The pandemic sourdough craze largely passed me by; I'm lucky enough to live in a vibrant city with artisan coffee shops and bakeries on every corner. But as I've had great success with the now famous No-Knead Bread, brought to the New York Times by author Mark Bittman, I was excited for the opportunity to read an advance review copy of his latest, Bittman Bread, written in collaboration with cookbook developer Kerri Conan. I had some concern that I would be disappointed, as contrary to the authors' assumptions, amazing brown and black bread is already a part of my staple diet. I'd never tried to make it myself; in fact, I'd internalised the idea that it was more difficult and less rewarding than white bread. I was right about one of those things: it was certainly more difficult.
The first recipe in the book, called Beginner Bittman Bread, is meant to get us used to the procedure and to create the starter used for the rest of the recipes. The authors take the time to explain what all good bakers know: a kitchen scale gives much more precision than working with a stack of measuring cups. Investing in a kitchen scale makes sense, as every recipe in the book, the authors warn us, will list ingredients by weight in order to ensure our baking success. Everyone but this one, which, inexplicably, only uses cups and teaspoons, leading me to dust off my measuring cups for a single loaf. This recipe is meant to ease us into the process and I do not begrudge obstinate cooks their measuring cups but one would think that offering both weight and volume as an option on this could save everyone a bit of time converting when they go back to it.
I had no idea that it was the last normal looking loaf that I would make for three months. Since I received my review copy, I have made twenty-six loaves of bread. Maybe twenty-seven. Initially, I had planned to try the main recipe and a few of the later variations and maybe increase my general understanding of bread making and then go back to the easier white bread recipes that I already knew.
From the first loaf, it was clear that this was something different, more like German "Bauernbrot" of my youth, although I hadn't added any rye at all at least, not at first.
It was also flat. Not pancake flat but certainly not the lovely rounded loaf shown in the photographs. My loaf was a dense flying saucer shaped door stopper which could easily be used to knock out a burglar.
As it happens, the bread was also delicious or else I might have stopped at the first hurdle.
The best advice in the book is to commit to making a loaf of bread every week. I decided that I might as well try this, expecting that I'd give the bread to friends and neighbours and other unsuspecting souls when we tired of it. I didn't expect it to become an obsession.
My family was sympathetic, offering advice from "couldn't you just buy baker's yeast?" to "it's not actually bad, you know, just a bit heavy." Nevertheless, they ate all but my most appalling failures and happily asked for more.
It is testament to the friendly and detailed tone of the book that I wondered, briefly, if I should email Mark Bittman or Kerri Conan to describe my issues and ask for help. Instead, I focused on each individual stage to see if I could make bread which looked less like a hockey puck and more like the many photographs included in the text.
There was never a hallelujah moment but, over time, I saw incremental improvements, both in form and in flavor. The biggest single difference was an early one when I started working the dough harder; I've clearly been spoiled by No Knead Bread. Another quick improvement was setting up a template that I could quickly fill in with timings so that I didn't have to think about the next stage or stand there wondering, "Now was this the second fold or the third fold?"
In the process, I learned to adjust the timings and the processes to my own schedule, to the point where making a loaf of bread was not so much a project as a set of quick chores that I quickly completed, akin to dealing with the dishwasher or catching up on the laundry, except that the end result was more enjoyable.
My family is now used to there always being a loaf of brown bread on the counter and expresses disappointment when there isn't any. I'm still trying to improve, let alone get around to the other recipes in the book, but I have to concede Bittman's point in the introduction: Why make whole grain bread? It's better. Not only healthiest but far fuller tasting, more complex and satisfying.
I'm confident now that I can quickly produce a respectable loaf of bread using whole-grain wheat and rye flours, and that even if the loaf isn't as prettily shaped as in the photographs, it has a good crumb and great flavour. If you are looking for a quick fix, the brown equivalent of no-knead bread, then this probably isn't the book for you. However, if you'd like to level up your bread making and become comfortable with a wide variety of flours and variations, then Bitmann and Cronan are here to help you through that process.
Just be warned that your family may expect you to keep making bread forever.