This site has now been retired. I've moved to my new site Silverknife, where you'll find new blog posts and all my latest projects and photos. These pages will remain for at least a while, as I know some of you are still looking through the archives, but I'm reposting my travel journals and many other articles on the new site. Come and check it out.
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Yeah, okay, so this is pretty much a blog now. I am a blogger. I blog. Blogging occurs here. Experience the bloggitude. Etc.
Following on from yesterday's entry about skills (specifically the awesomeness of independent skills), we move on to bread. Making bread is a very much maligned skill in the modern world, mostly down to Hovis et al spending millions of pounds convincing us that what we really need is something squishy in a foil bag which doesn't go off for 6 months. Bread-making has been safely partitioned off into a category of skills which is very useful to those who don't want us to become independent of huge corporate interests. (Namely - the huge corporate interests themselves. And all the politicians they are buying off.) It's a category for skills that "are, in their own way, wonderful things. But they're old-fashioned. They take too long. They're not really practical in the modern world. They're not really economical. They're the kind of things old people do". And so on and so on.
Throughout our lives we have been trained to believe that people fall into neat categories. You're an executive. Or you're a technology geek. Or you're a mum. Or a blue-collar worker. Or a student. Or a tramp. We are made to feel that these divisions are natural, and that when we cross over the boundaries of our category we are made to feel very uncomfortable. That applies even when the boundary-crossing would be an unproblematically positive thing - a mum who joins an open university course, or a technology geek who gets an allotment. Once we've crossed a boundary, we feel uncomfortable until we have established a new category for ourselves. It's noteable that the people who are made most uncomfortable by us breaking out of our categories are also the people who sell us so much of our worldview - the print and TV media. The media like to have a limited set of stories about each topic - geek develops a wacky gadget, executive lives for job, tramp arrested for being disgusting. It's simpler in that way to keep our convenient worldview in shape - they can just keep replaying the stories with slight variations in characters or emphasis, and they know we'll enjoy them, and react positively to them, because they've already told us what we like.
Back to bread, which is of course in it's own safe category as a thing that old people and people in the past did, but which doesn't really fit any of our nice modern personal categories. Mums are too busy, technology geeks can't cook anything except stirfry, blue collar workers eat ready meals unless their wife cooks for them, etc. etc. I'm sure you've already gathered my point, and in case you haven't, my point is FUCK ALL THAT. The very fact that we're not expected to make bread is enough reason to do it. If you need more reasons...
A sidenote: Bread machines. Absolutely nothing against them in principle. Some people just can't be bothered with that 10 minutes of work, or believe they don't have time. And the bread they turn out is every bit as good as what you could make by hand. But to me, there's still that niggling thing that you're not actually learning a skill, at least not an independent one. Thrown out in a more primitive society, your ability to pour ingredients and push a button would have no use. Real bread skills work without electricity too.
Rustico article, explaining all about the science of breadmaking. Really good stuff.
Flour Advisory Bureau (don't laugh) article, with more excellent general tips.
About.com's terrifyingly thorough bread recipe section.
Which requires a brief disclaimer. My basic crusty white bread recipe is tried and tested, indestructible, bulletproof and works every time, literally week after week in a row. Until I broke it. I started mucking about with the volumes trying to get a bigger loaf and just couldn't get it right, the consistency went all to hell. Then I lost the original bulletproof version [sob]. So this is currently recreated from memory, and has only been tested once - it came out pretty much okay but didn't rise all the way. I think that was my yeast though.
Hey, I never claimed bread was always easy, just worth the effort. Try it and see. But first read the Rustico and Flour Board articles. If something goes wrong, they will help you understand what and how to fix it.
This recipe uses a mixture of plain flour and bread flour, which I've found gives a consistency I really like (soft inside, good texture, nice crust). You can play with the quantities as you wish once you get the basic idea down.
Mix those up in a bowl, and let them sit until a big gob of gunk floats to the top - that means your yeast has bloomed. Meanwhile, whack all the following in a bowl and mix together, or if you're doing it the easy way dump them in a food processor and run it for a minute or so:
Once the yeast has bloomed, pour that mixture into the bowl or food processor with the rest of the ingredients and mix a bit more. Then add 1 and a half cups of plain flour, and either mix or turn out and knead on a floured surface for a good few minutes. This is the important stage, where you're developing vital elasticity in the dough.
Now just oil your bread tin, shape the dough into a sausage shape about the length of the tin and put it in the bottom, and put it somewhere warm to rise. If you don't have somewhere warm, turn on the oven for a minute or so then turn if off again (how many times have I forgotten to do that!) and put the tin in there. Preferably put a container of water in there with it, to make sure it doesn't dry out too much. Give it roughly an hour, then punch it down (literally thump it a couple of times with your fist - if you wet your fist first you don't get dough stuck to it) and give it another half hour to rise again. Then bake it at about 200 on an electric oven, which I think is about gas mark 6. I won't give you a cooking time, the only way to tell it's done is when it's a nice deep golden colour, and if you turn it out and tap the bottom it sounds hollow. It takes somewhere around a half hour usually - your oven may vary. Then give it at least a full hour on a wire rack or improvised equivalent to cool right through. If you cut into it while it's still warm (and it will be tempting the first time!) all the crumb (the soft inside) will squash and come away from the crust and your bread will be ruined.
Okay that's enough about bread now.
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