When I was about 14, I asked my mother to get me a pasta machine for my birthday. I never got a pasta machine, but that there is a little glimpse into my priorities as a teenager. I used to lie on my parents’ bed watching The Naked Chef, and pore over recipe books (strange to remember what a pre-internet hobby looked like) and, of course, cook and cook. I was a pretty good cook for my age, but for some reason, I had a lot of bread-related disasters. I don’t know – maybe I bought bad yeast, or maybe I was doing something dumb – but often, my yeast would not get foamy, or my bread would not rise, and end results were flat and tasted yeasty. It led me to believe bread baking was very hard, and I developed numerous yeast-related anxieties. After one particular incident — I was baking a babka and the yeast did not froth, but I kept going and then, of course, the dough didn’t rise, and for some reason, this did not discourage me, and I shaped the babka for it’s second rising and again, it did not rise, and instead of just throwing it out, (I was not a quitter! I hated swimming lessons and violin lessons but continued with both for YEARS. Still unpacking that in therapy etc.) I baked it and of course, it did not rise in the oven either. I served it to a table of people that night and of course, it was terrible and the whole thing was thrown out – after all those hours spent kneading, waiting and worrying. So after that incident, I stopped making anything with yeast.
Sneak peek of the finished product – my beautiful No-Knead loaf!
Years later, my three sisters and my mother bake bread all the time. My oldest sister especially – she bakes these gorgeous loaves of sourdough bread every week. Now, bread is, unfortunately, still recovering from years of demonizing in this country. That and mayonnaise, which will have a more difficult recovery, but nonetheless a recovery that I believe is warranted. Most Americans do not have the wonderful experience of walking into a nice bakery and buying themselves a beautiful loaf of bread. If they want bread, they buy sliced bread at the supermarket. And the bread they buy is full of preservatives, and lacking in nutrition. Bread does not have to be like that! I fondly recall my days in Jerusalem, where once or twice a week, I would walk to one of several local bakeries and purchase a loaf of sourdough, still warm from the oven. Bread! The stuff of life! A gift to mankind. But now I live in New York. For a while, every Friday, I would walk to Benz’s (one of the nicer food stores in Jewish Crown Heights – as opposed to Goyish Crown Heights, which is where I live) and purchase a loaf of maybe my favourite bread of all time – Tani’s bread – a moist and spongy loaf of sourdough. I’d bring it home for Shabbos and eat it slathered with miso-tahini (a real staple dip – originated by my sister). Nothing would go to waste. If there was any leftover, it would be toasted on Sunday or Monday and eaten with eggs or lox or peanut butter, or whatever else was around. Anyway, Tani stopped baking his bread, and a bread-shaped hole quickly appeared in my life. I started buying Zomick’s challah instead – which is yum but obviously, kind of junky and devoid of nutrition. I kept on thinking, I should just bake! I should just bake my own bread! My sisters continued to post their leavened success stories on Instagram, and I kept picturing all my bread disasters. What if I baked bread and it was terrible, and there wasn’t enough time to go buy a back-up loaf of challah for Shabbos? And then we had no bread for Shabbos! What if I bought a back-up loaf AND my bread did work out, but then we had all this extra bread that I’d have to throw out! I felt daunted by every version.
A piece of the bread! Really nice crumb on this.
Anyway, on Thursday, I bit the bullet. I read and re-read that Jim Lahey via Mark Bittman No Knead Bread recipe. My nerves relaxed a little with each revision, until I felt ready. The whole thing suddenly felt really low-risk, and I welcomed those feelings. I made the dough on Thursday evening, and let it rise until late Friday morning. So far, so good! I formed the loaf and let it rise for another few hours. Still good! I heated the pot (in this recipe, you cook the loaf in a lidded pot) and then put the loaf inside. And suddenly, my apartment was filled with the warm smell of fresh bread. It’s strange that out of all cooking smells, baking smells are the cleanest. They don’t linger, although if they did, it would be a beautiful gift. There are no smells like it in the world! It’s up there with coffee and cinnamon. And then, there was a loaf of bread in my kitchen. Beautifully risen, covered in a fun dusting of cornmeal and whole wheat flour, like you see in cool bread photos. We ate it that night with miso-tahini and it reminded me so much of Tani’s perfect sourdough. And then I ate some the next day with avocado (which I now eat). And then the next day with melty, crunchy peanut butter. And then later that day with some eggs. And then my ~~husband~~ ate the rest, toasted with butter, with a bowl of soup that night. And the loaf was gone!
And here’s some of my bread, toasted and topped with melty crunch peanut butter. Served with Grady’s Cold Brew – the best beverage of all time.
That recipe is so easy. No kneading at all. I subbed in a cup of whole wheat flour, to give some colour and nutrition. It just requires some planning, what with the 20 hours of rising. Yes, failures happen, sometimes! But we must remind ourselves not to be discouraged. I myself am very easily discouraged, in almost all aspects of life. We are hard on ourselves and sometimes, nothing feels as bad as spending time and energy on something that just doesn’t work out. Disappointment is debilitating! I’m getting teary now, but we just need to power through that stuff. We just cannot afford to get hung up there. I’m not talking about bread anymore. The bread is a metaphor.
And more of my bread, with some eggs, on Sunday morning.
Bury The Fork 