Ireland is not terribly big on rye bread…at least not the kind I grew up with in the New York suburbs. I still remember the sour bite of the Pepperidge Farm Jewish rye that was my favorite in the 1960’s. While it seems to me not to have changed flavor that much between now and then, there are certain logistical problems associated with getting my hands on Pepperidge Farm rye (or any other US-based rye) these days: mostly, that it’s 3500 miles away across the Atlantic, and shipping it here in time for it to be worth eating is too damn expensive.
So I’ve been trying on and off for some years to (more or less) duplicate it at home. Until recently this has been a spotty business, complicated by ovens that have changed with each house we’ve rented — typically, I’d just start getting the hang of an oven when we’d wind up moving again — and ingredients which have also complicated matters. Ireland isn’t strong on the hard wheats that are good for bread: the climate here is too gentle to grow them well, so even the so-called “strong” flours don’t make the best bread in the world. Also, the texture was never going to be a perfect match no matter what I did: nearly any commercial bread available in the US is going to have a softer texture than a home-baked loaf due to the use of “improvers” and artificial rise-acceleration processes like the awful Chorleywood process. (See here for links on the subject. And here’s a copy of a wonderful rant on the subject by someone in, of all newsgroups, alt.books.tom-clancy.)
Nonetheless, I think I may have finally started to get pretty close on a regular basis. The new fan/microwave oven has helped — its fan oven’s really super. And working with live sourdough sponge, rather than dry yeast, seems to be another useful trick. As for the rest of it, there’s not a recipe as such, but just a general series of steps to follow:
- When making the original rye sour — the precursor of the sourdough sponge — use half and half rye and white flour, some yeast, some warm water…nothing else. Maybe a sprinkle of sugar to kickstart the thing. Don’t make bread with it before the second day. (Make sure to save some of the unbaked bread dough to dilute with warm water, feed with more flour, and put aside to perpetuate the sour.)
- Take maybe a cup of this mixture, add a cup of lukewarm milk or milk-and-water, add some more flour, maybe a cup or so, and beat all this into a sloppy batter. Beat it hard. Cover the bowl with a towel or some such and go away and websurf or blog or something for an hour and a half or so. Maybe even two.
- Resign yourself to the long cool rise rather than a fast one, at this stage and at the second rise. The bread seems to bake up better. Maybe this has to do with not overstressing the gluten or something.
- When this batter is good and bubbly, stir it down and add some more warm milk-and-water, another cup or so, and some more flour. At least two cups, to start with. Not too much of this should be rye…no more than 10% rye flour to 90% white. 5% may work even better
- Put in lots of caraway seeds. Lots. (If you’re a non-caraway person, I don’t know what to tell you. Except “Okay, then don’t.”)
- Start kneading. Add flour gradually, and a teaspoon or so of salt. Don’t be afraid to let the dough be a little on the wet side at first. Add just enough flour so that it cleans the bowl in the kneading stages (if you’re machine-kneading) or comes together (if you’re working by hand). It’s always going to be a little sticky. Don’t worry about getting it “dry” enough to stop sticking — that would probably also make it come out heavy, in which case it won’t rise right.
- Butter the bowl you let this mixture do its first rise in. Be stingy with the butter. No other fat is necessary except for the butter or oil you use to keep the plastic wrap from sticking to individual loaves in the second rise.
- When the first rise is finished — the dough should have pretty much doubled — punch it down. Don’t go berserk about getting rid of all the trapped bubbles.
- Small loaves rise better than big ones. For the home oven, anyway, no more than 500g per loaf. The dough I’ve described making here divides pretty nicely into two loaves.
- For a round loaf, make a cannonball shape. For a longer loaf, make it thicker and shorter than you think you’ll want. The thing’s going to spread, and sag a little, while it goes into its second rise. That’s going to take another hour or thereabouts. To prevent sticking on the baking sheet, use coarse cornmeal. (I use Malt-O-Meal when I can’t find the cornmeal, which is usually.) Oiled plastic wrap goes over the top of the loaf to keep it from drying out as it rises. Accordion-fold the wrap so the bread has room to do its thing. Give the second rise at least half an hour. Don’t overdo the second rise or the loaf might not continue to rise properly in the oven.
- When the rise is about done, preheat the oven to 225 C. Make egg wash: a beaten egg mixed with about the same amount of water. Brush onto the loaf. Wait five minutes and give it another brushing.
- Slash the loaf. Sharpen the knife really well first. Slash gently: don’t press. Don’t be afraid to slash deeply — it helps the loaf open out.
- Get the loaf in there and give it five minutes at 225 C, then 30 more at 200C if you have a fan oven, 35 to 40 at 200C if you don’t
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- Put it on a rack to cool. Enjoy the faint crackling noises. To make it easier to slice, when it’s completely cool (a matter of at least a couple of hours), put it in a plastic bag overnight. Or if you’re a crispy crust fan, don’t do that.
And that’s it. Flour from Odlums of Ireland. Wine: 2001er Sasbacher Limburg (Weisser Burgunder) “Kabinett Trocken” from Weinhaus Dörflinger of Karlsruhe. Wineglass (actually it’s a champagne glass) from Crossair (gone now, alas…but on the flip side, how many “daughter” airlines rescue their parents, becoming them?…) Oven from Whirlpool. The rest is just physics doing its thing. …And life. (Let’s hear it for the yeast!…)
