Kim Ode. My day job is writing for the StarTribune, but my life is being a mom to two teenagers, spouse to a Renaissance guy, a gardener, a sailor, a trombonist in a community band and a volleyball player wherever a net is raised. But when my mind is quiet, I think about bread.
Off and on for years, but seriously only in the past two years.
My mom.
When I built a wood-fired brick oven two years ago, after taking a course at the North House Folk School in Grand Marais with Alan Scott.
A sourdough boule.
That one.
My sourdough is from Nancy Silverton’s Breads from the La Brea Bakery. I also like Peter Reinhart’s The Bread Baker’s Apprentice and Rose Levy Beranbaum’s The Bread Bible. Having thus blown a decade’s budget on those purchases, I now haunt the baking section at Half-Price Books. For some reason, bread books are always being ditched.
Mostly by hand, although really wet doughs like focaccia go into the KitchenAid.
On the kitchen counter, unless it’s an overnight retarding that requires refrigeration. In spring and fall, I can put it out on the screened porch; in the winter, on top of the car in the garage. In the summer, I pretty much avoid baking breads that benefit from retarding. Sigh.
In my brick oven.
The idea that I’m doing something authentic, that I’m following a practice of centuries, that bread emerges from such elemental ingredients, that receiving bread makes people so happy, that I’m saving so much money in therapy.
I’m not sure if I’d call this difficult, but croissants certainly are the bread I’ve had the most difficulty in making with any consistency. One reason, of course, is that I keep changing recipes instead of devoting myself to the mysteries of just one. The consoling factor is that even an inconsistent croissant is still highly edible.
Probably one that incorporated pork cracklings, which are what’s left over after you render lard. It produced this moist bread with these little crispy bits and a subtle bacony flavor. I’d completely forgotten about it; now I want to make it again.
Gotta be the pork cracklings.
Irish Soda Bread comes together in a trice.
I use Dakota Maid, which comes stamped with the date it was milled. As a South Dakotan, I feel obliged to support anything with that name, even though it’s from North Dakota.
I use Fleischman’s or Red Star; haven’t discerned any difference, nor do I want to, since I buy whichever is on sale. I use the quick-rise.
As often as possible.
I always spritzed the inside of the brick oven after I’ve loaded it, but I suspect the water turns to vapor before it gets farther than 6 inches in. If I have room, I have an old roasting pan I fill with water. Sometimes the dough itself, and the quantity of the loaves, will create a decent amount of moisture.
A dough scraper.
Mostly baskets. I rarely bake something in a pan.
Mostly boules and baguettes.
With the oven, I need to make a firing worth my while, so I make at least two, sometimes three, dozen loaves of various types and shapes.
Yes.
I still have to buy English Muffin Bread at the grocery store for my son’s peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches – the perils of precedent. But the whole idea of baking bread is to keep from having to buy it. Having said that, I couldn’t resist checking out Rustica; it’s amazing.
Nancy Silverton’s Breads from the LaBrea Bakery, even though I feel like she’d flog me for how I neglect my sourdough; I would tell her, however, that I find it extraordinarily resilient, which is a compliment to her. Right?
I think Peter Reinhart’s The Bread Baker’s Apprentice avoids both the artsiness and the folksiness that, to me, feel either intimidating or insulting in many books. He just wants you to make good bread, and knows that you can.
From the Taste section in the StarTribune.
The bake-off in April, 2004.
Being with people who are passionate and romantic about bread.
I’m learning – can’t say I’ve learned yet – to start trusting my own instincts: how something feels, sounds, looks, tastes. I credit Klecko for pushing on that envelope.