My Very First Loaf…and Maybe Yours

A baked loaf

I have a lot of friends who are at home right now, sheltering in place with their kids. (Don’t we all.) Some have expressed an interest in doing some bread baking, so, I thought I’d share a recipe for the first bread that I ever baked, which is both simple to make, and doesn’t require any fancy equipment, other than a couple of loaf pans and a bowl to mix in.

I baked my first loaf of bread when I was probably 19 years old. I was living in San Francisco and working cooking soup at a restaurant in the theater district. Walking home from work one day I stopped into a little bookstore on Geary near Taylor and bought my first bread baking book, “Baking Bread The Way Mom Taught Me”, by Mary Anne Gross. Miraculously, I still have my copy.

Cover
My original copy
A well loved recipe
A well loved recipe

I don’t remember if I was specifically looking for a bread book, but I do know that I had recently become interested in bread baking when, along with other people from the restaurant, I went on a tour of a new bakery that was trying to solicit our business. Almost forty years later I still remember that amazing smell of fresh baked bread. I remember the huge walk-in refrigerators and proofers and ovens. (I’m not sure, in retrospect, that the ovens were really walk-in, but that is my recollection).

The bakers at this bakery had come over from France and told us about French baking techniques, and the difference between the French flour they imported for their bread, and flour from the U.S. To this day I remember their rolls, which we did end selling, which were soft and sweet on the inside, with a delicate, crispy crust that crackled when you bit into it. I think I lived on those rolls and lots of espresso for a couple of years.

loaves in a pan
Fresh out of the oven

My interest in bread had been awoken, and when I walked out of that book store with a book about making bread I could feel the beginning of a new obsession…one that is still going strong after almost forty years.

Being a completist I decided to start at the beginning and bake my way through the book. The first recipe is for “Milk and Honey Bread”, which for years was my go-to bread. It’s soft and sweet and delicious simply toasted with butter (or peanut butter) on it, or as the bread (read: most important) part of a sandwich. If you like cinnamon bread, you can also bake it with a swirl of butter and cinnamon sugar.

Don’t expect these loaves to survive for long.

Note: I’ve learned a lot about bread baking over the years, and first on the list is the importance of weighing your ingredients. However, back in the day we didn’t all have scales, we just used measuring cups and measuring spoons and the bread was still delicious. So, in the spirit of simplicity and beginning at the beginning, I’m sharing this recipe in its original format. Now that I’ve found this recipe again, I will at some point convert everything to weights and put up that version. But for now, a bake down memory lane.

Ingredients
Milk and Honey Bread – Ingredients ready to go

Milk and Honey Bread
based on a recipe by Mary Anne Gross

1 package instant yeast
1 Tablespoon Honey
1/4 C Lukewarm Water
2 C Whole Milk
1/4 C Butter
1/3 C Honey
2 teaspoons Sea Salt
8 C Unbleached All-Purpose Flour
2 Eggs
3 teaspoons oil (to oil bowl)
1 Egg slightly beaten with 2 Tablespoons Milk (to brush on before baking)

Yield: 2 loaves

And out of the pans

Note: The original recipe uses active dry yeast and mixes the yeast with water and honey and waits for it to foam (proofing the yeast). I use instant yeast which you can mix directly into the dough without proofing it first. If you have active dry yeast, then proof it before adding it to the recipe.

  1. Heat milk and butter over medium heat until butter is melted. Pour into large mixing bowl.
  2. Add the honey, salt, and 2 cups of flour and beat for a few minutes.
  3. When the mixture is lukewarm, stir in yeast and eggs.
  4. Mix in 5 cups of flour, 1 cup at a time, mixing the flour in after each addition.
  5. Knead for about 10 minutes until the dough is smooth, elastic and not sticky. Use the last cup of flour while you knead to keep the dough from being too sticky. You don’t need to add all of this last cup, just enough to get the proper texture. There’s a video link below on how to knead.
  6. Make the dough into a neat ball and roll in 2 teaspoons of oil in the bowl that you are going to rise it in. Cover with a clean towel and let rise for 1 1/2 hours in a room that is not freezing cold or super hot (in the 70s).
  7. Take the dough out of the bowl, topside down, and gently press it down into a circle, not so hard that you press out all of the air. Gather up the sides and make it back into a ball, roll in remaining 1 tsp of oil, and let rise for about 1 hour. It is done when you press a flour covered finger into the dough and it bounces back gently. If it bounces back too strong, it’s not done yet, if it doesn’t bounce back at all, it’s probably over-proofed.
  8. Preheat the oven to 350.
  9. Form two loaves and place them in buttered 9x5x3 inch loaf pans. Cover with a cloth and let rise for about 30 minutes. You can use the same test as above to test when they are ready to bake. (See video below about how to form loaves, if you want. Or just cut the dough into two equal pieces, roll them up into something that resembles a loaf, and put it in the buttered pan to rise.)
  10. Brush the tops of the risen loaf with egg-milk mixture.
  11. Bake for 35 minutes, until it’s nicely browned.
  12. Cool on wire rack.

Here’s a video from King Arthur Flour about how to knead dough. There are a number of different techniques, so if you are bored you can search YouTube for bread kneading videos.

Here is a video from King Arthur Flour about how to shape and bake a basic white loaf.

I hope you enjoy this loaf as much as I did way back then…and – as he stuffs a slice of buttered toast in his mouth – as much as I am now.

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Bread in the time of Corona – Part 1

Fougasse1

Normally I would say that paying attention to your bread at every stage, and being present when it’s time to take action, are two of the most important qualities in a baker. Bread dough is a living thing and, if you are listening, it will tell you how it’s doing and what it needs. The key is to be able to pay attention, to listen (metaphorically), to what the bread needs, and then to do that thing.

To say that I was distracted and not paying attention, and not present when I needed to be during my last bake is a fantastic understatement. As seems to be clear at the moment, the world has been turned upside down and everything is not the way we thought it was a couple of months ago, and as a result of my being completely distracted and not present when things needed to happen, I made one of the best loaves I’ve ever made.

Counterintuitive, but true.

Fougasse
Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

I’ve been doing some recipe testing for Fougasse, a wonderful French flatbread. First day I made a loaf using a Paté Fermenté (a kind of pre-ferment). Day two, yesterday, was going to be another test using a sourdough as a pre-ferment (as opposed to sourdough as the leavening agent). I had prepared the levain the night before so I would be ready to go in the morning.

Enter reality…

Because of the spread of the novel coronavirus, most of the Bay Area counties had been given “Shelter In Place” orders the previous day, and rumor had it that it was going to happen to us here in Sonoma County soon, so I wanted to get all of my “out in public” things done before the lockdown. My 84 year old mother needed some food and medicine picked up, and since they are recommending people over 65 stay in as much as possible, I was clearly going to spend the day errand running (which I was happy to do, mom).

levain
Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

My levain – which was looking perfect and ready to go – sadly had to hold on until later. I popped it into the fridge as I headed out the door. This is something I never do; I never retard a levain. When the levain is at that perfect moment it wants to be used (as do we all). But retarding in the fridge slows fermentation down, and since I don’t like throwing things out, I figured I’d just see where the levain was when I got home and figure out what I was going to do then.

Off I went into battle with seemingly all of Sonoma county, trying to buy whatever they could before the world came to an end. At least that’s what it felt like.

Six hours later I was home again and after a thorough decontamination, I pulled my levain out of the fridge to finish what I’d started the night before. Sad face. It was definitely a bit over-fermented – a little too acidic and starting to collapse a bit – but not to be deterred, I decided to proceed.

Bread prep
Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

I put the dough together, put it in it’s tub for bulk fermentation, and sat down to obsessively read about coronavirus. The bulk fermentation was supposed to be around two hours, so I set a timer for 90 minutes (I always set the timer early so I don’t miss The Moment).

I don’t know what happened, either I hadn’t actually set the timer, or it went off and I was just too distracted to notice (wouldn’t be the first time). Two-and-a-half hours later I looked up and let out an expletive when I realized that I had forgotten all about my dough and it had over-fermented, once again.

Again, like the levain, it wasn’t too bad, and I figured I’d continue on. I wasn’t expecting much out of this loaf, but even bad fresh bread is better than no fresh bread.

As I put the bread in the oven, it was clearly over proofed, wet and slack and flattening out before my eyes. “Crackers are good too”, I said to myself.

over proofed
Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

But in the oven it transformed into something beautiful and unexpected. The parts that completely degassed got crunchy while some of thicker bits, while they didn’t get a lot of oven bounce, were certainly soft and delicious. The cheese, which I had cut into cubes rather than grate, pushed to the surface and crisped up like fried cheese (something I’m particularly fond of).

Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

These loaves were a lovely gift at the end of a long day, and a reminder that sometimes not being in control gives you something beautiful and unexpected. I find this a useful reminder in difficult times when I am particularly aware that we don’t have much control over anything.

Now I have to figure out how to make them again intentionally.

Be safe everyone.

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Desert Bread Is Magic!

desert magic

I’ve always said that I love baking bread because it’s like magic. You add a bunch of ingredients together in a particular order, mixing or folding it in a particular way and at a particular temperature, you let it rise for just the right length of time, then you put it in the oven and…

Desert sourdough just out of the wood burning oven. Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

…you get something amazing, beautiful and delicious to eat.

It’s not like making soup, where if it’s not quite right you can dabble with it, adding this and that, until you have it just right. Bread baking is all about preparation and performance.

But baking bread in the desert has an extra added ingredient, but you have to spend some time in the desert to get it.

The desert is the place where life and death are separated by a hair’s-breadth. It’s a place where you feel the primal pressure of day and night, sun and moon, and your rhythms of sleep and wakefulness quickly fall in line. It’s a place where the night sky seems alive with stars. It’s a place where the quiet can be deafening.

Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

When you first look out across the desert landscape you may see nothing but sand and more sand. But if you are patient, and give it some time for your attention to sharpen and shift, you get your desert eyes (and ears, and nose). And once you get your desert eyes, you realize that the desert – which at first appears completely dead – is teeming with life of all kinds.

A similar thing happens as you get your bakers’ eyes. Bread dough, especially when you are working with wild yeast and a long, slow rise, can seem like a dead lump of flour. But your baker’s senses know otherwise. The subtle signs of life appear like the first desert growth after the rains. It’s almost imperceptible, but there is a subtle lift, a slight change in the smell, a certain quality almost below perception that tells you that your bread is alive.

Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

And with patience and the right conditions that little hint of life bursts forth into a beautiful finished loaf.

Image © 2020 David Rubinstein

To experience the magic of coaxing flour, salt, water, mixed with wild yeast and bacteria into a beautiful loaf of bread, while looking out over the exquisite desert landscape, is to experience the wonder of life as a miracle.

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