I remember watching my Gran baking bread regularly when I was a child. It was a fascinating process as far as I was concerned, and even though it happened at least weekly- I thought of it as a celebration- a true feast for the senses.

I looked forward to pinching bits of dough off when her back was turned and gobbling them up. I think she knew what I was up to- she was that kind of person- you know- the one with eyes in the back of her head. She always caught me after about two pinches- because eating raw bread dough isn’t really that good for you. It tasted so good though, there was my first sense- taste.

She made excellent tasting bread. It was well balanced with a sufficient crust (she rubbed the top with butter while warm to make the crust soft) and inside was a soft, moist, dense and even crumb. We grand-kids would fight for the heels while the bread was still warm and slather them with fresh butter and homemade jam. The smell of bread baking to this day takes me back to her kitchen and those glorious loaves.

She never measured precisely- she added sifters full of flour and half palms-full of salt and yeast and water by sight and sprinkles of sugar. Baking between four and eight loaves at a time, she knew the proportions in her head. She knew how to gather wild yeast with a potato-water starter, but usually used dried yeast for ease.

She had mastered the art of baking bread. She worked by sight, touch, smell, taste and sound. When the proportion was right and the dough had been kneaded enough it looked a certain way, reacted a certain way- it had a spring to it and “the satin sheen of a baby’s bottom” to quote her words.

When the dough had risen the first time it would stand proud of her huge crockery bread bowl -pushing out the clean flour-sack dish towel that covered it. She would portion it and shape loaves to put in sturdy metal loaf pans, cover them with a towel again and wait for the second rise. When ready they would go into an oven measured not so much by the dial as by a hand held to the heat for so many seconds. The loaves would bake and when they were golden and they sounded hollow when removed from the pans and thumped with  flat hand on their bottoms- they were pronounced finished and removed to a cooling rack. She learned to cook on a coal/wood fired stove without thermometers, in a kitchen without fancy gadgets so she had to learn to use her senses. When she finally got modern appliances she already had her bearings.

When my own Mom left home after being married, she asked my Gran to bake bread and stopped to measure each ingredient so that she too could bake bread for her family. We still have the recipe as copied. It makes excellent bread.  It is always good and devoured quickly- and always good-naturedly fought over!

I’ve also made countless loaves over the years using other recipes I have found along the way.

But now- I want to gain something of the experience of my Gran- I want to bake bread using my own senses. I want to learn by feel, taste, touch etc. So… I’ve made a yeast starter and I feed it regularly. I measure out a cup of starter into a bowl and mix in water and flour and a pinch of sugar to feed it well, wait a few hours until it is strong and bubbly. Next I add flour and a little salt a bit at a time until it looks right based on my past experience -I pay attention to the texture and spring and I knead it until it is satiny and let it rise until it shows me it is ready.  I form it and shape it and encourage it gently in a warm place free from drafts to rise again. I bake it in a moderately-high heat oven where I can comfortably hold my bare hand for about 3 seconds. Then I bake it until it sounds hollow when thumped. I play with it each time I bake, altering ingredients and mixing and paying attention to the results. Each time the bread is slightly different and I learn to add or subtract more salt , flour or water by the resulting bread. I experiment with the shape and baking method of heat and steam. And I am constantly learning along the way.

Over the years tastes have changed and the soft “bunny bread” (or “Pain Lapin” as I like to call it) white bread that was favored by my Gran’s generation has given way (at least in our taste) to a denser loaf with various added grains. And so, I change her recipe adding different flours and seeds on top, and steaming the crust by adding a pan filled with ice cubes on the bottom of the oven. Using a baking stone and various tiles.

My goal -even with these changes- is to keep the spirit of her mastery alive in my quest to learn what I think of as “The Senses of Bread Baking.” Bread baking is both an art and a science- and one I strive to master of in the tradition of my Gran.

And still, I have to fight my husband for the heel….. Just kidding honey, I know you always let me have the heel-that’s how I know you’re a true Prince Charming!