Pink of Perfection

Here we are at the tail end of a cold and snowy January and until yesterday, I hadn’t baked a loaf of bread. But yesterday was the perfect time to do it. I was having one of those days where everything is hard––tupperware tumbling out of overstuffed cabinets, pictures falling off the walls, glass breaking, frames busted. It was of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day variety.

But then I made some bread. First, I cursed the fact that I was making bread. I was hosting book club that night and we were having a dinner so simple it was bordering on ascetic. A still barely warm loaf of bread iced with salty butter seemed like a necessary touch of luxury. I was fighting the process every step of the way––pissed that I got flour on the flour, pissed that I didn’t grind enough oats, both devastated and pissed that I read the ingredients incorrectly and used whole wheat pastry flour instead of all-purpose. But then I got to the kneading, my favorite part. I slipped off my rings. Things got messy and a little sticky. I added more flour, and pushed and pulled and gave quarter-turns. It was probably the first time all day I had given myself up to the moment.

That’s something I’m thinking about these days: how to be present in the here and now, instead of casting forth into the future. I keep lists of so many things in the future: recipes I want to make, things I want to buy, books I want to read. A good deal of my life exists in the “Things I want in the future” department.  But cooking––especially the parts that require getting your hands in there, like sorting through beans, kneading bread, chopping an onion–– can become our access points back into the moment. We get out of our heads, out of our kicking resistance to the day, out of our laundry list of to dos and to buys, and into whatever this moment really, like smooth, elastic dough on the countertop.

Sometimes this moment is Excel and email and calling the insurance company. Harder to accept that moment, but probably still possible, maybe just by finding our breath and surrendering to it. At least for the moment.

I’m about to have a slice of this with a poached egg for breakfast, and I’m going to try to be really there for that breakfast, instead of letting my mind wander into the next hour. This is really hard for me. The future is fun and filled with possibility and shiny new things and unknowns still so unrealized they are imbued with adventure rather fear. But now? Well, more often than not it’s got a drippy faucet, a headache, an unmade bed, a lone sock. Figuring out how to appreciate the rough edges and imperfections for what they are is another way of figuring out how to be cool with the everyday. And while it may seem mundane, I have a feeling there’s some magic in that.

This is such a great bread recipe–the whole thing takes about an hour, with no rising time, no finicky yeast––and is a perfect recipe for first-time bread-makers or just impatient bakers. As I mentioned, I goofed making this recipe, but I was still happy with the results. If you want to make it the real way, follow Heidi’s recipe; but if you want to add some whole wheat flour, as I did accidentally, go with this eureka version below.

Seeded Oat Soda Bread
adapted from 101 Cookbooks
Makes 1 loaf

butter, to grease pan
2 cups rolled oats
1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting and kneading
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 3/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/4 teaspoons fine-grain sea salt
1 3/4 cups buttermilk, plus more if needed, and 2T. for brushing
mixed seeds – sesame, caraway, poppy, etc.

Preheat the oven to 400°F with a rack in the middle of the oven. Butter and line a 9x5x3 inch loaf pan (or one with ~8 cup capacity) with parchment paper and set aside. Alternately, you can bake this bread without a pan, shaped like this, on a lightly floured baking sheet.

To make the oat flour, use a food processor to pulse the rolled oats a few times. Then process into a fine powder – another minute or two. If you are buying oat flour, not making your own, measure out scant 2 cups.

Sift the flours, baking soda, and salt into a large bowl. Make a well in the flour and pour in the buttermilk. Stir just until everything comes together into a dough. Turn out onto a lightly floured countertop and knead for 30 seconds or so, just long enough for the dough to come together into a cohesive, slightly flattened ball without many cracks or fissures. If your dough is on the dry side, add more buttermilk a small splash at a time. Now ease the dough evenly into the prepared baking pan – see photo if you need a bit of guidance.

Brush all over the top and sides with buttermilk and sprinkle generously with mixed seeds or flour, 2 tablespoons or so. Slice a few deep slashes across the top of the dough. Bake for about 30 minutes, then quickly (without letting all the hot air out of the oven), move the rack and the bread up a level, so the top of the bread gets nice and toasted. Bake for another 20 minutes, or until a hard crust forms and the bread is baked through. It will feel very solid and sound hollow when you knock on it. Carefully lift it out of the pan, in a timely fashion, and allow to cool on a wire rack. Enjoy with a good slathering of salted butter.

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