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Baking bread
Jun. 3rd, 2001 04:08 pmFirst rising. Right now, on top of my refrigerator (it's a good, warm, out-of-the-way place), little one-celled organisms are doing all the work of bread baking for me. In an hour, my little lump of dough will be twice as big as it is now, ready to be shaped.
Bread baking is good for the soul. I don't do it enough, because I have this conception that it takes a long time. And yes, from water, yeast and flour, it takes four to six hours to get to the bread-in-your-mouth stage. But inside that, you mostly have rest time while the yeast does all the work. When this bread has risen, I'll take it out of the bowl, knead it, and shape it into rolls or braids. Then it will rise again; that's another hour I'll have to read or write or practice or talk to my son. After that, it's 20 minutes to bread. =)
I don't even have to take the whole second rising period. I can cut it short, because I'm baking hearth bread tonight and it doesn't have to be light, like French bread would be. I can shape it and just hang out for a little bit. Now's the time to decide what shape to make the bread, too. Do I make rolls? Or do I make impressive-looking but easier braids? Or should I chuck all that and just bake loaves? Decisions, decisions. Mm. I think I'll braid it into a dozen braided rolls, then sprinkle everything with poppy seeds. Yeah. That will be good.
I've always had romantic notions about bread baking. The baking process is long, and bread itself is so full of little life reminders about doing things right or having them come out badly. For the longest time, I tried to make bread. Sometimes it would work and sometimes it wouldn't. I spent lots of time trying to perfect my technique, and nothing seemed to make it consistent. Sometimes it would work, sometimes it wouldn't.
I followed those recipes exactly, and things didn't come out the same way twice, ever. I'd almost chalked it up to voodoo or weather, when a book came across my desk.
I was working at a small, weekly newspaper in Alabama. It was a terrible newspaper, run by idiots, mostly a gossip rag, but because they were a newspaper, they got books in to review. For whatever reason, a publisher sent them a copy of The King Arthur Flour Cookbook. The King Arthur Flour Cookbook changed my approach to baking, changed the way I thought about cooking, changed my life in a measurable way.
It's the only cookbook I've ever read cover-to-cover, the way I would read a novel. I learned how to measure flour. I'll bet you didn't know there was a trick to it. I learned the chemistry behind baking, how to make yeast happy, how to use different kinds of grains. There were stories about bread in history, how different kinds of bread were arrived at; everything from breakfast scones to fancy European cookies, explained in a way that made sense to me.
So I took that cookbook home, without the editor's permission, and I baked two loaves of bread. My mother and boyfriend watched in bemused wonder as I measured flour into measuring cups with spoons, timed the yeast expansion, kneaded, washed up, and kneaded again, then let it rise, shaped it, let it rise again. I didn't do anything fancy, just made two plain loaves of bread.
When I was done, I had two plain loaves of bread. Two perfect loaves of bread. My mother's eyes lit up as she bit into the first piece. My boyfriend said it was all right (he wasn't exactly effusive). My son threw it on the floor, but then he was at that stage.
Since then, I've baked a lot of bread. I baked wedding bread for our wedding; we had bread instead of cake. It was marvelous. I used to try to bake a loaf of bread every week, but the whole time thing started to get to me and I don't do it as much these days.
Still, I would not be able to give it up. Sometimes, I just have to bake a loaf of bread. No matter what my Adkins-diet friends say, there is something special about bread, something beyond food value, something about lots of things working together to produce satisfying, filling food. I could not ever give it up, baking bread. I love the smell of yeast expanding. I love to watch the dough taking shape. I love kneading the bread. I make up songs while I'm doing it. I think about things. I watch the loaf take shape, feel the gluten harden under my fingers, think of my grandmother and her grandmother, the floured board, the slapping of dough on the surface, the repetitive, meditative, shape of life. I love choosing the different shapes my bread will go in, and that shape will never be a cylinder (goddamn bread machines). I love putting a pan of water in the oven to make the bread steam. I love the smell of bread baking, pulling hot bread apart with my fingers, anointing it with butter, the first taste.
Did the King Arthur Flour Cookbook teach me all this? No, but it did show me what I'd been doing wrong all along. It allowed me to experience this. And yeah, I buy their flour whenever I can get it. Not living in New England, it's not always all that easy to find. But I do find it, and when I have it, I always want to bake bread. I tell people I buy it for the label, and really that's part of it too. But mostly, it's because that book taught me how to bake bread.
Visit the King Arthur Flour Company
Bread baking is good for the soul. I don't do it enough, because I have this conception that it takes a long time. And yes, from water, yeast and flour, it takes four to six hours to get to the bread-in-your-mouth stage. But inside that, you mostly have rest time while the yeast does all the work. When this bread has risen, I'll take it out of the bowl, knead it, and shape it into rolls or braids. Then it will rise again; that's another hour I'll have to read or write or practice or talk to my son. After that, it's 20 minutes to bread. =)
I don't even have to take the whole second rising period. I can cut it short, because I'm baking hearth bread tonight and it doesn't have to be light, like French bread would be. I can shape it and just hang out for a little bit. Now's the time to decide what shape to make the bread, too. Do I make rolls? Or do I make impressive-looking but easier braids? Or should I chuck all that and just bake loaves? Decisions, decisions. Mm. I think I'll braid it into a dozen braided rolls, then sprinkle everything with poppy seeds. Yeah. That will be good.
I've always had romantic notions about bread baking. The baking process is long, and bread itself is so full of little life reminders about doing things right or having them come out badly. For the longest time, I tried to make bread. Sometimes it would work and sometimes it wouldn't. I spent lots of time trying to perfect my technique, and nothing seemed to make it consistent. Sometimes it would work, sometimes it wouldn't.
I followed those recipes exactly, and things didn't come out the same way twice, ever. I'd almost chalked it up to voodoo or weather, when a book came across my desk.
I was working at a small, weekly newspaper in Alabama. It was a terrible newspaper, run by idiots, mostly a gossip rag, but because they were a newspaper, they got books in to review. For whatever reason, a publisher sent them a copy of The King Arthur Flour Cookbook. The King Arthur Flour Cookbook changed my approach to baking, changed the way I thought about cooking, changed my life in a measurable way.
It's the only cookbook I've ever read cover-to-cover, the way I would read a novel. I learned how to measure flour. I'll bet you didn't know there was a trick to it. I learned the chemistry behind baking, how to make yeast happy, how to use different kinds of grains. There were stories about bread in history, how different kinds of bread were arrived at; everything from breakfast scones to fancy European cookies, explained in a way that made sense to me.
So I took that cookbook home, without the editor's permission, and I baked two loaves of bread. My mother and boyfriend watched in bemused wonder as I measured flour into measuring cups with spoons, timed the yeast expansion, kneaded, washed up, and kneaded again, then let it rise, shaped it, let it rise again. I didn't do anything fancy, just made two plain loaves of bread.
When I was done, I had two plain loaves of bread. Two perfect loaves of bread. My mother's eyes lit up as she bit into the first piece. My boyfriend said it was all right (he wasn't exactly effusive). My son threw it on the floor, but then he was at that stage.
Since then, I've baked a lot of bread. I baked wedding bread for our wedding; we had bread instead of cake. It was marvelous. I used to try to bake a loaf of bread every week, but the whole time thing started to get to me and I don't do it as much these days.
Still, I would not be able to give it up. Sometimes, I just have to bake a loaf of bread. No matter what my Adkins-diet friends say, there is something special about bread, something beyond food value, something about lots of things working together to produce satisfying, filling food. I could not ever give it up, baking bread. I love the smell of yeast expanding. I love to watch the dough taking shape. I love kneading the bread. I make up songs while I'm doing it. I think about things. I watch the loaf take shape, feel the gluten harden under my fingers, think of my grandmother and her grandmother, the floured board, the slapping of dough on the surface, the repetitive, meditative, shape of life. I love choosing the different shapes my bread will go in, and that shape will never be a cylinder (goddamn bread machines). I love putting a pan of water in the oven to make the bread steam. I love the smell of bread baking, pulling hot bread apart with my fingers, anointing it with butter, the first taste.
Did the King Arthur Flour Cookbook teach me all this? No, but it did show me what I'd been doing wrong all along. It allowed me to experience this. And yeah, I buy their flour whenever I can get it. Not living in New England, it's not always all that easy to find. But I do find it, and when I have it, I always want to bake bread. I tell people I buy it for the label, and really that's part of it too. But mostly, it's because that book taught me how to bake bread.
Visit the King Arthur Flour Company
