Careless Cook X

I think a great deal of cooking requires a degree of sophisticated coordination—of timing, that is. This morning I decided to bake some baguettes—well, I planned for five in total. Two of the baguettes I give to the cleaning ladies and three I keep for our own meals. Today I followed the recipe I have used from the bread-baking book, Secrets of a Jewish Baker. In his text he offers three methods of preparation: hand, food processor or stand mixer. Hand method makes the least number of loaves and I tend to prepare the dough by hand method, though to be truthful, I always use my KitchenAid stand mixer. The hand method prepares two rather thick baguettes, almost like Italian loaves. But today I planned to make multiple loaves and lo and behold, I saw that there exists for the actual stand mixer method a recipe for the preparation of five baguettes! But alas, my five quart stand mixer was not big enough (or powerful enough) to mix up to eight-ten cups of flour, and so I was left to prepare two batches of baguettes by hand (but really by stand-mixer). This required some coordination—timing.

            I began work with the first batch: two cups of water, for the sponge: one tablespoon of yeast and three cups of bread flour! This sponge must rise for 45 minutes in a warm draft-free place which is all well and good: I had plenty of time. I put the sponge in the bread box to rise in a warm draft-free space and went off to do some household chores. All was well. After 45 minutes, I punched down the sponge and added two cups (or a bit more) of all-purpose flour and a tablespoon of salt. All still remained well. I mixed and kneaded—or the stand mixer mixed and kneaded while I began to prepare the tools that I would need to repeat the process for the preparation of the next set of baguettes. I had already decided to make three thinner baguettes with this batch. So, after the kneading of this first batch was done, I placed the dough in a moderately oiled bowl. placed the dough in it, flipped it over once to coat both sides, and covered it lightly. It was to rise first for 30 minutes or so and then flipped over again for another 45 minutes. I placed the bowl in the warm, draft-free bread box and I set the timer on the microwave. 

            And this is where things got a bit complicated. I had cleaned the stand mixer bowl, the mixing paddle and the dough hook. I’ve got the necessary ingredients laid out on the counter for the second set of baguettes and while the first mix rose in the slightly oiled bowl, I begin to prepare the sponge for the second set of baguettes. I mixed this second sponge that must rise, again, for forty-five minutes, and I set the timer this time on my iPhone. I fuss about the kitchen using up time until the first dough has risen for thirty minutes or so (until it has doubled in size) and the timer on the microwave has rung. Then, following the recipe with some carelessness I punch down the dough (with gentleness) and turn it over in the bowl and place it back in the bread box where it must now rise a second time for 45 minutes. But the second sponge has been rising now, though not in the bread box because the first mixture is there, and I’m starting to get my 45 minutes measures confused. And more seriously, though the sponge for the second batch has now been rising for some minutes while I had adjusted the first mixture, I realize with some alarm that I’ve forgotten to set the timer for it. Hmm, I wonder, how long has it been rising—too little time and the dough will be too heavy and dense; too much and the bread will collapse. The sponge for the second batch must rise for 45 minutes but I can’t too accurately assess for how long it has already been rising. Nevertheless, I make an informed guess and set the timer for the remaining minutes on my iPhone or on the microwave, whichever, so again I’ve got two timers going and again, I go about my business, this time with a bit less confidence and certainly more concern. After about fifteen minutes I realize that I can’t remember which timer has been assigned to which batch, so now I must depend on, well, how everything looks. Which is probably how all was handled back before there were timers and stand mixers and food processors (the latter which, I repeat, I never use to prepare my breads).

            Now the first batch has been rising in the oiled bowl for 45 minutes, but the second batch sponge also had to rise for 45 minutes, but as I said, I had to estimate when I had actually put this second batch up. I eye the dough (without my glasses) and make a (mis)educated guess. 

            Now when the first batch has risen for the second time (45 minutes, not exactly timed because I am impatient and some of the equipment needs to be available for transfer)) I release the risen dough from the bowl, divide it into two and shape each part into a round where they will rest for five minutes. My timers are now all in a confusing mess, but five minutes doesn’t really require a great effort to estimate. Easy enough. Now at this moment, the second sponge is, I think, about done rising, and so I punched it down, added the all-purpose flour (this time I added a bit of artisan flour left over from a previous baking episode) and salt, mixed it until the dough came off the sides of the bowl, then slid the dough hook onto the mixer and began to let it knead. The directions say to knead for 15-20 minutes but I don’t have the patience or the courage to wait. So, when my anxiety reaches a certain noticeable level, I turn off the mixer and put the kneaded dough into the oiled bowl. It must rise first for 30 minutes and then again for 45 minutes more. The warm, draft-free bread box had become available.

After allowing the dough to rest for five minutes (or so), I shaped that first batch into baguettes. If I am somewhat competent up until now, with shaping the bread I rose to my level of incompetence. Nevertheless, I place the loaves (alas, imperfectly shaped) on a corn meal dusted parchment sheet on a baking pan and cover them with a piece of plastic wrap, again lightly oiled. They must rise for 60 minutes or until the loaves are puffy. I’ve never quite understood how to evaluate ‘puffy’. I set the timer again and check on the second batch rising but notice that I’d forgotten to set any timer—so I guess it has been at least 30 minutes, and so I punch it down (gently) and turn it over for its second rise: 45 minutes. I preheat the oven to 475 degrees to begin the process of actually baking the baguettes.

The second batch of kneaded dough I had placed into the again oiled bowl and placed in the warm bread box. It rose first for 30 minutes. I know there was a timer set somewhere. After about 45 minutes I check on the shaped loaves of the first batch for puffiness—they look puffy—and so I turn on the water kettle because the loaves must bake with steam. That requires that I pour boiling water into a pan that has been sitting in a very hot oven. I score the loaves and place them in the oven where they will bake for 25-30 minutes. I set another timer but I have lost all track of what timer is timing what. I pour the now-boiling water into the heated pan and try not to scald my face and arms. Sometimes I succeed. I’ve had timers running everywhere but I am having some difficulty keeping track of which timer is attached to which moment in the baguette making process. I considered turning off all the timers and choose to employ an analog clock. I sound a bit daft now even to myself, but, then, I suffered from Covid this past week and so I’ve got excuses.

Of course, in the end, everything turned out to my satisfaction. My baguettes—all five of them—came out of the oven satisfactorily and even tasty, though for attractiveness they would win no prize. I was struck however that the attempt to coordinate timings in the preparation of my multiple baguettes reminded me of the plethora of reading materials that is strewn in various states of use about my apartment. Two or more novels or scholarly tomes with bookmarks jutting out from top or bottom that indicate how far (or little) I’ve progressed; journals open to articles already read or awaiting reading; my own journal awaiting some brilliant thought; books I’ve begun but for some reason abandoned and have not yet shelved or sold at Half-Price Books; recipes printed out for tonight’s or tomorrow’s dinner preparations; catalogs selling things I really don’t need; mails some even unopened still, etc. etc. etc. I forget which to pick up next, or cannot quite decide which calls loudest to me. Which are puffy and ready for baking! In the end, like my baguettes, misshapen but tasty, these reading materials satisfy. I recognize that I coordinate the reading like I bake the baguettes: with hope, a bit of carelessness (as a scholar I am a bricoleur and am apt to pick up at random something, anything, lying about) and settle down to a somewhat misshapen but fresh warm loaf. In my reading habits, I tend to turn off the timers. Maybe carefully timed coordination is not the most efficient way to proceed to realize a perfect product; what is required, perhaps, is just some vague, ambiguous attention and patience.