So, you've finished your base, built it solidly, let it all set nicely. The next stage is the dome. Jeavons suggests you "...start thinking of fresh-baked bread and your favourite pizza about now."
Do. It'll help, I swear.
You need about 100 bricks for the dome, each cut in half. There's an art to bolster-cutting (as opposed to machine-cutting) bricks, but as I was only there to photograph the aftermath, I cannot tell you what's involved. Peter tells me it's easier than you think, and far easier than Jeavons makes it out to be in the book. Be not afraid, therefore, of the cheaper, more physical option.
Our floor is recycled pavers, which make a great flat surface to cook on. That's the easy part.
We had a steel arch made (the plans are in the book) for the oven door. "Have it made at your local metal fabricator or bash out your own at home." If you read that sentence (as did I) and thought, "what the? local metal fabricator??!!", let me assure you that The Renovators Goldmine in Trentham can help. Phew.
Then, you lay courses of half-bricks around the dome, rough-side out, backfilling with mortar, and angling each up a little as you go. About halfway through, you'll be feeling great, looking on it at the end of the day with pride.
Then - OY - you get to the part where you start to worry about your sanity, and WISH that your partner wouldn't be so damned afraid of following rules. Believe me. Bricks, being heavy, even when cut in half, do not like to defy the laws of gravity.
This is the part of the process when I got a little peeved with Mr Jeavons. Peter had already lost it with his extremely casual approach a number of times - I think this guy's a bit of a knob - but I found his description of how to make the bricks meet at the top altogether too brief. Anyway, we fudged it and, using cardboard boxes and straw to form a kind of dome inside, layed the bricks - with a lot of angst - and finished the damned thing.
We crossed our fingers...then I noticed that Peter NO LONGER HAD ANY FINGERS. The mortar, combined with the sharp bricks, had eaten through his gloves and completely eaten away his fingertips. Mine were a bit rough and really sore, but his...fark. He was shaking...a brave man, mine.
Some of us needed a good lie down to recover.
Others, namely me, decided to make chicken soup.
And even though the onions and garlic stung my fingers so much that I sobbed, it was worth every second, 'cos everyone knows that chicken soup is Jewish penicillin, right?
chicken soup, for a man who left his fingers in the wall of an oven
Take one good chook, give it a rinse, and pat it dry with kitchen paper. Place it in a large pot, cover with cold water and add chopped carrots, celery, onions, a head of garlic, lots of herbs (especially bay - bay is really nice, here) and a good lot of salt and whole peppercorns. Bring slowly to the boil, lower your heat to the odd rising burble and simmer as such for 2 hours, more if you like. Turn the bird halfway through, at which time I added quite a lot of lemon balm (bloody-bloody invasive-bloody lemon balm) and was glad I did.
Strain, pressing down with a wooden spoon to release all that goodness, and reserve some of the flesh for serving with the soup. Save the rest for the children who will, when they turn up late on Easter Sunday, tell you they've, "gone off chicken" as they've, "had it all Passover at mum's". Serve it to the dog instead, who has not.
You know what? Next day, we gingerly pulled the boxes and straw out...it worked! Gravity-defied!! Well. All worth it, thank you Mr Jeavons. All is forgiven. For now...
