Years ago I served tables at an uncommon restaurant, The Country Chef in Mount Joy. Ever since I've been stymied with the challenge of creating that wonderful bread of his. "Him", being Ed Hitz, veterinarian turned French chef - his studio an old barn outside of Elizabethtown with a big kitchen and lots of nooks and crannies with tables for parties of 2, 4 or up to 12, as I recall.
Reservations would be made from a selection of dates and 7 course menus. Guests for the evening would arrive, entering the bottom floor of the old bank barn from the abandoned cow pasture, and gather for wine and hor' d oeuvres. Chef Hitz would greet his guests before instructing them to proceed up the stairs for dinner. The meal began with one of his amazing soups - subject for another story - followed by a simple salad, "this bread", the main course, and some delectable, sweet creation for dessert, typically with hand-whipped cream. The evening would end with a nightcap of sherry back downstairs.
Over the years, I'd come across Doc Hitz and his bread, at Lancaster Town Fair, or family gatherings at his house. That chewy center and crackly crust was something in all my bread baking years, I hadn't been able to accomplish. When I asked his secret, he told me that he baked the bread on a tray of stones in water, and would spritz it with water during the baking. So I decided to try it, reading up on sourdough starters, trying all sorts of steamy tricks, but mine never tasted like that. This was back in my days at the little bungalow on Orange Street, with Jenna and Joe as toddlers, and my passionate desire to grow, cook, can and bake all things from scratch. (I could actually clean that small house, wash windows, do laundry and bake bread all in one day - life was much less complicated back then.)
Well, I gave up the sourdough experiment when it seemed I just couldn't accomplish the wanted results - and I did after all, make pretty amazing oatmeal, raisin and french breads. But two weeks ago, I found myself killing time in Borders Bookstore with my step-daughter Lorelei, and determined to find a cookbook that would somehow provide the extra little tidbit of information I'd been missing in my decades long quest. Bernard Clayton's, "New Complete Book of Breads," seemed pretty exhaustive, so I jotted down the starter recipe on the back of my latte' receipt in the coffee shop, carefully put it in my wallet, and headed home with visions of crusty, sour smelling loaves emerging from my oven in a few days.
There are all sorts of sourdough starter recipes, but I decided on the simplest one -
Honey Starter
Combine in a one quart jar with tight fitting lid - I have an old turquoise glass canning jar with a tin screw on lid that I prefer. Set the jar in a warm, dark place and sour for a week or more, stirring the mixture once a day or so. Make sure the lid is tight, or you'll have starter all over the cupboard!
1 tbs. yeast
2 1/2 cups warm water (105-115 degrees)
2 tbs. honey
2 1/2 cups occident flour
My story continues with yesterday's maiden loaf baking. Two days prior to baking, I began with the following in my large bread baking crock, and stowed it in my oven covered with cotton towels:
1 cup starter
1 1/2 cups warm water
2 1/2 cups occident flour
2 tsp. sugar
As I was going through this process, my son Lynden passes thru the kitchen, reads a bit of the recipe and says "are you really doing this? It's going to take a week before you have any bread!" Proudly, I smiled, and explained the virtues of this long process, teaching a much needed lesson in delayed gratification. Yesterday, I stirred down the starter with great anticipation (a day early in my eagerness), and mixed in the following:
1 tbs. dry yeast
2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
3-4 cups occident flour
I proceeded with kneading and wacking the dough against my granite countertop, feeling the satisfaction of it's elastic properties and smooth, sour smelling dough. Lynden passed thru at some point, seemingly impressed when he noted the cookbook called for 10 minutes of kneading. "Your going to do it that long?" Well, I'm kneading away, and my wrists and fingers start to remind me why I splurged on a Kitchenaid mixer with a bread hook when I was 30, but I know better than anyone, the importance of loving that dough and giving it plenty of attention.
I followed Bernard's advice of breaking "the rhythmic pattern frequently by lifting the ball of dough above the counter and bringing it crashing down against the work surface - wham!" As I slam it down for the umpteenth time, giddy with a certain optimism, I have a knock at the door, and Lisa Madenspacher arrives. I think she thought I was a bit nuts too, but lucky for her it was time to let the dough "rest" for 10 minutes. I made coffee and we sat and chatted in the kitchen. David passed thru, and we ended up moving to the front room, discussing art, history, and religion for several hours. I kept excusing myself to check the dough, and move things along on this project.
After forming the dough into loaves - frustrated that I didn't have proper baguette baking pans, I scored them with a knife and let them rise for an hour and a half. When they had about doubled in size, I brushed the tops with eggwhite and water, and put them in a preheated oven at 400 degrees. I prepared the oven according to Bernard's advise, a pan with 1/2 inch of boiling water in the bottom, 5 minutes before putting the loaves in. Recommended baking time was 45 minutes, for a glossy brown finish to the crust, and he advised moving the loaves around the oven a bit for more even baking. I took them out a bit early, as I think maybe my oven was a bit hotter.
The verdict? Texture and crust were closer than I've ever been able to manage before, but still not as good as Doc Hitz's, and flavor was lacking. It felt like an accomplishment anyway, and we enjoyed the bread with fresh hummus and olive jelly last evening. This morning, I pulled my starter from the cupboard to try again. This time, I'm trying Bernard's "Sourdough Oatmeal Bread" recipe, and I'll make sure the sponge sits for a full 2 days, rather than rushing it at one day like last time.
I'll let you know how it goes... and hopefully, when we continue our discussion with Lisa, there will be fresh bread, and sweet success, to share with her.
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