My mum is many things - one is a bread whisperer.
It doesn’t matter the climate or the continent - that loaf will rise and it will be magnificent. After a visit last year where she instructed for maybe the 4th time on how to make some simple buns I was like - right, let’s do this. It’s yeast, water and flour - how hard can it be…
Dear Reader - hard, so stupid hard. I tried to grow my own sourdough starter, a friend gave me starter, I paid money for starter - I killed them all. It was also the time that I realized that if I can’t consistently feed starter twice a day I should reconsider getting a dog.
I looked at no knead, long rise, refrigerated rise, rye flour, whole wheat flour, bread flour, high gluten expensive as fuck flour, youtube videos - I gave them all a good shot. I rolled some in sesame, I scored it, I oiled it, I cranked that oven high, I bought a dutch oven - lid on, lid off. Every time I would slice through the middle for that instagram bread porn shot and - no goddamn airy pockets to be found.
When what was supposed to look like a boule looked like what I decided I would call foccacia I was like, I need a break from this - and so, this tale has no hollywood ending. Me and wheat are on a break, like Ross and Rachel. We’ll connect again in some wheaty haze when I’m weak, but for now - I’ll pay for my baguettes instead. Sorry mum.