Sunday blog: No-knead bread

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This recipe goes out to all those who are fearful of baking bread.  It's very simple (so long as you follow the basic outline), and the result is very nice indeed: a chewy crust and a nice fluffy white interior. Mark Bittman says that this is his most popular recipe of all time, and only regrets that he didn't create it (it came from his acquaintance Jim Fahey).

 

 

The only problem with this recipe is that the dough needs to meditate for long periods of time. Last time I made it, I started the process on Friday evening, checked in on the process around noon on Saturday, and put it in the oven at three p.m.  Voila! Home-baked bread for dinner.

 

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Thoroughly mix in a large bowl:

 

 

3 cups all-purpose white flour

1 5/8 cups water (be precise)

1 ¼ teaspoon salt (again, be precise)

1 packet active dry yeast or instant yeast

 

 

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and leave it in a warmish place for at least 12 hours.

 

 

You should now have a bowlful of white goo covered with little bubbles. Turn the goo onto a floured surface, flour it again, fold it once or twice, cover it with the same piece of plastic wrap, and let it rest for about 15 minutes.

 

 

Now: flour your hands lightly, shape the dough into a ball, and flop it onto a cotton towel which you've sprinkled with cornmeal, or bran, or flour (I prefer cornmeal). Sprinkle more cornmeal on top. Fold towel over, or cover with another towel. Kiss it tenderly, and let it rest for at least two hours.

 

 

When you're ready to bake, put a covered metal pot or saucepan (at least four-quart capacity) in the oven (ungreased) and preheat it to 450 degrees (at least 15 minutes). Take the pot (carefully) out of the oven. Take up your glob of dough (carefully) and plunk it into the sizzling pot. Shake the pot once or twice to smooth out the dough.

 

 

Bake, covered, for 30 minutes at 450 degrees.  Uncover and bake for about 15 minutes more, or until “beautifully brown.” Cool on a rack.

 

 

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Thank you, Messrs. Fahey and Bittman.

 

 

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Yeast is yeast

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I don't bake bread often enough. It takes time, and I tend to be in a rush and begrudge the process the time it needs. But it's fun, and the result is very pleasant.

 

I was sick the other day, so I stayed home from work. I found myself craving some nice white toast. All we had in the house was brown bread. All right, I thought; I'll put a couple of loaves of white bread down to rise, and they should be ready by early afternoon.

 

My yeast was dead.

 

There is a process, you see, called “proofing the yeast.” You put the yeast in warm water with a little sugar, and you watch it come to life; it foams and bubbles and develops a faint yeasty brewery/bakery smell.

 

Mine just sat there. The water smudged and clouded, but no frothy yeasty bubbles were forthcoming. I finally dumped the whole sorry bowl of slime down the drain, and settled for brown toast.

 

Yeast is a wonderful organism. It's everywhere. We bake with it, and brew with it, and pickle with it. It surely made its debut that day ten thousand years ago when Bap son of Ungaga forgot his bowl of barley water on the windowsill. A few spores of free-range yeast got into it, and it fermented, and: kapow!

 

I stalked the wild yeast monster a few years ago myself. I left a jar of flour and water and sugar open for a day or two, and then I capped it and let it work. The stuff in the jar foamed like a science experiment for days and days. By the time I threw it away, there were at least two inches of evil-looking yellowish alcohol at the bottom of the mixture. Any bread baked with that stuff would have tasted like tennis shoes marinated in Jack Daniels and Pine-Sol.

 

I'm not man enough to tangle with feral yeast.

 

 

Fleischmann's Yeast, tame and docile, in its modest yellow packet, is perfectly okay with me from now on.

 

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