How I REALLY Bake, When I'm Not Baking For Y'all: A Tale of Fixable Disaster

We’ve been hearing quite a lot about baking disasters and other non-disaster difficulties, so I think it’s time for y’all to see this post again. If this doesn’t make you feel better about your baking craziness, nothing is really going to. I hope this helps y’all feel less distressed about the learning curve in sourdough baking!

This is a little weird, but go with it for a minute. Actually, this whole post will be weird. You’ve been warned, since you’re getting a much less “filtered” version of me here (y’all already knew I was strange, but perhaps not how strange).

In my email, I’ve been seeing a lot of submissions that simply ask me how one makes sourdough bread. Additionally, I’ve noted that we have a wonderful and engaging new crop of freshman bakers in the Facebook group, which lately has involved some really fun discussion about baking rules. I almost always teach the rules before I consider teaching people when and why to break them, but I think that given the circumstances under which most new bakers these days are coming to baking and the stress it’s causing, LEVITY TIME!!! Note: although I say levity, I understand that watching the craziness of what is gonna happen may be stressful to people. Don’t stress; I’m really not fussed over how this winds up going. This post is being done “in the moment” with a heavier does of stream of consciousness than usual, so it more closely replicates how y’all’s process might be going in real time.

I noticed also that my Berkshire hasn’t been getting fed (spoiler alert: it’s not the only one!), despite my intense interest in making lardy cake. I think the Berkshire is the only starter we have that comes from one of the shires that claims this loaf as theirs, so that’s why I picked it. It really hasn’t been getting fed. Smells strongly of booze kind of not fed. No matter! I fed it without discarding, then decided I should show y’all how I really bake. Because how I bake for you is not how I bake for my family, solely because most of y’all like to measure. Also most people (including experienced bakers) are really not okay with the entirely willy nilly approach I tend to take. I think people in the group understand the scope of my gnat-like short-term memory better than you may, as they see it in action more often, but after this it will be clear. Baking is flexible, y’all, no matter what anyone tells you. You do you. The bread will catch up.

I often just pour some flour in the bowl until I feel like it’s enough. I wanted a large loaf, so I poured a bunch in. Nana gave me that bowl several months ago, though she didn’t believe I’d really use it. I checked the weight of the upcoming beer after I was done making the dough, because the dough felt like it was around 50%-ish in bakers’ percentages, and it looks like I used somewhere around 700g of flour.

I really just swiped my hand through the middle of the flour. You can probably tell.

That was probably around 100g of starter. Whatever you use will be fine. This got poured out right after I fed it, so I opted against feeding what was left. It’ll be fine. Salt is around 2 teaspoons. I probably should have used a tablespoon, since I prefer saltier breads.

Randomly decided there should be cheese in the loaf. That is a spatula, also. While I often prefer to mix everything with just my hands, spatulas are the next best thing!

Can’t have too much cheese! There’s probably a good cup or so in here.

I am not the beer drinker in this family. There were more Lonestars, but this was the better size for my loaf.

Literally added the beer, put saran on, and left.

That’s not true. Standard is 15-30. For someone with hands the same size as your average 10 year old possesses, I sure do fat finger a lot.

I’m too short to knead with the bowl on the counter. Kitchens are not made for short people. Also, I really love this show, and it’s excellent to bake with.

Noticeable change in elasticity.

Somewhat smoother, also more elasticity.

Ditto ditto. When the pizza shows up, you cover your dough and go eat! I ate a lot. Child Tester (age 7) impressively ate all but 1 slice of her 10” pizza! I was shocked!

No really. I could go for a nap about now. I too ate a whole lot. 3 slices, a bunch of fried mushrooms, and a salad. I don’t feel pukey, but close.

See above notes with my estimates on how much of what is in here.

Huge difference 5 minutes makes!

Legitimately, this isn’t smooth enough. It probably needed 3-5 more minutes, but I just wasn’t feelin’ it. It isn’t going to rise as well as it would have if I’d taken it all the way to properly smooth and supple (you really can tell when it’s there, even without a picture). So we shall all simply adjust our expectations accordingly and expect a flatter loaf! Y’all would probably need 10-ish minutes of kneading (total, I’d assume, not just round 2), because you probably aren’t distracted by Seth Numrich and also probably aren’t such a weakling!

For real. I am fully aware that there’s spilt pizza cheese there. I look at it daily, judge myself silently, and close the oven door before telling myself, “I’ll do that later.” Meh. Not like anyone is coming over to look at it, anyway!

I know you can’t tell, but it did grow. Not as much as it would have, had it had a proper rise and sufficient kneading, but good enough for me!

How exactly does one lose a napkin holder? Did it get purged and I don’t remember? If so, why would I purge it?

Rice flour is the more common flour for bannetons. I normally use whatever I’m baking with, but… it was here.

Jack provides an exceptional tutorial on this. I may have used this in other articles. Jack is adorable with all his boyish enthusiasm, which makes it much easier to pay attention.

Second shapings give loaves better structure and rise. They also help to compensate for lazy kneading. I think it’s clear, though, that all I’m really trying to do is have a loaf in the house while I get the Berkshire ready for lardy cake.

If you put them in these (or bowls, or whatever you’re using that isn’t just parchment paper to hold your dough during second rise) upside down, it’s easier to get them out and into the oven. Lot less risk of degassing your loaf right after you’ve taken (or kind of, in my case) the time to rise it. I have no expectation of a fantastic rise from this one, but we’ll see what happens.

This is why I do almost everything on my laptop. My phone typing is nearly unintelligible.

Translation: “It gets an hour to do second rise. I would normally do at least twice that, but I’m tired.” I was tired before I started this adventure, if we’re being fair. I fantasize daily about 12-hour sleeps. I miss those a lot.

You can also tell that it just hasn’t risen much. Again, I expected this. I also still don’t care. I’m looking for delicious, not tall. Although I definitely will judge a loaf by its crust, I tend not to consider height. Once the oven beeps, this is going in no matter what. It will still be delicious.

It’s here that I decided this was not going to be a photo series that only appears in the FB group, and that it’d be more useful if it were accessible to all. You can tell because I am basically not captioning these pictures anymore and am instead using more text text. As opposed to photo text. I’m not sure if there are different terms other than “text text” and “photo text”/”captions.”

I really do need to clean the door of my oven. Yes, that is the Aldi AOS mat you can see in the reflection. If you have one of these, don’t let the bottom get wet. It takes forever to dry in the sun. Top can get wet without issue.

There’s a lot that isn’t, and couldn’t be, represented in pictures that happened here. So I’ll tell you about it since this is no longer a picture “story.” I decided I didn’t feel like walking to the pantry (literally 5 steps) to get parchment, and I’d already decided it was too much work to get the Dutch oven out. I have 2 proper DOs and a copper pot that all get precariously stacked in their cabinet, so whether or not I want to un-nestle them is a big factor in what I decide to do. I carefully turned the banneton over into my hand (one day, I will accept that my hands really are too small for these sorts of shenanigans. This isn’t the day for that, though), opened the oven, pulled the rack with the stone out (other rack had been raised when I turned the oven on), carefully laid the loaf in the stone, and scored it right there with the oven door open. I did legitimately put some effort into the scoring. I always feel that if I’m going to be lazy with everything else in a bake, I should at least score properly. We’ll see in a bit if I succeeded.

After I scored it, I pushed the rack back in, sprayed water all over the loaf and inside of oven (including door!), slammed it shut because I erroneously believe that makes a difference, and turned the oven down to 450F/232C/GM8. Then I set the timer for 25 minutes. Ideally, you will leave your oven alone for 25 minutes. Do what you like thereafter, but give it its 25 of alone time.

When the timer beeped (it’s the naggiest timer evar, so I actually do listen when it goes off if Child Tester isn’t awake to say “timer!” over and over until someone deals with the timer), I opened the oven, peeked inside, and…

NOT DONE!!! Turn that bad boy around and let it cook longer! You can clearly see that I didn’t cut that S properly. It should have been deeper, which would have stopped the split that happened in its middle.

15 minutes later.

Just not feelin’ it, y’all. I really don’t think it’s done, but I don’t want to babysit it anymore, because it’s after 11 and I’ve been complaining to anyone who’ll listen (or read!) that I’m exhausted. Turns out pandemics can cause some real fatigue! As such, I turned off the oven with the bread still in there. It can finish more and cool overnight, and we’ll rebake the bread in the morning!

Oh except not. I forgot this loaf wasn’t done! I totally cut it open in between getting pancake batter out of the fridge to warm and making a smoothie for Child Tester to eat (figs and strawberries with Indian Greek) for first breakfast while I made second (pancakes). Happens. There’s always a moment of “noooooo!” and then, “eh! It’ll correct or it’ll be bread pudding!”

I put its “lid” back on with skewers and popped it back in the oven. This is totally unacceptable to do, and yet… far from the first time! Normally, if you cut and see you hadn’t baked it completely, you move onto the next loaf. I really hate food waste, though, so this is never what I do. I find that when baking while distracted/tired/similar (as the above indicates was happening), I get a 5-10% failure rate. Sometimes I burnt the loaf instead of undercooking, but it ranges about 5-10% failure in some fashion.

We already knew this wasn’t going to be an awesome loaf when we saw some of the decisions I made about rise and kneading times. So even if this fails, it’s okay because I’d planned ahead for that! It’ll be French toast all week long for easy breakfasts, instead of the normal failed loaf bread pudding! Seriously, guys, the scope of what you can do with fail loaves makes this not at all a big deal, even though it also means you need to bake again if you really wanted a sandwich (I did). Fail loaves can be an unwelcome but still wonderful gift, though it’ll be super cool if this loaf recovers from me. Let’s stay tuned and see what happens! I put it for 15 minutes and went outside for some coffee alone time.

15 minutes later, I heard Child Tester yelling, “timer! timer!” This is totally a thing in my house, where the CT functions as a better timer than the actual timer! Given that I ignored this, Ross came outside and said, “timer.” I said, “give it another 10, please,” and resumed my cup of coffee. I only drink coffee on days he’s home these days, so those mugs mean more to me than they used to. This is also around the same time that I realized I forgot to take a picture of the unbaked crumb. Sorry about that, guys. Either way, no one set that timer, and about 15 or so minutes later I realized no one was yelling timer! to me and went to investigate.

Looks better. My oven has some serious hot spots. You can tell by the uneven browning.

Compacted crumb is unbaked crumb.

Skewered again and back in the oven! No one set a timer this time. At this point, I think we’re all just going off of smell. Normally, when the smell is unbearably delicious and distracting, that’s normally when it’s done. I’m glad this loaf has gone so awry, since mistakes are generally better for learning than smooth sailing is!

Eventually it smelled right.

I cut this while it was still warm. That’s another rule break. You need to let your loaves cool properly before cutting so the loaf can reabsorb all the steam. This helps you not get a gummy, weird loaf. I cut this while warm because I’ve already broken every other rule, so why not this one, too!

It’s still not fully baked. That said, I tasted it. The crust is super thin and crispy, just as you’d want it. The crumb was soft, not gummy, but still not fully baked. I was going to do French toast with this if it failed, but it’s a passable loaf. Worst case, if I’m the only one who’s cool with the texture, sandwiches can be toasted!

I did reassemble the loaf with skewers and cover it so it can finish cooling, but some of this will be a salami and cheddar sandwich come lunchtime!

I hope this tale of disaster and lack of caring about disaster was not stressful, and did show you guys that no matter what goes wrong (let’s face it: everything went wrong), you can still use your loaves, correct most issues, and anticipate many of them based on prior decisions. You do not need to fret when things go sideways - just keep trucking, make corrections as needed, and have a backup plan for what you’ll in case it all goes south and you’ve got a botched bread! I’m not going to pretend I’m happy with this loaf as though it were full of win, but it’s in good enough shape for sandwiches, the starter is basically refreshed, and I am content! Happy baking, y’all!