed a way to get to Europe.   It was a first for both of us.  Iceland Air and a cheap rental car made it all possible.  We spent 17 days on  the Farwell Forced March. (I would learn--God love him--that it was my husband's signature travel style.)  Consider: Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, France, England, Belgium, Luxembourg.  I know.  It was dizzying. 

Once we found our way to Cannes, I was done.  Really, I needed to stay.  But then I would have missed the best meal of my life in Lyon, not to mention the bread and chocolate in Paris.  Farwell wants me to point out the brilliance of his method at this point.  I won't do it.  I will say that we bonded over the bread, (fresh, crusty, chewy bread made by people who took their craft seriously) as the  miracle meal-maker for cash-challenged sojourners.  

Bread, as it turned out, combined with meats for meals or chocolate for dessert (along with wine from a gas station, any gas station, wine that  shamed most supermarket selections of that time in the U.S.) got us through our tour deliciously and cheaply enough to leave money for the occasional splurge.  

We reminisced today, the Farwell and I, over crusty bread with dark melted chocolate.   We sat on the back porch in the warm afternoon sun, and while we are  23 years out from that honeymoon,  those flavors vacuumed up the time.  Best of all, having made the bread myself, our dessert was cheaper than when we'd first encountered it in 1987.

The cost of the flour and yeast was about 30 cents, the portion of chocolate used 50 cents,  which means that for 40 cents a piece we savored something decadent and redolent of the richness of our lives.   

You're saying, sure it was cheap, but that kind of bread is a major pain in the derriere.  Mais non!  I was recently introduced to a brilliant, no-fuss no-knead method for making crusty, Parisian-style bread.  It's seriously the easiest and most delicious bread I've ever made.  The proof?   I bake it once or twice a week now.   The trick is time and the clever use of a very hot dutch oven.  

This recipe came to me by way of the fabulous Tom Philpott, a writer with whom I work.  He cadged the recipe from the New York Times.  

Need incentive?  Below are pictures of the bread in the ductch oven and out of the oven.   I spent a total of 10 active minutes on this.   No merde.