Bread

It’s currently 3 something AM as I type this. Outside, the rain’s pouring, the thunder’s roaring, and the lightning’s illuminating the darkness in sporadic intervals. The atmosphere is wonderful. There’s a sense of isolation, as well as one of comfort. The temperamental weather recalls certain memories of being curled up under your duvet, of warm drinks, and of spooky stories told in the dark. There’s something so special about it. Of how the bad weather seems to give you permission to sulk. To wallow. To feel bad. And how’s that, me starting off a post about the weather again. But, you know, there’s no feeling quite like the one you get while shovelling down four freshly baked cookies during a thunderstorm. Ahh, that rush of unnecessary carbs and sugar. Who can resist chocolate chip cookies?

I digress. This post isn’t about cookies at all. That’s another post for another time, since I have all these photos that need posting and all this writing to do. Don’t worry. I’ll spend that time perfecting the cookie recipe. Speaking of perfecting recipes, perfection doesn’t come without attempts and failure. I spend a good portion of my time coming up with recipes. Which is quite the shocker, because that requires some calculation, which equates to maths, which I really do not like. Emphasis on really. Yet there’s something oddly enjoyable about working with fractions and percentages when it comes to baking. Numbers are fiddly things. Confusing, too. You know when you ask your brain something and it has the answer? But you’re not sure how you knew that or whether to trust it? That happens to me a lot. Like with a calculation error regarding this recipe. Not quite a calculation error, if we’re being exact. More like a conversion error. An error of ratio.

Numbers are fiddly things. Confusing, too. You know when you ask your brain something and it has the answer? But you’re not sure how you knew that or whether to trust it? That happens to me a lot. Like with a calculation error regarding this recipe. Not quite a calculation error, if we’re being exact. More like a conversion error. An error of ratio. Since then, I’ve learned to question anything that my brain comes up with. I’ll tell you a little story. I got locked in a park three days ago. At approximately midnight. For two hours. It was not pleasant, as I’m sure you can conclude on your own. As for how I ended up in that situation, it’s quite simple. I did not read the sign. Why? Before then, I’d puzzle over the opening and closing hours of that park area, and somehow came up with the opening time of 5:30 AM to 11:00 PM. So I looked around the park the next time I went, but couldn’t find where I read that, or from where I gleaned that from. Of course, the only logical thing to do was to conclude that there weren’t any opening or closing hours. Because I’m a very logical person. As I’m sure you can tell. (Not.) And that’s how they locked up the gates at midnight as I was running 5K. My sister had a fair point, though. She asked (rhetorically, I’m assuming) “who goes out running at midnight?” The answer is simple, dear sister. Me.

Back to the main topic of this post. The recipe. The partially successful loaf. Let me say that it wasn’t a major fail. It was edible, it wasn’t burnt, nor was it horribly misshapen. But the flavour was off. That’s what I got for using reconstituted milk. I’m not blaming the milk powder. No, it’s wonderful, for being an alternative to easily spoilt fresh milk. For baking. I’m not sure if reconstituted lukewarm milk is appetizing. I’m guessing not. Anyways, because I’m me, with my malfunctioning brain, I turned to the internet for the ratio of powder to water. Instead of checking the actual cannister. Moral of the story? Don’t be like me. The ‘locked in a park at midnight’ story should back that up. That’s a bit misleading, actually, since the internet wasn’t wrong. I muddled it up again. I remembered the ratio incorrectly, and so I put way too much powder. Or maybe I wanted a milkier bread. It’s blurry to present me. All I know is that past me screwed some things up, but did it for the greater good. Learn from my mistakes, people.

It’s safe to say I won’t be posting the recipe in this post. I’ll never post that exact recipe. But once I edit it and fix it, I just might. I do, however, have a lot of photos to post. Prepare yourself.

Bread doughs are cuter than babies. Argue all you want, I’ll stand by my opinion. Also, what’s up with the whole comparison of kneaded dough to a baby’s butt? Are baby butts really that smooth? What about diaper rash? I really don’t want to feel a baby’s butt just to quench my curiosity. For (hopefully) obvious reasons. I also don’t know why I decided to bring that up.

It kneads a good punch.

Parchment paper is so useful. Even that’s an understatement.

Here’s an issue I have with breads made with milk. The milk seems to interfere with the gluten somehow. Or impedes with gluten development. I’ve heard of an enzyme in milk which breaks down gluten, but that’s supposedly killed off at a certain temperature, which UHT milk is heated to. But it still happened when I used UHT milk. I’m wondering if it’s something to do with the fat content, or maybe even the proteins. The problem is not dough strength. I do think there’s plenty of gluten. The problem is the extensibility of the dough. It’s evident in the tears you can see on the surface. The thing that baffles me even further is that when I use an egg, I don’t have that problem. Even if all the liquid I’m using is milk. Perhaps it’s a hydration issue.

All breads are beautiful.

Come to mama, baby’s butt!

I’m sorry I said that. I am in no way ready for the responsibility of being a parent.

Notice the dark top crust? That’s the result of a high percentage of sugar in the dough.

Oh, Japanese milk bread… how I aspire to make you. One day I shall reach that elusive standard.

Torn end vs cut end.

Just so you know, too much milk powder results in a cheesy flavour.

In case you ever need that information.

If you’ve reached this point, thanks for tolerating me and my nonsense.

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I think we can agree that most of the time, the simpler things in life are the best. There are moments when you just don’t feel like doing much. There are instances when you want the pure, unadulterated version of something. It’s a misconception that bread is much too difficult to make. In reality, it is an art in itself, and whilst it’s not the simplest process, it is quite easy once you get the essence of it.

Stripped down, bread in its barest form consists of just four ingredients: flour, water, salt, and yeast. The magic lies in the critters we call yeast and time. Those are rather intimidating things. Patience is a quality a baker needs to have, in my opinion, especially in the bread department. Now there are lots of fast bread recipes out there. I’m sure they do taste good. But what elevates bread from good to phenomenal is the time taken.

This falls somewhere in between- the rising times aren’t necessarily too long, but they aren’t considered quick either. This is a good introduction to the world of bread baking. It’s also important to know that ratios are just as, if not more, important than the ingredients included. Baking is a science after all.

BASIC BREAD

2 cups flour (approximately)

2/3 cup water

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp yeast

METHOD

Begin by proofing your yeast. To put it simply, sprinkle the yeast over the water and let the mixture sit until bubbly or foamy. This will take about 5-10 minutes, depending on the temperatures of the water and the location.
Once proofed, stir in the salt, and add the flour in increments. When the mixture cannot be stirred any longer and is a dough, turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead until smooth and homogenous. Add flour if necessary, but take care not to add it excessively. Err on the side of a wet dough rather than a dry dough. The dough should feel tacky and stick a little. After kneading, it should be soft, non lumpy, and pliable.
Shape the dough into a ball and plop it into a bowl. Greased, if you’re so inclined, though this could affect the outcome of the bread depending on the amount added. Cover with cling film or a towel or anything really. Then this is the part people find the most difficult- leave it, and walk away. For an hour or so.
You’ll know it’s finished rising if it has expanded considerably. Which means doubled or even tripled. To test, if you’re unsure, poke the dough- if the indent remains, it’s ready. Now punch in the dough. Take out all your frustrations. Imagine your enemy’s face if you want. I’m not judging. Fold the dough, press it, just get that gas out. Turn it out onto a surface, adding flour if it’s way too sticky.
Here we have options. Grab a rolling pin if you want a more uniform looking loaf. If you don’t want to use one, for whatever reason (I feel you), your hands will do. Roll or press the dough out to a rectangular shape. From one short end, roll up the dough. Tuck in the open ends and gently pinch the seams shut. Place the wonderful squishiness onto a parchment lined or greased tray. Cover loosely and go live your life. At least until the dough finishes its final rise. (Preheat your oven to 180C)
When ready, put it into the oven and let it bake for 30 minutes or so. Or until browned. This bread won’t brown much, as there’s no added sugar in the dough. Take out the loaf and try to let it cool. It’s okay if you can’t resist the lure of warm, freshly baked bread. It smells divine, doesn’t it?

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