Going down the sourdough rabbit hole once again folks...
The thing about an experiment is REPEATABLE RESULTS. A month ago, I murdered four small loaves of sourdough over two days. A few weeks ago, I totally rocked a beautiful loaf. So now, my goal is to replicate that leavened sorcery.
Friday
7:00 pm
Make leaven. 150 grams unbleached flour plus 150 grams water plus tablespoon of starter. Mix until moistened. Cover with plastic and set on counter. Go to girlfriend's house and polish off a bottle of sangria amidst a descant on the possibilities of feminist rhetoric in Stranger Things.
Saturday
7:00 am
Make Yorkshire Tea. Feed Guinea pigs. Open bird cage to let Ace crawl freely around if he pleases. Say hi to the leaven. It's bubbly and smells like wet bread!
7:05 am
Collect ingredients. Get flour on everything. Weigh that shit in grams. If you want to half the recipe or something, use the Breadstorm calculator on this blog page (scroll down to Step 2 and make your yield adjustments). Put everything in except salt <--this was one of my first experiment's HUGE mistakes. Don't salt yet!
7:15 am
Kitchen Aid. Paddle. Lowest speed for a minute. Just until all the flour is moistened.
7:16 am
Switch to dough hook. Lowest speed for ~minute. Up speed one notch for 20 seconds.
7:17 am
Autolyze bitch! 30 minutes of rest. Just enough time to drink tea, check FB, let iPad do an Apple update, clean up goo-coated tools.
7:47 am
Salt. Mix at second lowest speed ~2 minutes as you slowly pour in salt around edges.
7:50 am
Remove from Kitchen Aid, stretch and fold for a minute or two. So much goo. Cover with plastic wrap and towel.
7:55 am
Set it on granite countertop--it's like a heat sink in a laptop. Best room temp for sourdough is ~76. My house is ~77. Granite to the rescue! (OMG Fahrenheit whatever. I converted my brain to C years ago, because who can really tell the difference between 76 and 77? Except bread, of course.)
8:30 am
Stretch and fold. This strengthens the gluten so it forms long chains that can hold all the delicious hot gasses all the yeast is farting right now. Do this every half hour for the next two hours. Do some house chores in between. Lift the towel and check on it every so often. This is the part of the bread making--the bulk fermentation--that feels like babysitting. With less noise and puking. But more farting.
9:00 am
Stretch and fold.
9:30 am
Stretch and fold.
10:00 am
Stretch and fold. Wait an hour now.
11:00 am
Stretch and fold. Start making an elaborate lunch for yourself. Like chicken marsala. Sip a little cabernet sauvignon.
12:00 pm
Stretch and fold. Browing bubbly! Have lunch with your yeasties sitting nearby. Enjoy yourselves. Watch Star Trek: The Next Generation.
1:00 pm
Stretch and fold. Looking buff.
2:00 pm
Stretch and fold. Think about dumping it out. Prep proofing basket(s) or bowl(s): line with clean, well-floured kitchen towel(s).
3:00 pm
Stretch and fold. Actually dump it out on a well-floured board. Cut in half. It's gooey. I feel like Woody Allen in Sleeper at this point. Fold four sides into itself, but don't knead lest you destroy all the lovely gas bubbles.
3:10 pm
Plop shaped balls into lined basket(s) or bowl(s). Cover with plastic wrap and a towel on top. Let them rest for a bit. They've been through a lot.
3:45 pm
Kiss your dough balls goodnight and place them in the fridge for the final proof overnight. Get your hair done and nails did and go out to a dinner theatre showcasing the music of Frank Sinatra. Have cocktails. Enjoy an evening of lush lounge tunes.
6:30 am
Wonder why you're awake already. Get up anyway. Feed animals. Drink tea. Take one bread out of fridge. Turn oven to 450 F. Sprinkle heaping tablespoon of cornmeal in bottom of Dutch oven.
7:10
Dump bread into Dutch oven. I floured it enough this time so it fell right out. Huzzah! Time for a tiny experiment: Spritz top with a little bit of water, sprinkle sesame seeds on top. Slash with sharp-ass paring knife, about 1/4 inch deep. I tried to get that 45-degree angle, but it's hard to reach into the pot. Fuck it. Just slash and be happy.
7:15
Cover. Into the oven with you! Moment of truth! Well, 25 minutes of truth. They are a nerve-wracking 25 minutes. Put on some ambient Google Play radio station to calm self. Assiduously read articles online about baking.
7:40
SHIT LOOK ITS RISING. UNCOVER. 20-25 more minutes! Gotta let that caramelization take hold!
7:48
OMG SMELLS LIKE HEAVEN IN HERE. Take other ball out of fridge.
This part reminds me of that one episode of Carl Sagan's Cosmos in which he explains the whole history of time with a calendar and there's like a whole lot of nothing going on for ages and then at the last five seconds of December 31st humans are evolved and pyramids are built and wars are fought over bullshit and then POOF! It's the present!
8:00
CHECK IT.
FIVE MORE MINUTES.
8:05
Take it out. Are you 200 F? Yes. I declare you a SOURDOUGH. You shall sit for an hour before I even THINK of slicing you.
Now do the same shit with the other one. Careful because that Dutch oven is volcanic right now. I think I'll let it sit a bit first.
Then it's ORCHID WATERING TIME. I can practically hear them wheeking at me the way the piggies do when they're hungry.
Update:
I just enjoyed a Sunday brunch of Genoa, provolone, muenster, grapes, salad, and of course, my very own bread. Paired with a glass of cabernet sauvignon, it convinces me that there's something to this old-world European meal strategy. More like EVERYTHING.
This will become tradition.