Transforming grains connect us to our past, present, and future
Baking to slow down time
Here are some thoughts on baking I shared in the most recent Edible Houston publication:
Baking takes place in a space where time moves slow enough that I can track it. During the Industrial Revolution, the goal was to scale and speed things up. While technology, apps, and conveniences assist us in doing more in less time, baking connects us to a place where we can buy back time. We see a resurgence of baking with natural fermentation, breads leavened without the assistance of commercial yeast. Bakers continue the tradition of sharing their notes on developing protein structure (mixing by hand, mixing minimally with machine, use of folds) and knowledge of dough pH and enzymatic activity.
I’ve traveled the world baking. Working with my hands has provided the opportunity to step out of a labeled routine and experience something that is oftentimes vastly incomparable. I find myself in places where I don’t know anyone (yet) and end up spending a lot of time with myself. I’ve learned to become more observant over the years, nudged by the moments of not being able to converse well in the local language.
I’ve noticed that many cultures have a flatbread or pancake, a crisp bread or cracker, a porridge made from grains or soaked old bread, a filled or stuffed bread or pastry, and a use for yesterday’s bake. What is produced in the bake room differs everywhere. It varies by culture, relationship to the land, style of oven, and access to the grains that grow best in their soils. Even, terroir comes into play.
I remember the moments I could taste the differences from one plot to another. When I baked at Meyers Bageri in Copenhagen, Denmark, in 2009, most of the bread formulas were identical except for the variety of grain or where the grain was grown. The varying taste and color of the final loaves or rolls were noticeable. I would eat comparable rolls each day to identify subtle flavors. At that time, I was drawn to the sweet nuttiness of the Ølands wheat. At another time and place, the head baker at De Superette in Gent, Belgium focused on blending the wind-powered-milled grains, with an eye toward how much germ and bran were present in the flour (known as extraction levels). Over the past decade, there has been an increased awareness of heritage, landrace, and heirloom varieties of grains and extraction levels by both commercial and home bakers.
In our quest for diversity, including in agriculture and baking, perhaps we can reconsider our expectations as farmers, millers, bakers, and consumers. When our palates expand, we support lesser-known grains, demand variety in planting and preparation, and support ancestral approaches to groundedness that are rooted in landrace and localized grains. For centuries, plant breeding has been used to increase food production by developing disease- and stress-resistant, high-yielding, and early-maturing grain varieties. However, for a sustainable food future, it is essential to have a stable and wide pool of grain genotypes grown under varying environmental conditions for continued adaptability. With these approaches, recipes will become more like guidelines as micro adjustments will be necessary to adapt to regional grain characteristics.
My family is from a region of China where steamers are more the norm than ovens. There, grains such as rice and millet were often steamed, or 蒸, “jing”. Tall stacks of bamboo steamers sit atop a pot of boiling water. Shuffling the stack of steamers reminds me of moving bread around the oven deck during baking to distribute heat more evenly, since ovens can develop hot and cold spots.
Ovens have a capacity to hold heat once hot. Because it takes quite a bit of energy to heat up an oven, oven builders gave much thought to thermal mass capacity and passed this knowledge to willing generations. Bakers learned to bake (and cook) a range of products to efficiently use the varying temperatures as the oven cools.
Living in small spaces can tune us to the heat an oven emanates. In a studio apartment, turning on the oven reinforces the unbearable summer heat long after the oven has been turned off. The weather dictates whether I bake with the oven or make flatbreads on a skillet. When I decide to use the oven, I don’t just bake a small roll for myself, but a tray of rolls or a loaf or two of bread to share. As the oven cools, I may make cookies or crackers, perhaps even dry herbs or dehydrate seed crackers as the oven temperature drops further. The heating and cooling of the oven shows that baking is a creative practice that reveals that every moment opens a new opportunity.
Baking can ground us to a place. The fewer ingredients, the more local the ingredients can be. Bread can be made with just flour, water, salt, and the microbes in a baker’s kitchen. Living in Texas, we have access to grain growing regions and a gulf where salt can be harvested. Our climate affects how various grains will grow. A variety of grain grown in Washington will yield and perform differently in Texas. These differences will be apparent in the dough—make the flour thirstier, the protein bonds stronger, or not.
A shared recipe offers insight into the ratios for these ingredients. But when we mix bread by feel, the baker—not the recipe—controls the dough’s destiny. Those guidelines could have been created with a different variety of grain (or blend of grains) and baked in a different environment, which could lead to a different loaf. The repetition of hands-on practice allows us to find the range of feeling, of magic, in the dough.
It’s the duality of simplicity and complexity that keeps me attracted to baking. Baking is not as simple as following a series of guided steps. It requires some level of precision, but more than anything, it’s an intangible sensitivity to the wonders of fermentation, resources, environment, and practice. Working dough with our hands can be a medium for allowing something else to dictate how we measure time. Baking is a personal experience that connects us through ancestral traditions and techniques to other bakers and to time and place.
What’s in a Grain
I’ve come to enjoy working with these grains. (Note, the lack of organic certification doesn’t necessarily mean that the grains weren’t grown using sustainable or environmentally conscious methods. Ask the producer directly about their growing methods.)
Turkey Red
Known as Crimson Turkey before the 19th century, Turkey Red was first brought to the American Midwest and later the Pacific Northwest from the steppes of southeastern Europe. The complex, nutty flavor isn’t too heavy, which allows the flavors of other baking ingredients to also shine.
Einkorn
One of the earliest forms of cultivated wheat, einkorn expresses its sweet subtleties and softer texture in various baked goods. With a lower gluten, higher fat and mineral content, einkorn lends itself well to loaves baked in a pan, for added support, and pastries with fewer ingredients so the flavor can shine. When using 100% einkorn, adjust pastry recipes with less liquid or fat to assist with structure.
Sonoran Gold
Sonoran Gold gets its name from its yellow color and the Spanish settlers that introduced it into North America in the 16th century. This grain produces a naturally sweet, buttery-roundness and is great for flatbreads, pie crusts, biscuits, and pastries.
Wrens Abruzzi Rye
This rye has a sweeter profile than other ryes so is versatile for sweet and savory uses. Wrens Abruzzi is derived from an older Italian Abruzzi Rye that was developed in Georgia in the 1950s.
Red Fife
The toasty, nutty wheat flavor in this heirloom variety comes through strongly, so stands well on its own in breads and in pastries high in flavorful ingredients. Ukrainian immigrants brought Red Fife to Canada in the 1840s, and it was the main wheat grown there until the 1920s. Its name is derived from its red color and name of the farmer, Dave Fife.
Explore milled flour in the U.S. and bakers committed to local grains: bread.blog.
Hello! I stumbled upon your bread.blog and it’s really beautiful. Just wanted to say that! I love the “do not eat for bread” banana graphic.
Awwww, I enjoyed the story. Thank you, Karen. And I hope to taste your baking again some day soon.