That’s really what this whole endeavor is about for me, actually. My successes keep me from being too disheartened from my failures. And amazingly, one of my consistent successes lately has been bread. Until today.
I have always been intrigued by this idea of baking all of one’s own bread. I’m not sure why but there is a whole lot of emotion tied up in homemade bread for me. It just seems so rustic, and lovely, and…unattainable. Only fancy people bake bread at all, I thought. And only REALLY fancy people bake all their own bread, every week. The concept seemed truly laughable.
People: I now bake all my own bread.
I know that I am late to the table on this whole No-Knead phenomenon. Everyone’s been doing it for ages. Well, I haven’t. I’ve been doing it for a month and I am ecstatic. I, in all my half-assedness, am capable of baking bread for my family every week. And, oooohhh, this bread. Not only is it easy, even fun, to make, but it truly rivals a five dollar loaf from a fancy bakery. I won’t give you the directions, because it’s not my recipe, but I advise you, if you have any bread-making aspirations at all to follow the link and give it a go.
For me, I tend to mix up the dough on a Sunday night. It literally takes all of two minutes, and you get this nice shaggy dough. Everyone says shaggy…the recipe says shaggy, blogs all say shaggy. You know why? Because the dough is shaggy. I just can’t think how else to describe it.
I leave it overnight, go off to school in the morning, come home for lunch and do the rest. This is where I’m probably losing some of you, because you have full time jobs and are not home all afternoon on a Monday. Do it on Saturday night, then. In three weeks I’ll be back to my regular life and that’s what I’ll be doing and it will be fine. I promise.
When I get home for lunch, my dough looks like this:
Yes. These are two different bowls. They are two different batches.
Dump the sticky mess out, move it around, let it rest, move it around some more, let it rest for two hours, preheat your oven and dutch oven, dump it in. That’s it. It actually even sounds more complicated that it is. I would say it’s a total active time of maybe five minutes. And here is the glorious part…it emerges looking like this:
The crust shatters as you bite into it. The crumb is perfect, with big airy holes just right for butter to ooze into. And I have never, not once, screwed this up. It must be foolproof.
I made a batch today. When it was done, I made pita bread. It did not go as well. Not a surprise.
It’s yet another victim of my “I can make that better for cheaper” problem. To be fair, we really do not have access to good pita around here. So it was worth a go. The only problem is that…they didn’t rise. The recipe I was going off of included pictures of giant ballooning pitas in the oven. I thought it would be really fun for my kid to watch them swell up in a matter of minutes, but as we stood there, staring into a 400 degree oven and sweating, she started asking, “What are they supposed to be doing?” Because, they were basically doing nothing. Out of the eight I made, two had pathetic tiny bubbles off to the side, but certainly none of them expanded to the extent that I was expecting.
Those are some flaccid pita breads.
Happily, although they were limp, they were also fluffy and moist and flavorful, words I would never apply to the stale, dry cardboard we get from the store. So ultimately, it was worth it, if not a total success. And I’m not disheartened because tomorrow morning we’ll have that beautiful loaf of fresh bread and I will remember that I am capable of magic sometimes. The magic didn’t happen right away this time, but it doesn’t mean it won’t in the future.