Bread Making 101

Today I can barely move. My stomach hurts as though I did fifty crunches.

Yesterday I made bread.

Everyone in my family makes bread. Apparently it's easy. Some of them make it on a more regular basis than others but it's something they all have tucked up their cooking sleeves.

My apartment tends to be like a sauna. The heating is hot water and has two modes: On or Off. This is determined by the superintendent who normally has the heating in On mode and then some. The result is a warm moist environment that is perfect for making bread as it would rise in no time flat.

I decided that I would venture into this world of bread making as I had a clear advantage: there was no need to search for the warmest spot in the house. I woke up in the morning to discover that the heating was only in On mode and barely so. My advantage had gone. Deciding that it would come back, I continued.

I pulled down my baking bible and cracked it open to the basic white bread recipe. As I scanned down the list of ingredients, my eyes lit upon milk powder and potato flour or flakes. Who keeps this stuff in their cupboards? I pulled down Joy of Cooking which tends to complicate things by giving you too many option. Sure enough: three recipes for easy white bread. What happened to easy, easier, easiest and then publishing the easiest version. I start working off both cook books. One for ingredients and one for method.

I mix it all together and start kneading. I can't remember whether you use the flat of your hands or your knuckles, so I alternate. I double check the method and discover you're supposed to let the dough rest at the half-way mark, five minutes. Whoa! My arms are already tired, I'm starting to feel a sweat and I've just started. I keep going and then I can feel it in my abs. I have no idea what I'm doing but I'm giving them a work-out. Much later, the dough is ready to rise and my apartment still hasn't warmed up. The bathroom is looking like the best spot so I stick it there for the next hour and half.

I remembered the next part from watching my Mum. You took the bread, pushed it down, dumped it out of the bowl, kneaded it a bit and then put it into tins. Checked the recipe. "The dough should be given another rising." Huh! Ok, back into the bathroom it went.

And the rest of my day was spent beating up the dough (gently as instructed by my methods recipe) and then waiting for it to recover. I felt like a boxer dancing around an opponent yelling "You gonna get up so I can knock you down again?"

Eventually the loaves went in the oven. I pulled them out at the right time. It was time for the hollow finger test. You dump the bread out of the pan, and tap the bottom with your finger. Who makes this stuff up? If it sounds hollow, then it's done. My loaves passed. So I waited for them to cool.

They taste like basic white bread. The type you had with peanut butter and jam as a child for lunch. Kinda bland actually.

So today I can't move but I'm eating bland bread. If anyone suggests that I go to the gym, I'll hit them on the head with a loaf. It will make a hollow sound.