Happy New Year. Here’s a recipe for you. A messy table gift, if you like, maybe a challenge. You can do this with your kids, if you want a family adventure. Or lock them out of the kitchen and tackle it on your own. Let me know how it goes.
First, take a small bowl like the one you eat your cereal in. Measure one tablespoon of yeast and two tablespoons of honey. Fill the bowl with warmish water and stir. Then let it sit. The yeast, waking up from its winterized nap, will find the honey and the moisture intoxicating and will start to grow. By the time it is ready for the next stage, the bowl will be filled with a foamy fragrant liquid, smelling vaguely like beer.
While you wait, fill a measuring cup with more warmish water. Two cups should do nicely. Set it aside for later. Then measure seven cups of flour into a large mixing bowl. If you don’t have one, you can do this stage on the counter—just measure the flour into a large pile. Add one tablespoon of salt and mix it in well with your fingers. Don’t be stingy with the salt—you are making two loaves of bread, and you will miss it if it’s scant.
It’s tempting to add all sorts of extras. And you can have luck doing it. But I suggest that the first few times out, you stick with the basics to get to know how it feels.
So, make a hole in the middle of your flour and pour in the yeasty brew. Spread the fingers on one hand like a large fork and start mixing the flour and the liquid together. Flour and water make glue, so you don’t want to squish your fingers together or they will stick. Keep them apart and keep mixing. It will start to look ragged with lots of flour left unmixed. Add more warmish water. It doesn’t have to be precise; you are going to need enough water to hold the dough together. It depends on the moisture in your kitchen on the day you are baking, the inclination of the flour, lots of things, so feel free to experiment. Don’t worry, if you add too much water, you can always add more flour to compensate.
When it looks like dough, turn it out on to the counter, if it isn’t there already. Now comes the fun part. Kneading.
Here’s an interesting fact to think about while kneading. The word “lady” comes from the Old English for “loaf kneader?” And “lord” is derived from “loaf keeper.” Myself, I’d rather knead; bread doesn’t keep very long in my hungry house. So, I do try to be ladylike.
When you are kneading, just pretend that you know what you are doing. Stretch it and fold it and push it, and you’ll do just fine. Get right in there with your sleeves rolled up and pay attention to what the dough is telling you. Too wet? Add flour. Too dry? Add water. Simple as that. Keep working it.
After about five minutes or so, you will notice that the dough has changed. It may take more, but you will know when it is different. It stretches more. Keep going until it feels soft in your hands. It’s hard to knead too much, and it feels good to do it. When you’ve finished, dust the top with a little more flour and pop it in a clean bowl to rise. Be sure to cover the bowl to keep the moisture in.
Let it rise for an hour or more, ignoring it and thinking about other things completely. Then, come back and be amazed at how big and bready it is.
Flour your hands again and punch down the dough. Don’t be gentle; you are trying to knock out all air, so it has space to develop more flavour. Be physical—bread likes that. And you’ll feel productive for doing it.
Now, it is time to form the dough into whatever shape you like. A couple of pan loaves or skinny sticks or a large braided loaf or a big batch of dinner rolls. It’s up to you. Be creative. Be sure to butter your pans before you slip the loaves, etc. in so that it comes out more easily. You also get a delicious crust that way.
Then stand back and let it rise again, this time for about 40 minutes. Heat the oven to 350◦ and bake your bread for about 35 minutes. You’ll know it is ready when the crust looks lovely, and it sounds hollow on the bottom when you give it a tap. Flip it out of the pan to check. If you aren’t sure, try squeezing the bottom corners. If they are firm, you’re good to go.
Bread is easy winter magic. It warms your kitchen, and it makes your house smell like a home. It’s also a good way to start the New Year. We’re all full of resolutions right now, but rather than getting up silly early for yoga, try making some bread. You get exercise and breakfast to share. What could be better?
