Bread by Man (Me)

I thought for the sake of proving my point about forgoing those pesky gender stereotypes that float in our collective psyche like herpes on Spring Break, I’d start off this HTML party with the art of making the finest of goods: Bread.

Somewhere in our history, some lucky bastard stumbled upon the gloriousness that comes from the milling of wheat (a golden rod of grass looking plant), combining it with water, beating it to within an inch of your own life, and all the while imbibing it with the tiny organism we now know as yeast, or as a fancy scientist may refer to it, a leavening agent. People talk about the pyramids as being a sign of some ancient alien influence, but we never propose the idea that those alien bastards may have actually been the ones that introduced us to yeast. Triangular structures are indeed “cool” and undoubtedly spectacular, but bread is something akin to magic. There is no other substance to my knowledge that gains nutrient and quality through the production process quite like bread. With some finely pulverized flour from a variety of plant-based life, some water of a hospitable temperature, and some sugar hungry little organisms, we can create little crusty clouds of sustenance.

You may be asking yourself, “but DK, why would I, being of sound mind and body, make my own bread, when I can get a load of Wonderbread for $1.99 at my local Walmart?” That’s a good question. To which I posit: is the name of this post “Things from the Store Bought by Man”?

But outside of the verbal threat, there are a number of good reasons to learn to make your own bread. One is that fresh bread is not the same as a store bought loaf. Fresh bread is fresh bread. Store bought bread is a plastic bag filled with ingredients. Don’t worry this isn’t some lecture on the dangers of preservatives in processed food (though it’s a fair point in some cases). My point is that life, my dear reader, is too short to waste of shitty loaves. Grab life by the horns and make some deliciousness. You’re worth it.

Another reason, is cost. Of course there is a trade off between cost and convenience. I’m not recommending that the $2 you save by making bread at home is the primary motivator here, though it is something to consider. We’ll often drive 20 minutes our of our way to save $.02 a gallon on fuel, but scoff at the idea of “cooking from scratch”. Be a more logical human being, it’ll do you some good. So you have an afternoon off from work? Why not make some bread. It’s a fair bit more rewarding than looking at another dozen memes on your social media feeds. But to keep your attention, here’s a joyful bread based meme for your ADHD enjoyment.

So what are some other reasons to make your own bread? Here’s a nice tidy list:

1.) You become the god of the culinary arts, deciding the fate of millions of tiny microorganisms.

2.) Your house will smell like a bakery (on the cost front, you’re essentially getting a free candle that you can eat)

3.) Sheer sexiness. I’ve yet to encounter a member of the human race that hasn’t had their nether region get a bit tingly at the thought of a human, working some sticky dough to completion

4.) It’s a great excuse to watch the Great British Baking Show on PBS

5.) It’s a work out.

6.) Did I mention the sexiness?

7.) The satisfaction of making something (I could hyperlink this to some musings on Marxism and the connection to our work, but just take my word for it)

8.) You will never have a fresher bite of bread in your entire life (until you make your next loaf)

Breadmaking is addictive. I know we live in this Keto/Atkins world, where the carb is the arch enemy of the 6 pack. But don’t blame the bread. Blame the complacency of sitting all day at a desk only to buy an enriched loaf of Wonderbread. The Mediterranean diet has proven to be the healthiest diet on the planet. Guess what: they eat carbs. Don’t blame the bread. Blame yourself. Harsh talk from a chubby dude.

So with that disclaimer and guilt trip, lets get into the sensual art of bread(love)making:

What I’m going to be teaching today is pretty much the most basic of basic breads. No frills, no thrills. Just a standard white loaf that you’ll devour within 24 hours of making. Let’s start with what equipment you’ll knead (bread joke, self high five):

My preferred method for making this bread is in a dutch oven. If you don’t have one, I pity your poor soul. Get one. Now. I’ll wait (Cue the Jeopardy music).

Oh good, you’re back. We were about to move on without you.

Next thing you’ll need is a sieve/sifter. Damn it, you don’t have that either?! You’re holding up the class. We’ll wait...again (cue the toe tapping and clock watching)

Bout time.

So now, we start with the dough. First what you need is 4 cups of all-purpose flour. If you’re wondering what all-purpose flour is for, it’s all-purpose. In this case, it’s purpose is making this bread. Good job, flour, you rock.

Side note: there is a shit-ton of flour out there. I’m not talking quantities. I’m talking varieties. Strong, Bread, Wheat, Whole Wheat, Almond, the list is almost endless. This recipe, should it precipitate the reaction I hope it does, will lead you down the path of learning and experimenting. Enjoy and remember to be active. This is a Keto world now.

So where was I? Ah yes. 4 cups of all-purpose flour. Get your sifter/sieve and sift that shit into a big bowl. Crack a Scarface joke. You’ll see what I mean.

So now you’ve got your 4 cups of beautifully sifted flour. Take a bit of salt, about half a teaspoon, and add it to the left side of the flour. Salt, if you didn’t know, can kill yeast. Keep them separated until you start mixing all that powdery goodness into each other. Next, add 1 and a half teaspoons (not tablespoons) of yeast to the mix. I’ve used both bread machine yeast and standard yeast and the only difference I’ve seen is the negligible. Now, get your handy dandy measuring cups and get 1.5 cups of lukewarm water. Hot will kill the yeast. Cold will not wake their busy little asses up. Think Florida winter. 70-75 degrees is perfect. Now pour that lukewarm water into the flour, yeast, salt mountain.

Start a mixing. I have upgraded my game to a Kitchenaid Stand Mixer so for me, it’s attach a dough hook and let that thing go crazy for about 12-15 minutes on medium. If you don’t have said stand mixer, get your hands in there and start working it. It will stick to your fingers. Keep working it. It will take a long time. Keep working it. Eventually it will start to stick to itself and less to you. Keep working it. When you’re think you’re done, keep working it. The texture of the dough should become less sticky and pretty smooth. Keep working it. When you are running the risk of sweating into the dough, pull off a piece of the dough and stretch it. What you’re doing here is called The Window Pane Test. You want the dough to have been worked enough to where you can stretch it out and light will come through. The scientific side of this lies in the Gluten, that thing that all Californians seem to think is evil and will lead to the downfall of humanity, even moreso than those Autism causing vaccines (whoops, there’s the political). Gluten builds up in dough when you work it and essentially creates a fibrousness in the dough. That’s that lovely chewy texture you get in bread that allows for creation of air pockets. It’s a beautiful symphony of edible goodness. And damn those Californians for saying otherwise. Bread is life.

So you’ve worked yourself into a sweaty, flour covered stupor, the dough passed the Window Pane Test and you’re looking at this smooth little ball of dough in your bowl. Now what?

Now you let mother nature do her good work. This my friends is what I like to call “the waiting recreation”. Cover your bowl with a damp towel or plastic wrap and set the bowl in a nice warm place, around 75 degrees. If you’re like most human beings, that’s on the counter at room temperature. Now you get to wait for 2-4 hours for that concoction to do it’s thing and double in size. This is the yeast’s shift. Enjoy. Do whatever you’d like. Read a book, play a video game, read another post or video from your new favorite blog (I mean mine, you traitorous scum. How dare you click away from me.)

*Intermission*

Welcome back. Lift up that towel. What do you see? Hopefully a bigger pile of dough. Now it’s time for what is known as “the turn out”. First prep your work space, aka floured work surface. This is the messy bit. Take a bit of flour and sprinkle it ever so generously onto the countertop. Spread it around like a child playing in spilled paint. Not take that ginormous ball of risen goodness and pull it out of that bowl. I’ve found that taking my fingers and running them nail side against the bowl to detach it from the bowl seems to work great, but whatever works for you. Plop that ball on that floured work surface. Now what?

Now, more kneading. What we’re trying to do here is to knock the air out of the dough, so punch it down, beat it, fold it, beat it some more. All in all, about 10 minutes should do. More if you’re not taking out your aggressions on it like I do. Less if you’re really repressing some dark shit. Once it’s sufficiently deflated and you’ve bypassed the need for a shrink for another day, form it into a ball on the work surface. Cover it with a warm damp (not wet) towel. Leave it for about 10-15 minutes. What we’re doing here is letting the gluten relax. Think of gluten like your muscle. You just worked that shit out, so not it’s tense. Once it relaxes, it’ll be more flexible.

After your 10-15 minutes of crying alone in your bedroom because of all the repressed stuff that came up from your overly aggressive dough beating, come back to the ball o’ dough. You’ll probably notice that it’s rebounded a bit, just like your ability to repressed emotions. This is a good thing. The dough ball. Not your emotions, seriously, get help. It’s not healthy to keep that stuff bottled up.

Take that newly bought and soon to be lifelong soulmate of culinary delight, the Dutch Oven and spray the inside with some kind of cooking oil/spray.

Now go back to your dough ball. Work the ball with your hands to try and get a tight ball of dough. Don’t think baseball, think nerf basketball size.

Next, plop that new, slightly smaller ball into the center of the dutch oven and cover it. Waiting game, phase 3 has begun. Allow the yeast to re-rise for 30min to an hour depending on the temp of your abode. The warmer, the less time it takes. The colder, the more time it takes.

In the meantime, preheat your over to 450 degrees fahrenheit. In Celsius, that’s whatever google tells you it is equivalent to.

Once the next wait is over and the oven is preheated, remove the lid and lightly brush some olive oil onto the top of the dough. Then take a sharp knife and score an “X” across the top. Not too big, but not too small. How’s that for precise. Now sprinkle some kosher salt on the top. Be as generous as you’d like. Now cover it, and slide your heavy, dough-filled dutchy into the oven.

Bake for 40-45 minutes.

After 40-45 minutes, reduce the temperature to 375 and remove the lid. Bake that bad boy until the top is as golden brown as you like and the internal temperature is around 200 degrees Fahrenheit.

Once it’s that crispy, crunchy level of goldenness that you so desire, pull it out of the oven. Carefully pull the loaf out of the dutch oven if you can and set it aside to cool.

If you’re like me, that first loaf will not be allowed to fully cool before cutting into it. This is a heavenly mistake. Those first few slices will be so chewy and moist and warm like the most delicious thing you’ve ever experienced. You’ll want to make sweet yeasty love to that bread with your mouth. Do it. Enjoy it. Reap your rewards young padawan. You’ve earned it.

But note that I said heavenly “mistake”. It’s a mistake because when you cut into a hot loaf, what you’re doing is letting all the moisture out, which will lead to a drier bread after the fact. But let’s be honest. Much like the first time you have sex, your first loaf of bread will be rushed into, finished far too fast, and leave you wanting more. It will also be memorable in a way that will seem all too surreal. When you look back years later, despite your skills being honed and being more pleasurable for all those experiencing it, will never be quite as magical as your first time...making bread from scratch.