Bread Should Be Made By Hand, Not By Machine

I have not purchased grocery-store bread in two years.

I had replaced it with bread made from a machine, but now that gathers dust on a shelf. Bread machines are to baking what paint-by-number circus clowns are to art.

People with machines precisely measure their ingredients. They use exactly two-thirds of a cup of this and one-half of a teaspoon of that.

This is not how you make bread. You measure by cupping your hand and pouring in about the right amount of yeast. You add flour until the dough tells you to stop by pulling away from the side of the bowl.

You go by feel and sight, not by measuring cups.

Making bread is a craft.

Just like a painter creates unlimited images with the same basic colors, just like a sculptor creates a statue with a piece of marble, I create loaves with flour, water and yeast. With these building blocks, a baker can create something wonderful, something that has sustained life since ancient Egypt.

My interest began almost a year ago, and I have not even begun to understand the complexities of bread. But the ingredients are as cheap as flour, so I experiment with impunity.

What do I do with all of it? I cut the loaves into thick slices. Then I put the slices in a gallon-size baggy, each separated by a piece of foil. This allows me to pull out individual pieces and put them in a bagel toaster. In three minutes they are ready for a thin layer of butter and a thick layer of jam that I order from a small business in Wisconsin. Blackberry. Blueberry. Rhubarb. No Welch’s Grape Jelly for my bread.

Some breads, like crusty French or Italian bread, require no condiments. You can freeze it, defrost it, and then pop it in the oven to revive the crust. It tastes as fresh as when it first was baked. Rip off pieces with your hands and enjoy their chewy texture and simple taste.

This is true bread, the kind of bread our forebears made but now has become forgotten as we consume bags of flavorless and textureless junk.