Breadcrumb Trail

Because I live alone, and it's a Sunday, and I've already seen the best movie at the nearest cineplex ("Inglourious Basterds," which is the most horrible thing I've seen all year, and, on second thought, probably doesn't hold a candle to "G.I. Joe," which is on two screens), I'll be the third to post something, embarrassing as the facts of life are.

I made bread this weekend, for the second time. The simplest possible recipe: Gold Medal's Better For Bread™ Flour, Hain Pure Foods' Iodized Sea Salt, and 1/4 oz. packet of Fleischmann's RapidRise™ Highly Active Yeast. If you do it by hand like I did, and not mixer or food processor, which most people recommend, it's a satisfying, medieval sort of process since the above ingredients, in non-branded form, have been around for millenia and used in exactly the same way. The mixing is simple enough: throw 168 parts flour, 48 parts water and two parts each salt and yeast into a bowl and mix (3 1/2 cups flour, 1 cup water, two teaspoons salt and yeast: Bittman's recipe. I'll out myself as the friend.) You'll think you have too much flour at first, but you don't. After about 5-10 minutes with your right bicep and a wooden spoon it'll get clumpy and begin to all congeal together, at which point you start to knead. (I don't know how to explain kneading without visuals, but it's mostly a process of folding the dough in on itself over and over again.) And this is, I suppose, the point that separates the men from the boys (or the heroes from the zeroes, or whatever) because you have to decide what is moist enough but not too dry, adding flour or water commensurately. Twice through, I have no fucking clue. Suffice to say I've gotten to the point where my dough is what I consider "good enough" -- smooth but fairly moist -- at which point I put it back in the mixing bowl and let it sit, covered for 2-3 hours at room temperature, while it's supposed to rise.

And it is at this point in the process where, two times out, I've ruined what could've been decent bread by not waiting long enough for the rise. The first by just putting in the oven, because I was drunk and rash. The second time (last night) by allowing for the requisite 2-3 hours, but not allowing for another hour or two for it to rise after shaping the bread for the oven. I've had a little less than 24 hours to think about these mistakes and mostly shudder. The resulting boulé, cooked at 375 degrees for about 55 minutes, was not inedible -- tasted fine -- but dense as hell. Each portion the size of crouton felt like swallowing a rock. I don't have pictures, because I'm compulsive, and might have already eaten it all.

All to say: be patient and let that shit rise. My mom was no help. I'm certain the third loaf (likely next weekend), will, at the very least, be airier. At around 3:30 p.m., I looked like the guy below, with colored hair and Eugene O'Neill instead of the God stuff.