Dear bread lovers,
I was kneading the other night and I reflected on how each style
bread I do requires a different way to hand-le it.
You must be vigorous with crocodile bread, but with splayed fingers
and more tearing, like teeth.
A brioche requires much more time but you can beat it into the marble
kneading table like a French peasant would an errant queen.
The oat brans and gurus are feel-good doughs and so popular I usually
end up doing insane amounts. Can you imagine heaving overhead almost
10kg of dough and crashing it onto the table to stimulate gluten production?
Sourdough is so enigmatic. In its most orthodox state, with
absolutely no yeast booster, you almost have to plead it to rise and
of course have to know how much to knead, how hard and with how much strength.
Whenever I do bialys or onion bread I get these images in my head of
New York´s lower East side. Rivington street or Bowery, with bands of
wild street artists and Spanish speakers mixed in with the old school
immigrant population.
One of my favorites is challah. A change comes about in that one
about three quarters of the way through. The clumps disappear and it
becomes almost silky. It is at that point that the tiny hairs of
saffron begin to release a blood red color and odor, which dissipates
out into the dough and gives it an unmistakable flavor.
Since no one we know is the inventor of that bread of ages it is easy
to imagine it came from the higher power itself, and I almost always
take a pause for reflection when I´m done.
So like, I was thinking of all these qualities and I realized that
even though I am far from Luddite, I don´t see myself ever purchasing
an electric mixer.
Baked love,
Mike in Havana
(mikesbread@gmail.com)