I learned to make bread the summer I worked out in Jasper, Alberta as a chambermaid. Not on the job but from a co-worker at the hotel. I learned something about cleaning too, but that did not stick the way baking bread did.
My teacher declared that there was only one way to learn: come over to her apartment for the whole afternoon. I had to feel the dough at each stage. When I've taught others, I've done the same thing. How do you describe the feel of the sponge stage? How do you tell someone what it feels like when just the right amount of flour has been added? When you have kneaded it yourself, you won't forget the feel.
My co-worker also said, "Count how many loaves you need, and then add one more. That one will be eaten as soon as it comes out of the oven." In that town, people somehow knew when bread was being baked and showed up to say "Hi". And to share the bounty. My family did not finish a whole loaf when it came out of the oven, but pieces were cut and enjoyed while it was still warm.
Some complain that bread takes too long. For me, cookies take too long. For an hour, I have to go back to the oven every 8 minutes. What can I do in 8 minutes while watching the clock?
With bread, I do have to be around the house all afternoon, but there are spaces to do other things. At the start, yeast, sugar, and water warm up together for a few minutes. Enough time to go and check email--not answer, just check. Going back to the kitchen presents the first lovely smell: the scent of living yeast and honey or maple syrup or whichever sugar I chose.
At this point, imagination kicks in. What will be added to the bread this time? Dried fruit? Oatmeal? Ground nuts? Anything can be stirred in to add flavour and texture.
After the additions, it is time to put in flour--about half of the total that will be needed. Stir to make a batter like pancakes. Then walk away. Read three chapters of a good book. Answer those emails. Do barn chores or vacuum. This is the "sponge" method from the Tassajara Bread Book from a Buddhist monastery in the southern United States. The secret here is that you let the yeast stretch the gluten for you.
The next stage takes attention. This is the time when the phone doesn't get answered. The child who falls get attended to, but the invitation to make a lego tower has to wait. The bribe is fresh bread, so my kids always bought in.
This is the stage when the rest of the flour is added and the bread is carefully kneaded. When I'm making bread every week it is easy to get the amount perfect. More often, I just add a bit at a time until the dough feels right. This stage is a bit delicate. Add too much and the result is a tough dry dough, and it is hard to recover from this mistake. Not enough, it clings to the spoon. With the right amount, the dough holds together, becomes firm and elastic. Poured from bowl onto a floured board, the dough is pressed and folded, stretching the gluten, picking up a little more flour. Soon, it will spring back when pushed down.
At this point, the baker has time for a game of cards. There is space to watch half of a movie. Eventually, the dough needs to be kneaded to push out the air bubbles. Then it is left again. The baker goes back to finish the movie, play another game of cards before kneading again.
I tend to put the dough into pans at this point. Here we learn how patient we are: we should leave the dough to rise in the pan. Most of the time in my world, the afternoon is gone and supper is coming on: I heat the oven and slip it in as soon as the heat reaches 350 degrees. Set the timer. Walk away. Enjoy the scent of fresh bread in every corner of the house. And fifty minutes later, relish the fresh loaf.
Cathy Hird is a farmer, minister, and writer living near Walters Falls.
