And yes, I really have tried.

Click through here.

Apologies if this is the reverse of the system you’re used to, but the fact is that my bread posts do better when published on my main blog. Still, it’s only a click away… You’ll find it has a different title there, for the purposes of not confusing Google.

I have a pair of 2lb tins which are very robust, but not quite deep enough, so I ordered another two. They’re slightly shorter, but wider and deeper, which will give me a slightly larger loaf for the same amount of dough (currently, it’s in the oven way before it’s finished rising, so a bigger loaf is achievable), and a decent-sized slice.

They arrived today and what struck me first was the weight – or lack of it. The reasons are twofold. Firstly, in the pics the tins appear to have wired edges, quite common in metalware of this type, and a very good thing. They don’t.

What looks like wire is simply short lengths of  sheet steel, rolled into a U-section and inserted into the corners.  They serve no purpose**, as they are not soldered, or even crimped, in place, so the tins can be flexed to a worrying degree. It will be interesting to see if they can stand up to the heat of my oven without distorting.

**Unless it’s to give the impression of a wired edge in the online pic, as it did for me. As they have no actual function, the cynic in me suspects that, at best, they’re a misleading styling gimmick.

From an engineering standpoint, the folding of the metal gives the corners what strength they have, which isn’t a hell of a lot, and the inserts are pointless. Had they been soldered, although proper wiring of the edges would have been better, rigidity would have been greatly improved.

Note:- DO NOT wash these tins, should you buy them. The folding of the corners isn’t particularly tight or well done and if you wash them water will get into the folds, and might – sooner or later – cause rust to form. I found that out washing them before use. Likewise, take care if you oil the tin – if it gets into the folds it’ll be trapped and might turn rancid, possibly tainting the bread.

Secondly, the thinness of the metal is surprising. It’s little thicker than a soft drink can. One tin had been dented a little from the inside (not in transit, then), and I was able to simply push the dent out. So not just thin, but malleable, too.

At 219g each, they are 122g lighter than my differently-proportioned and slightly smaller current 2lb tins, which also have unwired edges, but are made from substantially thicker metal, and flex not in the slightest.

I also have a selection of steel loaf tins in various shapes and sizes, some extremely cheap (Sainsbury’s Chinese finest!), but none utilise such thin steel.

None of this will affect the bread, as I said, but I do have serious reservations concerning their durability, even for a home baker like me.

I have a feeling the 5-year guarantee may be a tad optimistic.

To be honest, were it not such a major hassle getting to the post office –  and standing in a queue, which I can’t do – I’d send them back. As it is, it’s not worth the effort.

A very slightly different version of this post was submitted to the Bakery Bits website as a review at 12.16 today. 10 hours later, and it has yet to appear. So, here we go…

Update:- October 14, and the website still claims no reviews have been submitted which, frankly, is disgraceful and they’ll sure as hell not be getting any more business from me.

If I’d simply said “This is a shit product, don’t buy it,” then they might have had a reason for withholding it, but it’s well-argued and contains nothing untrue or unverifiable. Refusing to publish critical reviews is fundamentally dishonest, and it creates a false impression for potential buyers.

I have, in fact, used them to bake bread and the results were fine – but the tins, at the price, are far too thin and flimsy, and not that well made.

Click pic for full size image, Back button to return. (The uneven bottom edge is just one of those things. An amorphous lump of dough will either conform to a right-angled tin as it expands, or it won’t. These didn’t, and it matters not at all.)

I like wholemeal bread, but my experience with it has been rather less than inspiring. The first time I ever made bread, from a position of almost total ignorance, was during the bakers’ strike of 1979. I sought a little advice from the staff restaurant manager where I worked but, beyond that, I was on my own.

I opted for wholemeal, probably a tad over-ambitiously, with hindsight. The result was certainly very tasty but – let’s be honest – a brick. Much like the Crank’s loaf you can buy in Sainsbury’s today, in fact. Still, at a time when it was hard to come by, I, at least, had bread.

So, this time, I’m eschewing a loaf of all wholemeal, and adding some strong white flour (Shipton Mill 701). I would have used their No. 4, but that’s still in the freezer. Note: flour doesn’t solidify when frozen, but at freezer temperature (around -18C), it’ll stun the yeast into immobility unless you warm it up somehow. Much less hassle to use what I had.

I also want to retard the fermentation somewhat, which is why I’m starting so early (10.00), and the ideal place for that is my bedroom, which is quite cool. I’ll sit the bowl on my bed, rather than the floor, so the cold doesn’t strike through and chill it (I keep my mobility scooter in there, which rather precludes carpet, if you’re wondering). Of course, with better planning, I could have made a poolish this time yesterday. Oh well.

Normally, I’d opt for rather less than 60% hydration, when making a boule but I’m using 2lb loaf tins this time, so I suspect it will need a tad more than 60% – about 65% (it would be closer to 70% were it entirely wholemeal flour). As always, that’s a starting point – the flour will get what it needs at the time, which in my experience is almost never exactly on the percentage button.

So, this is what I need for 2 loaves of around 900g each:-

400g organic 100% wholemeal flour

600g Organic strong white bread flour

5 tsp fine seat salt

6 tablespoons olive oil

1 teaspoon Fermipan yeast (I always use Fermipan because it’s reliable and it allows me to taste the grain, not the yeast)

700g lukewarm water (I weigh my water – 1g = 1ml – it’s more accurate than my measuring jug plus, if the scales are inaccurate – no reason to suppose they are – then the error will be the same for the flour and water, preserving the proportions.)

For the starter:-

1 good teaspoon malt extract

2 tablespoons of the flour, before adding the salt

200ml of the water

1 teaspoon yeast (in addition to the yeast in the mix)

It may seem odd making a starter right before it goes into the bread, but it really does get the yeast off to a rolling start.

For this quantity of flour – 1kg – I’m using my mixer, it’s a bit too much like work doing it by hand, and the mixer handles this quantity of flour far better than it does when making one loaf at a time. That, it just picks up and bangs around the bowl. Oddly enough, it seems to do the trick, but god, it’s noisy.

Weigh the flours into the mixer’s bowl, remove 2 tablespoons of white flour for the starter, then add the salt and yeast, and with a tablespoon, mix until the dry ingredients are well mixed.

For the starter, mix the malt extract with the water until it’s all dissolved, then add the flour and yeast, stirring vigorously, beating out the lumps, until smooth. Leave until frothy and well- risen.

Fix the bowl in the mixer’s base, insert the dough hook, and start the motor on it’s lowest setting. Lower the mixer head until the lock clicks. With the mixer still on its slowest speed, stir the starter well and pour it all in, plus about two-thirds of the remaining water and all the oil.

Slowly increase the mixer speed as all the ingredients come together, stopping it to scrape down the bowl at least once, then restart and slowly increase the speed to (1), and let it run for around 5 minutes, adding more water until the dough is the right consistency. This actually took 625ml of water (doesn’t take a genius to figure out that was 62.5% hydration) so, making this recipe, go with that. Using different flour, and/or leaving out the oil, and the hydration will require a different percentage.

That’s something to bear in mind when reading a book like Dan Leader’s Local Breads – here in the UK we’re unlikely to have flours with hydration characteristics identical to his, which is why I’m never dogmatic about hydration. Very often it’s a case of suck in and see.

If the dough climbs the dough hook, stop and scrape it down, before carrying on. This almost always happens, which is why you should never remove the shield at the top of the dough hook, even though it does rather get in the way when feeding flour or water into the bowl – it’ll result in a hell of a mess if you do.

After five minutes, the dough should be smooth and slightly springy. If so, turn out onto the lightly-floured work surface. If not, let the mixer run a few more minutes.

Work the dough to bring it together into a smooth ball, set it on a piece of baking parchment, press it into a thick disc and put it back in the bowl, cover closely with clingfilm and a folded tea-towel – it’s a good idea to keep one just for bread, and washed by hand so it doesn’t smell of detergent.

Put somewhere cool, and leave it alone for an hour or two.

Mine’s in my bedroom, the coolest room in my flat, to extend – hopefully – the length of the first proving, and allow the flavour to develop. It’s been there for an hour now, and I’m just going to check on it.

So much for a cool room! The dough, with great enthusiasm, has almost filled the bowl, so talk among yourselves while I get on with the next stage – knocking back and shaping.

At this point you need 2 lightly oiled 2lb loaf tins – pans if you’re in the colonies – I oil them with a spray immediately before putting in the dough, otherwise the oil will just run to the bottom.

OK – I’ve knocked it back, divided it into two equal parts. Each piece is flattened into a rough rectangle, about as wide as the loaf tin is long. Roll tightly into a fat sausage, and put into the loaf tin seam-side down. Use the other tin to press down on the dough so it confirms to the shape of the tin. Repeat for the other portion. If it squidges up at one edge just move the tin and press it gently back down. It takes a little practice, but it’s a technique that works very well.

Spray or otherwise very lightly oil the tops of the dough, cover with clingfilm and the tea-towel – not folded this time, and leave to prove  again. Given how fast and high it rose the first time – keep a close eye on it, and turn on the oven (200C, gas 6), as soon as the dough reaches the rim of the tin.

As soon as the loves are well risen – well above the rim of the tin, but not flopping over it (bulging slightly is OK). Ready a mug of boiling water, dust the loaves with white bread flour, slash deeply lengthways, and put the loaves in the oven crossways.

13.30 Open the oven and put one near the back, the other near the front, on the stone or baking sheet, whatever you routinely use**, so there is a good gap between them, throw the water into a shallow metal pan on the oven floor (or just onto the floor of the oven if you haven’t got a pan yet and quickly close the door. All that should take far less time to do than to type it! If it doesn’t you’re losing too much oven heat.

**A £10 pizza stone heats up quickly, gives good results, and won’t break the bank if it cracks or gets dropped.

Set your timer for 20 minutes. After that time, open the oven and move the front loaf to the back, and vice-versa, as quickly as possible, close the door and re-set the timer for another 15-20 minutes, depending on your oven.

After that time, the loaves should be well browned (see pic). If they’re a bit pale, give them another 10 minutes.

When done, turn out onto a wire rack and leave to cool.

14.15, loaves are out of the oven, photographed, and cooling on the rack

As you can see from the pic, the oven spring of one loaf is much better than the other, even though the quantity of dough in each is identical to within a couple of grams** – that was the one at the back of the oven at the start. No big deal.

**Don’t try for absolute accuracy, life’s just too short, and that way madness lies! To within a gram or two – or even 5 – is fine.

It looks, too, as if the slashing was unequal. Again, no biggie, it’s still damn good bread.

That’s the thing about making bread at home, it’s not 100% predictable (if you want that, buy a Chorleywood loaf!) – that’s because no-one’s perfect (not even me – how about that!), and there are variables over which you have little or no control, like ambient temperature (you can heat in winter, but in summer you’re stuck with it), and humidity. Atmospheric pressure is said to be a factor, too – today this area is in an area of low pressure, and cold front’s moved through, and it’s been very wet and humid – which probably explain why the first proving was so dramatic.

I might try putting the loaves in lengthways next time since, as my electric oven is heated from the sides, oven spring should then be equal. They’d still need turning, though.

NOTE: Given the enthusiasm with which this dough rose, I think I could have successfully used all wholemeal.

I’ve been doing quite a bit of research of late, and one of the things I turned up is that very many pro bakers prefer a lower-protein flour (like SM), than, say, the stuff you’d buy in the supermarket – which, of course, is what I’d been doing.

Shipton Mill 701 bread flour makes excellent bread, there’s no getting away from that, but it can be difficult to work with, and to prove – the secret is in the hydration.

I generally work to 60% hydration, in theory, for standard white (or white-ish – I usually add a little rye), bread, but rarely use it all. With SM flour that needs to be reduced by about 8%, plus a teaspoon or two extra, if needed, to incorporate all the flour. That will yield a slightly sticky dough that, when kneaded will quickly lose the stickiness and smooth out nicely – text-book smooth and slightly elastic dough.

You do need a degree of precision – it doesn’t take much excess water for it all to go pear-shaped.

Anyway, a few days ago I made a loaf with 500g 701 flour and 100g light rye flour (both Shipton Mill), using 52% hydration plus an additional 5ml. That worked perfectly, along with 45ml olive oil and 2 teaspoons fine sea salt, plus the yeast.

Just one word of caution – it’s easy to over-prove the dough, so you need to watch the second proving like a hawk, turning on the oven earlier than you might have previously, so the loaf isn’t sitting around waiting – the most common cause of over-proving, I suspect.

I sit my shaped boule on 9” circles of baking parchment and slather it lightly with olive oil  (stops it drying out),then, when the dough gets within a 5mm or so of the edge, it’s ready – don’t push your luck trying for the extra 5mm! There needs to be enough parchment for you to grip and slide it onto the peel – then dust it with flour, slash it quickly and get it into the oven just as fast as you can. Toss half a cup of  water into the bottom of the oven (I keep a metal dish in there, just for that), close the door and come back in 35-40 minutes.

Perfect loaf.

Now that I’ve got that sorted out, I’m going to experiment with cranking the oven temperature to the max (300C). Put in the loaf, toss in the water, close the door and turn the temp down to 200C (baking time will  have to be reduced a tad). That should maximise the oven spring, and I’ve read that using ice cubes, instead of water, works even better, extending the time the oven fills with steam (steam keeps the crust soft for a while, aiding oven spring).

So there you have it –Shipton Mill flour makes bread with an excellent flavour and texture, and a crisp crust, and reducing the hydration causes it to rise better (up rather than out). It takes a little longer but what the hell – bread-making, at home anyway, is mainly hanging around.

Note:- If you make your bread using tins, rather than, as I do, just shaping it into a boule, then go with 60% hydration. It will be very soft to work and, as a boule will have a tendency to spread out instead of rise up, but confined in a loaf tin it’ll behave itself. My comment about over-proving still applies, though.

Incidentally, the higher the hydration (70-80%), the darker and chewier the crust and the more the crumb will be prone to developing large holes. According Dan Leader, artisan bakers love this. I don’t.

Personally, I abhor holes in bread, and dark, leathery, chewy crusts, both of which were the norm when I was young, before Chorleywood took over the world. Didn’t like it then, don’t like it now – I want a crisp crust, and a more or less uniform crumb with small, even(ish) holes, safe in the knowledge that if I make a sandwich, the filling isn’t going to fall straight through!

I honestly do not see the point of bread that is mostly crust and holes. You can’t eat a hole. If I want a maximum ratio of crust to crumb, I’ll buy a baguette.

If, by the way, you ever have a left-over baguette, even a half of one, cut it in quarters lengthways, and leave it somewhere warm and dry overnight. By morning it’ll be crunchy all the way through and, sprinkled with salt, tastes great.

All flours are Shipton Mill organic.

Monday

Midday: Make the starter; remove 2 portions of frozen sourdough culture. Put into a clean, non-metallic, basins (I use food-grade plastic), cover with clingfilm and leave to defrost.

15.30 Dissolve a scant ¼ teaspoon of golden syrup in a splash of hot water, then make up to 150ml of lukewarm water. Pour this onto the culture and whisk until smooth. Add 50g of strong white flour (701), and again whisk until smooth – there should be a strong aroma of fermentation present. Re-cover and set aside.

16.00  Fermenting nicely (the syrup was to give it some initial encouragement – its effect will pass off quickly).

19.30  Put in the fridge overnight. It should be fermenting busily by now.

Tuesday

About 09.00, remove from the fridge and leave to come up to room temperature.

Midday, add 50g of light rye flour, stir in thoroughly. Re-cover and set aside.

Once fermentation is proceeding nicely, return to the fridge until tomorrow.

Wednesday

Remove from the fridge and leave to come up to room temperature. As soon as it’s ready (once up to room temperature, it should ferment vigorously), or convenient, make the bread, for which you’ll need the following:-

And that’s how it was going to be, but the bread turned out to be as much of a buggeration, when it came to proving, as the first one, and I got fed up and, after hanging around for 4 hours, shoved the loaf in a cold oven, set at 200C, to take it’s chances. The theory, as I understand it, is that the rising heat gives the yeast a boost, before finally killing it. It did rise a bit, but not nearly enough.

So, I’ve modified the recipe, using the sourdough culture a a flavouring, and it’s now going to be much simpler, as follows:-

.

200g strong white flour (701)

200g ditto (No. 4)

100g light rye flour

4 tablespoons olive oil

2 teaspoons salt

300ml lukewarm water – you may not need it all

2 portions sourdough culture, defrosted to room temperature, then creamed with 100ml of the water

1 teaspoon yeast Fermipan, as always, made into a starter with 100ml of the water, with a tablespoon of flour (without salt), and a teaspoon of golden caster sugar or malt extract stirred in thoroughly. Allow to froth up vigorously before using.

.

Combine the flours and the salt and mix well, add the frothed yeast mixture, and the creamed sourdough cultures, plus the oil and mix. If you find it’s a tad dry, add a tablespoon of water, and work the dough until almost all of the flour is amalgamated. Turn out on to the work surface, and work the dough until all the flour is incorporated, then knead until smooth. If sticky, you didn’t need the extra water! Dust with a very little white flour.

Roll the dough into a ball, place on a piece of baking parchment and flatten, cover with clingfilm, put back in the bowl and leave until doubled in size,

While it’s proving, I cut a sheet of parchment to the same size and shape as my peel. (I use a peel and brotform – if you don’t, modify from here on to suit what you use.)

Once the dough has risen level with the rim of the brotform, lay the sheet of parchment on top, grip the sides of the brotform through it, and invert onto the peel. Centre it, remove the brotform, cover with the bowl. Leave to continue rising.

Preheat the oven at this point – 200C. With a baking sheet/pizza stone on the middle shelf and a baking tin on the oven floor. By the way, you want the oven thoroughly heated, which means a bit longer than it takes for the thermostat to show 200C, especially if using a stone. That way it’ll lose less heat when you put in the bread.

Once you’re satisfied that the oven is hot enough, slash the top of the loaf. Nothing fancy, a basic cross is fine on a round loaf, a single, lengthways slash on a longer loaf. Then open the oven and slide the loaf gently onto the baking sheet. Throw a cup of hot water into the baking tin on the oven bottom, close the door, set your timer for 35-40 minutes (ovens vary) and go and have a coffee.

When finished, turn out onto a cooling rack and leave until cold.

.

250g organic strong white flour No. 701

250g organic chestnut flour**

3 tablespoons e-v olive oil

2 teaspoons fine sea salt

336ml, 60% hydration, you’ll need it all.

1 teaspoon yeast, made into a starter as usual – in a mug put 200ml lukewarm water, 1 tablespoon flour (before adding salt), and the yeast, stir vigorously until lump free and leave until frothing almost to the top of the mug.

½ teaspoon yeast added directly to the flour

** The chestnut flour is quite coarse, like polenta, and a surprising yellowish colour – all the chestnuts I’ve ever seen have been greyish. Like all nuts, it has no gluten. It’s studded with rock-hard fragments of nut which, hopefully, will soften with baking.

I’ve read that the Italians make chestnut bread, but the name given for it online, Pane di Farro, is totally wrong – that’s emmer bread – so this is very much baking by the seat of my pants

With all the water, and the oil, added, the dough has the texture of a ball of sticky wet sand, so I left it to sit and absorb the water for 15 minutes, before attempting to work it.

OK – it’s rested, and easier to handle, but it’s like trying to knead concrete – it’s incredibly hard work. Bear in mind, if you’re inclined to get a bit sniffy about that, that everything here is aimed at disabled bread makers, to show how easy it is to make bread. So far, this one isn’t easy at all. I suspect, too, that it will rise like a brick!

Based on the feel of it, I think 20% chestnut flour would have been appropriate – we’ll see.

It took maybe twice as long as normal for the first proving, then I knocked it back, kneaded it until the gluten began to tighten up, divided it into 2 more or less equal parts and shaped them into round loaves, spritzing the tops with olive oil so the don’t dry out and covering them with a bowl to keep the draught off – it’s a windy day.

They’re rising but, so far, not very enthusiastically.

Finally in the oven, after a couple of hours. Not hugely risen, but better than it looked as if they’d be and, hopefully, there’ll be a little oven-spring.

And there was – but only a little (see before and after, below).

Unbaked loaves, sitting on the peel before being slashed and baked. In the background you can just see my bench knife. The white “speckles are the hard bits of nut I mentioned, these are unnoticeable in the finished bread.

The finished loaves – you can clearly see the kissing crust where they were touching. The apparent difference in size is just down to the degree of zoom. IA clearer shot of my bench knife on the right.

Now the loaves are cold I can try one. The texture is close but surprisingly light and almost like cake, the flavour nutty and sweet. Despite the chestnut flour being yellow, the bread is greyish (the colour of bread matters not at all, and has no bearing on the taste). There is, a couple of minutes after eating it, a faint, rather bitter aftertaste. (But see below.)

By the way, when tasting a new recipe, always taste it without butter or, in my case, Clover, to get the true, unadulterated taste of the bread. Wait until it’s cold, too. I know a lot of people, including me, like warm bread slathered with butter, but it really does taste better if you wait a while.

Altogether an interesting loaf, which would almost certainly make a good base for a spicy fruit loaf. However, given the cost of the chestnut flour – £6.00 per kilo compared to £1.30 for my normal flour, not to mention the effort of kneading the stuff – it’s unlikely to be on the menu too often.

That bitter taste worries me, though. It wasn’t apparent in the bread, and didn’t pop up until 2 or 3 minutes afterwards. It lingers, too. It’s not unpleasant, but it just shouldn’t be there and I can’t account for it.

Next day: I’ve just tried another piece of the bread, and the bitterness isn’t there. It’s either something that’s only present soon after it comes out of the oven, and disperses quickly, or it was my sense of taste (I’m taking antibiotics, and they can make stuff taste bitter).  All I’m getting today as an aftertaste is nuttiness – hardly surprising…

Note: Chestnuts are not particularly high in calories, and they are quite low in fat, being only about 2%.

I’d talked to Shipton Mill about the apparently low gluten content of the 701, and they said that I could try their No 4 Strong Organic white (type 105) or the Bakers finest No 1 (type 101), but they might not taste as good.

I ordered 3 x 2.5kg bags of 701, and 2 x 1kg of the No.4. Before the collapse, above, I’d intended to use the No. 4 to make my 50% oat bread – the more robust gluten content should help it rise better.

However, in the light of the above collapse (not catastrophic. but bloody annoying – the problem is that 701 is very easily overworked, weakening what little gluten structure it has, and the very hot day caused it to over-prove), I’ve had a rethink.

A lot of flour is a blend of grains – this is what Shipton say about 701 “…a careful blend of the rare English wheat, Maris Widgeon combined with top quality strong organic Canadian flour to give outstanding baking results.” However, I still find it a little lacking in the gluten department, excellent though it is in all other ways. So, I thought – why shouldn’t I modify the blend?

What I want to do is retain as much of the virtue of 701 – tender crumb, light, open texture without big holes, crisp crust and a great taste – but beef it up a little, lose it’s fragility. So my plan is to add maybe 20% of No.4, which is billed on the Shipton website as “The high protein content gives the flour excellent baking qualities and provides a level of consistency which Master Bakers prize.”

Which is what I’m doing at the moment. I’m making a loaf with 300g 701, 60g No.4 (20%), and 200g wholemeal spelt, at 60% maximum hydration, which might well turn out to be slightly less..

By the way, since I’ve started weighing the water for bread, it’s shown that my measuring jugs are hopelessly inaccurate, so if you haven’t already, investing in a scale that weighs in 1g divisions is a good investment, and needn’t cost more than a tenner.

I also now have a tiny scale that will weigh in 0.10g divisions. Primarily, it’s for weighing coffee beans prior to grinding, but it’s also allowed me to convert my teaspoon measures of yeast and salt to weights, and then to Bakers’ Percentage figures.

Thus, for my standard loaf, which contains 566g (100%), of flour (an odd size, but it gives me a loaf of the right size for my brotforms), I have a teaspoon of yeast, which I now know is 4g, or 0.71%, and 2 teaspoons of salt, 18g or 3.18%.

Water is 60%, or 340g**, of which, depending on the flour and the humidity, maybe 15-20g will be unused. To be honest, the dough wouldn’t suffer a great deal it I just tossed it all in, but it would be sticky, and need dusting with flour, so it seems simpler to just hold a little back if that’s how it works out. I like a dough that, for it’s first kneading, is just slightly tacky – I don’t want to be scraping it off the worktop, or my hands, if I can avoid it.

**1g of water = 1ml. Different liquids vary very slightly (the fat content of milk makes it a tad lighter, for example, but as the fat content of whole milk is only 3%,** it won’t make a hell of a lot of difference if you treat it as water).

**Which is why I’ve never understood the paranoia about milk – a piece of buttered toast will have more fat than a pint of whole milk.

If such precision interests you, you can find details of my scale in this post. The supplier a head shop, but don’t let that worry you – it shows up as a jeweller on your bank/card statement and, anyway, it’s all perfectly legal. And if you don’t like my scale, they have a wide range to pick from – just don’t go too small.

To be honest, good bread making does depend on precision, but to such a fine degree? No, I don’t think so. It will, however, give you  repeatability in your breadmaking, because at best, spoons are only approximate measures.

Incidentally, my yeast is becoming unviable. I keep it in the freezer, and always make a starter to add to the flour, rather than toss the yeast straight in. I’ve noticed, of late, that the starter hasn’t frothed up as much, but decided I hadn’t waited long enough.

As a result, today, my loaf just doesn’t want to rise. So I’ve tossed what was left of my yeast, which I’ve been using for not quite a year (previously, it’s stayed viable, in the freezer, for 2 years), and opened a new pack, so next time I shouldn’t be hanging round for hours waiting for my dough to rise – I started this loaf at 13.30, it’s now almost 17.00 and the damn thing isn’t in the oven yet.

Ah – just had a thought. Fermipan yeast has a shelf life of 2 years, and I used to buy mine in Liverpool, from a store that must have had a good turnover. Of late, though, I’ve been buying it online, and it’s already a year old when it gets to me. I must keep an eye on that.

But, back to that loaf. No, it didn’t rise as much as it did, and it wasn’t my standard loaf (701 with 10% light rye flour), but a mix of 300g 701, 200g wholemeal spelt, and the 20% of No. 4 (that’s 20% of the 701, 60g). And even though it didn’t rise as much as it should, the end result is pretty damn good. With fresh yeast, it should be sensational.

I made my first 50% oats, 50% white bread flour about 5-6 years ago, and I have no doubt others in the home/artisan breadmaking community have done so too. Hovis might be the first main-stream commercial producer to do it, but that’s a long way from first ever.

This, if you’d like to try it, is my recipe, somewhat revised as it was previously made in a bread machine, but now I’ve learned better.

For the bread mix:

275g Porridge oats (I think you get a better texture than you do with oatmeal). Any brand will do. I used Sainsbury’s. You might like to use an organic brand to go with the flour

275g Shipton Mill Organic strong, white bread flour

2 teaspoons fine sea salt

2 teaspoons golden caster sugar

½ teaspoon Fermipan yeast

3 tablespoons e-v olive oil

330ml lukewarm water (60% hydration – use it all)

.

For the yeast starter:

1 teaspoon Fermipan yeast

1 scant teaspoon Meridian barley malt extract

1 tablespoon of the bread flour, before adding salt

100ml or so of the water

Note: spoons are measuring spoons, except for the malt extract, which is an actual teaspoon

.

Measure the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl, reserving a tablespoon of white flour. Mix well.

In a small mug, dissolve the malt extract in the water. Then add the flour and stir until all lumps are gone. Add the yeast. Stir and leave for 5 minutes while the yeast hydrates. Stir well until the yeast is all dissolved, then leave alone for 20-30 minutes.

Once the yeast/flour mix has created a creamy head, add it to the dry ingredients in the bowl. Rinse out the mug with the remaining water and add that too.

Add the oil and, holding a tablespoon close to its bowl, mix until everything is combined, then leave it alone for half an hour while the oats absorb water.

Turn out onto a lightly floured surface (this is a very sticky dough and oiling your hands won’t work). With a small sieve – I use a tea-strainer – dust the dough with a very little flour, just enough so you can work it. You’ll find using a bench knife in one hand is a good idea, too.

Work the dough until you’re happy you have a homogenous mix, knead it briefly, shape into a ball, sit on a piece of baking parchment, flatten into a disc, cover closely with cling film, and leave to double in size.

Once it has, peel off the film and the parchment, and knock it back, forming a flat-ish rectangle (no need to get too obsessive about the shape). Then, using the bench knife (it’ll stick), roll it tightly into a sausage. Flatten the sausage and roll it up.

Knead it until you feel the gluten tighten up, shape into a ball and press into a flour-dusted brotform, cover with clingfilm, and at that point I invert a clear plastic bowl over it, to keep it free from draughts. The bowl is kept just for that, but if you don’t have one, invert a clean mixing bowl over it (it’s a cold, wet, and windy day, today).

While it’s proving, I cut a sheet of parchment to the same size and shape as my peel. (I use a peel and brotform – if you don’t, modify from here on to suit what you use.)

Once the dough has risen level with the rim of the brotform, lay the sheet of parchment on top, grip the side of the brotform through it, and invert onto the peel. Centre it, remove the brotform, cover again with the bowl. Leave to continue rising.

Preheat the oven at this point – 200C. With a baking sheet on the middle shelf and a baking tin on the oven floor. By the way, you want the oven thoroughly heated, which means a bit longer than it takes for the thermostat to show 200C. That way it’ll lose less heat when you put in the bread.

Once you’re satisfied that it’s as big as it’s going to get – about the size and shape of an inverted brotform if you’re lucky, but this dough is quite  dense** so maybe not that much – slash the top. Nothing fancy, a basic cross is fine, open the oven and slide the loaf gently onto the baking sheet. Throw a cup of hot water into the baking tin on the oven bottom, close the door, set your timer for 35 minutes and go and have a coffee.

**Adding a beaten egg when you add the water will help it rise – remember to allow for it in your total liquid

Check you loaf at 35 minutes. It should be well-browned. If it’s a bit pale, give it another 5-10 minutes (ovens vary widely, and an oven thermometer is a good buy, to check your thermostat).

By the way, rapping with your knuckles on the bottom of a loaf, to see if it’s cooked, will tell you nothing beyond how sore burned knuckles can be.

Once the loaf is finished, remove to a cooling rack, turn off the oven (I often forget!), and wait until the loaf is pretty much cold before tasting it. I know it’s fun to slather butter on hot bread, but it does benefit from being left to cool undisturbed.

I tend to bag my loaves while they still have some warmth in them, which softens the crust but extends its shelf life. Take a couple of crusty slices first if you wish, but be aware that oats, like wholemeal rye, can give a very robust crust – the sort of crust you can use to smooth wood.

As I’m publishing this, my loaf is about to come out of the oven, and it smells pretty damn good.

Apologies for any typos I’ve missed – it’s a bad day.

A sourdough culture is created from the natural yeasts and enzymes in the wholemeal rye flour used (or sometimes by exposing the dough to a favourable, yeast-rich, environment, like a plum orchard, as one US sourdough baker does – I wonder if he later fishes out the insects and bird crap?).

There is no added yeast in sourdough, as there is in ordinary bread, but there is still yeast, albeit a wild strain, or even several strains (of course, all yeasts once were wild). There’ll be enzymes, too, because before yeast can ferment your dough, some of the starch has to be converted to sugar – that’s the task of enzymes, like diastase, which gives its  name to diastatic malt – use too much of that and your dough will be a sticky, sugary blob. That’s also what gives malt loaf its gooey, sticky, texture.

This – being less robust than commercial yeasts, which have been bred for potency – is why sourdough can take longer to prove than, say, plain white. But, just as in the plain white, the leaven is yeast.

If something ferments, you can be pretty damn sure it’s yeast doing the work* (if a fermentation smells beery, it’s yeast, and a sourdough culture smells like essence of brewery**). Which makes me wonder – if not yeast, what do they think is in the sourdough culture to pump up the bread? Tiny men, with really tiny pumps, maybe? Buggered if I know, but if you’re going to put medically-significant labels on your bread, you’d better damn well know…

*Bacterial fermentations normally take place in the gut, particularly of ruminants, and in industrial plants. Not in bakeries.

**Yeast converts sugars to alcohol and CO₂ . The former accounts for the smell, and is driven off by the baking process, and the latter, trapped by the gluten, inflates the bread.