On Fermentation or How to Make a Sandwich in Less Than Two Weeks, II

[Part II in the 'Ultimate BLT' series]

I have something of a geeky hobby. I can hear you saying: “What? Just one?” Well, let me tell you, no one thinks you are funny, and I don't remember asking your opinion anyway.

My hobby: I brew beer.

I love the amber liquid. Tiny bubbles rising to form a raft of flavored foam, like the crema on a prefect espresso. Hops make me happy. I pour liquid malted barley over my breakfast porridge in the winter. My heart leaps at the hissss-POP! of a crown seal prying loose. I really love to drink beer.

This, nevertheless, is not why I brew beer. I make beer, and here's where it gets a bit geeky, because it makes me feel connected, that I am part of an ancient tradition which has its foundations in the birth of agriculture. Barley, the principle component of beer, was the first domesticated grain, followed closely by wheat. What most likely began as an accident involving stored grain getting wet and souring, quickly evolved into a complicated process of roasting, steeping, and fermenting grains. The result not only provided a way to store some of the nutritional value of the grain in a medium that acted as a preservative(i.e. alchohol), it made people feel pretty damn good too. And we've been making beer for 6000 years.

6000 years adds up to a lot of fermentation, but it's nothing compared to the nearly 12,000 years we've been making bread. Baking is rewarding in precisely the same way brewing is; the act bestows a great sense of connectedness that comes from practicing an ancient rite. Bread making is both a ritual and a life skill, and it's one of the most deeply satisfying activities I can think of.

The two procedures – baking and brewing – are intimately related. Their histories are inseparable; they use the same ingredients, similar techniques, even the language used to describe the manufacture of bread and beer are akin. Each, it seems to me, is an extension of the other. Knowledge of bread can be applied to brewing, and baking methods practiced in beer making.

When I knead dough, watch it rise, punch it down, bake it, eat it, I can't help but think of all the other loaves that have ever been made. All the men and women over time stirring and stretching and shaping. All the risen buns, the woodfired crusts, the chewy crumb. I imagine all the tearing of loaves, the mopped up soup, the stale breakfast toast. And I imagine that any one of those countless people would, were he or she to be transported into my kitchen, recognize instantly the continuation of that ancient rite.

The end result of both baking and brewing is essentially the same: a deeply human connection with a very basic part of our collective history.

So, were going to bake a loaf of bread for our ultimate sandwich. Why don't you run along and fetch me a beer?



One more thing... I've learned everything useful about making sourdough bread from Nancy Silverton's Breads From the La Brea Bakery. I can't recommend it highly enough. This is my favorite bread recipe, one I developed after baking from Nancy's book for some time.

Also, you need a sourdough starter for this recipe. If you don't have one, find someone who does and ask them for a bit. Once you have one, you can keep it going indefinitely.

500g flour
170g sourdough starter
250 ml water
5g sea salt flakes (about 2 tsp)
1 Tbsp thyme leaves, no stems
2 Tbsp olive oil

Place the flour in a large bowl and make a well in the centre of it. Pour the starter into this well and then add the water. Using your fingers stir, slowly bringing in flour from the edges of the well until a dough forms. You may not use all the flour. Turn the dough onto a floured bench and knead for 10 minuets, using only enough flour to ensure that the dough does not stick to the bench.

When the dough is smooth and springy to the touch, dust the bench liberally with flour and allow the dough to rest there, covered with a towel, for 20 minuets. Now, flatten out the dough, sprinkle on the salt, thyme, and olive oil and knead for another 5 minuets, adding no flour if possible. At first it will seem that the oil is not working into the dough; persist, and you will end up with a glossy, smooth, fragrant dough.

Place the dough in a oiled bowl, cover with cling film, and allow to rise in a warm place for about 4 hours, or until it is doubled. Remember, sourdough starters take longer than commercial yeast, but the slow fermentation means more flavor.

When the dough has risen, punch down the centre and pull the sides up and towards the middle. Rest the dough 20 minuets.

Turn the rested dough onto a lightly floured surface and shape it into a loaf. Do this by gently rolling the dough in a clockwise motion, allowing the bottom to stick just enough that the dough pulls itself into a tight ball as you roll. If I is sticking too much dust the bench with more flour; if it is not sticking at all spray the bench with some water. When you have formed a tight ball of dough with a smooth surface (but not torn – this indicates the ball of dough is too tight) shape it into a “football” by pulling one side of the dough towards you, as if you were tucking it into the bottom of the loaf.

On a tray, place your little football upside down on a very well floured cloth, preferably one without any texture or loose fabric. Bunch the sides of the cloth up around the loaf so as to form a bed of sorts. The idea is to hold the shape of the loaf while still allowing it to rise. Cover all of this with cling wrap and place it in your refrigerator overnight to slow the fermentation (this means more flavor).

The next day, remove the loaf from the refrigerator, discard the plastic and allow it to come to room temperature covered lightly with a towel. This should take about 2 hours. 1 hour before baking turn your oven on to the highest setting and place a baking stone on the lowest rack.

When the bread has reached room temperature and the over is hot, turn your loaf gently out onto the back of a floured baking tray. Using a very sharp knife or a razor blade cut a 3-5 cm deep slash at a 45º angle along the length of the loaf.

Quickly open the oven, slide the loaf onto the baking stone, spray the sides of the oven with water to produce steam and clove the oven. Reduce the temperature to 200º C. For the first five minuets of baking, crack the oven door open every minuet and spray the sides of the oven. The steam you are creating helps the loaf rise (called 'oven spring') before it forms a crust.

Let the loaf bake for 25 minuets more and then rotate it to ensure even baking. After a total of 45-50 minuets the loaf will be ready. Flip it and tap the bottom; when it sounds hollow, it is done baking. Cool the loaf on a baking rack completely before cutting.



Tune in next week when our hero finally makes a sandwich! And eats it!