What's In Your Bread?
OK – here’s the first big secret: there are only two ingredients found in all bread – grain and water. The grain, of course, is milled into flour. And don’t worry; I hear you: what about the yeast?? I don’t add yeast to my dough: it just grows on mixtures of flour and water. This wild yeast is everywhere – we’re covered in it (and bacteria), all the time. I’ll talk more about it, below. And, of course, most all breads have a bit of salt.
With just these basics – grain, water, a bit of salt – you can bake a staggering variety of breads at home. Try different grains. Try different ratios of grain to water. Try different fermentation strategies; that is, different timings and temperatures. Each makes a subtle (or not-so-subtle) variation on the basic loaf. And when you start adding ingredients to the basic dough… well, I tire just imagining the possibilities….
But let’s start with the primary ingredients found in all breads.
Grain
Grain is by far the most important ingredient in bread. When it comes right down to it, one should be tasting the grain above all else in a piece of bread. Other ingredients can enhance it, but none should interfere with it.
Grain is a grass, and the seed of this grass is what is actually milled into flour. As I discovered in my own back yard, it’s easy to plant and to grow. It’s hardy and doesn’t require much water or tending. And, even without much work, it grows pretty quickly and well. Before long, one can have a fairly impressive plot of wheat or rye or spelt or whatever growing next to the clothesline out back.
But now what? What does one do, exactly, with these amber waves of grain in order to make a loaf of bread? Well, the goal is to separate out the seeds from the rest of the grain, which, as I also discovered, is much easier said than done. It’s not like the berries are just waiting to jump into your mill and be ground into flour. Each is happily ensconced in a husk which is rather tightly attached to the grain. It takes some doing to pry them loose.
In fact, farmers have rather large, complex machines that do this out in the field while they harvest. These are called combines. They thresh the grain, essentially grinding up and beating the grain to dislodge the berries. Once this is done, the combines run what’s left through a series of vibrating screens to separate out the berries from everything else. This is called winnowing.
If, as I didn’t, one does not have access to a combine that will thresh and winnow one’s grain, one must do this by hand. After cutting down the stalks with a hardy pair of kitchen scissors (no, I did not even have a scythe handy), I stuffed everything into a large plastic bag, secured the end, and began beating the bag with a large rock. After about a half hour, greatly fatigued, I opened the bag and discovered that not much had changed. The grain was still largely intact.
With a sigh, I secured the bag once again and made use of my own thresher. I proceeded to run over it with my car. Several times. The bag now contained wheat berries buried amongst pulverized stalks and husks (the “chaff”).
Following the advice of one of those “back to the land” websites, I set up an electric fan next to a large basin besides the now harvested grain patch. I began to winnow. Turning on the fan and directing its fairly powerful current of air across the basin, I tossed handfuls of the threshed grain up in the air directly above the basin. (Don’t do this on a windy day.) As the grain fell, the lighter chaff blew away and heavier berries (and, alas, the heavier chaff) landed in the basin. While the berries were fairly clean after two or three rounds of winnowing, it still required a few hours of picking through them by hand (“cleaning”) to come up with some berries – about a handful, really – suitable for milling into flour.
The moral of this story? Leave it to the farmers. And, at the same time, marvel at how our forebears could devote entire days to this process.
Grain is by far the most important ingredient in bread. When it comes right down to it, one should be tasting the grain above all else in a piece of bread. Other ingredients can enhance it, but none should interfere with it.
Grain is a grass, and the seed of this grass is what is actually milled into flour. As I discovered in my own back yard, it’s easy to plant and to grow. It’s hardy and doesn’t require much water or tending. And, even without much work, it grows pretty quickly and well. Before long, one can have a fairly impressive plot of wheat or rye or spelt or whatever growing next to the clothesline out back.
But now what? What does one do, exactly, with these amber waves of grain in order to make a loaf of bread? Well, the goal is to separate out the seeds from the rest of the grain, which, as I also discovered, is much easier said than done. It’s not like the berries are just waiting to jump into your mill and be ground into flour. Each is happily ensconced in a husk which is rather tightly attached to the grain. It takes some doing to pry them loose.
In fact, farmers have rather large, complex machines that do this out in the field while they harvest. These are called combines. They thresh the grain, essentially grinding up and beating the grain to dislodge the berries. Once this is done, the combines run what’s left through a series of vibrating screens to separate out the berries from everything else. This is called winnowing.
If, as I didn’t, one does not have access to a combine that will thresh and winnow one’s grain, one must do this by hand. After cutting down the stalks with a hardy pair of kitchen scissors (no, I did not even have a scythe handy), I stuffed everything into a large plastic bag, secured the end, and began beating the bag with a large rock. After about a half hour, greatly fatigued, I opened the bag and discovered that not much had changed. The grain was still largely intact.
With a sigh, I secured the bag once again and made use of my own thresher. I proceeded to run over it with my car. Several times. The bag now contained wheat berries buried amongst pulverized stalks and husks (the “chaff”).
Following the advice of one of those “back to the land” websites, I set up an electric fan next to a large basin besides the now harvested grain patch. I began to winnow. Turning on the fan and directing its fairly powerful current of air across the basin, I tossed handfuls of the threshed grain up in the air directly above the basin. (Don’t do this on a windy day.) As the grain fell, the lighter chaff blew away and heavier berries (and, alas, the heavier chaff) landed in the basin. While the berries were fairly clean after two or three rounds of winnowing, it still required a few hours of picking through them by hand (“cleaning”) to come up with some berries – about a handful, really – suitable for milling into flour.
The moral of this story? Leave it to the farmers. And, at the same time, marvel at how our forebears could devote entire days to this process.
From here I could go into great detail about the different parts of the berry and what they mean in terms of the baked goods they produce. But there are a number of books and articles devoted to this – and it’s particularly important to professional bread bakers who are looking for consistency day in and day out – so I won’t take up more of your time with these particulars: The best way to determine which grain you prefer to bake with is to try them and see what happens.
Over the years, I’ve found that I prefer baking with a mix of grains, in general. All the breads I now bake have a whole grain component, ranging from 30% whole grain to 100% whole grain. With 100% whole grain, I’m generally highlighting a particular farmer’s grain.
The two grains that apparently have been used most often for baking bread are wheat and rye. Occasionally I think that these two grains form something of a north-south dividing line between European cultures: to the west of it they prefer wheat breads, to the east, rye. I also think they both make fine breads, just different flavors, textures, and colors. (Having been raised on wheat doughs, I was repelled by the color, aroma, and feel of rye dough when I first worked with it. But when I tasted the bread…..!)
Within each kind of grain, there’s a seemingly limitless variety of strains, both modern (developed using the tools of modern agricultural science) and heritage (developed over the centuries by farmers who were just trying to grow local varieties that grew and tasted better). With the resurgence in interest in heritage grains by contemporary bakers, more kinds of grain are available than ever before. Each tastes a bit different and acts a bit different in a dough. Some make a stronger dough (somewhat harder to manipulate, but makes sturdier bread) others absorb more water (easier to work with, even at a higher hydration rate, which can result in interesting textures).
You just have to experiment with them to see which produces better bread (in your estimation). As I mentioned above, you can now buy organic whole grain (berries) at most natural food emporia and mill your own whole grain flour at home. This certainly produces the most flavorful bread. And probably the most nutritious.
However, if this seems a bit much, those same health food stores will surely carry a line of whole grain flours milled from different grains. (And, if you’re particularly lucky, you may live within easy reach of one of the growing number of retail artisan mills that are showing up in select neighborhoods.) In any case, bake with something reputable, organic, and stone milled (see below) and see if there’s some indication when it was milled: the fresher the better.
Start with a basic blend of wheats, which will generally produce better results with less fuss. As you get used to it, incorporate heritage varieties of wheat and then branch out to other grains, bearing in mind that wheat is the grain that, with the least amount of effort, produces what most people imagine is a standard loaf of bread.
There is a considerable amount of information on line about the different types of grain and their baking properties. I defer to it.
Over the years, I’ve found that I prefer baking with a mix of grains, in general. All the breads I now bake have a whole grain component, ranging from 30% whole grain to 100% whole grain. With 100% whole grain, I’m generally highlighting a particular farmer’s grain.
The two grains that apparently have been used most often for baking bread are wheat and rye. Occasionally I think that these two grains form something of a north-south dividing line between European cultures: to the west of it they prefer wheat breads, to the east, rye. I also think they both make fine breads, just different flavors, textures, and colors. (Having been raised on wheat doughs, I was repelled by the color, aroma, and feel of rye dough when I first worked with it. But when I tasted the bread…..!)
Within each kind of grain, there’s a seemingly limitless variety of strains, both modern (developed using the tools of modern agricultural science) and heritage (developed over the centuries by farmers who were just trying to grow local varieties that grew and tasted better). With the resurgence in interest in heritage grains by contemporary bakers, more kinds of grain are available than ever before. Each tastes a bit different and acts a bit different in a dough. Some make a stronger dough (somewhat harder to manipulate, but makes sturdier bread) others absorb more water (easier to work with, even at a higher hydration rate, which can result in interesting textures).
You just have to experiment with them to see which produces better bread (in your estimation). As I mentioned above, you can now buy organic whole grain (berries) at most natural food emporia and mill your own whole grain flour at home. This certainly produces the most flavorful bread. And probably the most nutritious.
However, if this seems a bit much, those same health food stores will surely carry a line of whole grain flours milled from different grains. (And, if you’re particularly lucky, you may live within easy reach of one of the growing number of retail artisan mills that are showing up in select neighborhoods.) In any case, bake with something reputable, organic, and stone milled (see below) and see if there’s some indication when it was milled: the fresher the better.
Start with a basic blend of wheats, which will generally produce better results with less fuss. As you get used to it, incorporate heritage varieties of wheat and then branch out to other grains, bearing in mind that wheat is the grain that, with the least amount of effort, produces what most people imagine is a standard loaf of bread.
There is a considerable amount of information on line about the different types of grain and their baking properties. I defer to it.
Bear in mind, however, that this discussion about grain has, so far, only concerned itself with whole grain and the flour milled from it. I have ignored the bête noir of healthy baking: white flour!
Briefly, here’s the deal with white flour vs. whole grain flour. For most of human history, whole grain was all there was. Milled between stones, the flour that emerged included all parts of the grain berry, including the nutrients. Modern mills, however, used metal rollers and were triumphantly configured to separate out the different parts of the berry. The white part (the endosperm, really) had the least nutritional value but was the lightest and, in some ways, the strongest. And it had virtually no flavor. That was white flour. The rest of the berry – the nutritious, flavorful part – was fed to livestock. (Today, commercial whole-grain flour, if it’s not stone milled, is just roller-milled white flour with all the other parts of the berry mixed back in at the end of the process.)
Most all my breads are made from a mix of whole grain and white flours. (The others are just whole grain; none is made with white flour alone – I recoil at the thought….) Though white flour lacks flavor and nutrition, it nonetheless plays an important role in bread baking, bringing a certain lightness and strength to each loaf. Those protein strands of gluten are stronger, enabling the loaf to rise higher in baking and to have a more open, lighter crumb (interior) structure that has come to be regarded as more desirable.
When looking for a white flour with which to bake bread, look first, funnily enough, for one that indicates it’s for bread baking. This will probably include some malted barley, which can make for a slightly better-looking loaf. If you see one that says it’s for artisan bread baking, try it. It should be organic, which can mean a better quality wheat. Also, check the nutrition label on the package for the protein content. Do the math. It should be at least 10%, but 11% or 12% is even better. Don’t go too much higher as that can make a dough that’s hard to manipulate.
Again, I recommend mixing white flour (strength and lightness) and whole grain flour (flavor and nutrition), but please experiment with different ratios (and different flours) to find your favorite.
Briefly, here’s the deal with white flour vs. whole grain flour. For most of human history, whole grain was all there was. Milled between stones, the flour that emerged included all parts of the grain berry, including the nutrients. Modern mills, however, used metal rollers and were triumphantly configured to separate out the different parts of the berry. The white part (the endosperm, really) had the least nutritional value but was the lightest and, in some ways, the strongest. And it had virtually no flavor. That was white flour. The rest of the berry – the nutritious, flavorful part – was fed to livestock. (Today, commercial whole-grain flour, if it’s not stone milled, is just roller-milled white flour with all the other parts of the berry mixed back in at the end of the process.)
Most all my breads are made from a mix of whole grain and white flours. (The others are just whole grain; none is made with white flour alone – I recoil at the thought….) Though white flour lacks flavor and nutrition, it nonetheless plays an important role in bread baking, bringing a certain lightness and strength to each loaf. Those protein strands of gluten are stronger, enabling the loaf to rise higher in baking and to have a more open, lighter crumb (interior) structure that has come to be regarded as more desirable.
When looking for a white flour with which to bake bread, look first, funnily enough, for one that indicates it’s for bread baking. This will probably include some malted barley, which can make for a slightly better-looking loaf. If you see one that says it’s for artisan bread baking, try it. It should be organic, which can mean a better quality wheat. Also, check the nutrition label on the package for the protein content. Do the math. It should be at least 10%, but 11% or 12% is even better. Don’t go too much higher as that can make a dough that’s hard to manipulate.
Again, I recommend mixing white flour (strength and lightness) and whole grain flour (flavor and nutrition), but please experiment with different ratios (and different flours) to find your favorite.
Water
Water’s the only other ingredient that’s in all bread. In fact, most doughs are mostly water. (The ratio of water to flour is called the hydration rate. It’s always expressed as a percentage: the weight of the water divided by the weight of the flour.) The wetter the dough, the more challenging it is to manipulate. More about this later.
Anyway, use the best possible water. Use distilled water.
I’ve found that wild yeast likes it, and, most importantly, it has no flavor. When I first started baking, I used tap water (and commercial yeast) and just assumed that that’s what homemade bread tasted like. Years later, I switched to distilled water (I’d probably read that tap water could be detrimental to wild yeast, which, by then, I was using) and it was quite a revelation. The flavor of the grain was much more distinct and inviting. There was no other flavor competing with it.
I now do a water taste-test with students: it’s easy to taste the difference between tap water, filtered water, and distilled water. Try it!
Distilled water is readily available at most supermarkets.
Water’s the only other ingredient that’s in all bread. In fact, most doughs are mostly water. (The ratio of water to flour is called the hydration rate. It’s always expressed as a percentage: the weight of the water divided by the weight of the flour.) The wetter the dough, the more challenging it is to manipulate. More about this later.
Anyway, use the best possible water. Use distilled water.
I’ve found that wild yeast likes it, and, most importantly, it has no flavor. When I first started baking, I used tap water (and commercial yeast) and just assumed that that’s what homemade bread tasted like. Years later, I switched to distilled water (I’d probably read that tap water could be detrimental to wild yeast, which, by then, I was using) and it was quite a revelation. The flavor of the grain was much more distinct and inviting. There was no other flavor competing with it.
I now do a water taste-test with students: it’s easy to taste the difference between tap water, filtered water, and distilled water. Try it!
Distilled water is readily available at most supermarkets.
Salt
A bit of salt enhances the flavor of the grain and supposedly promotes an even browning of the crust (exterior) of the bread. It also slows down the fermentation process somewhat, allowing flavors even more time to develop. It’s always used in very small quantities (less than 2% of the weight of the flour) and some noted Italian breads don’t use any at all.
Sea salt? I use sea salt because it seems more in keeping with the story I’m telling at my bakery. However, I’ve used table salt occasionally over the years and haven’t really noticed a difference. I’ve never used the fancy schmancy French sea salt for this. There are plenty of less expensive ones that work just fine. See what you think.
Pink Himalayan Rock Salt? Spare me.
A bit of salt enhances the flavor of the grain and supposedly promotes an even browning of the crust (exterior) of the bread. It also slows down the fermentation process somewhat, allowing flavors even more time to develop. It’s always used in very small quantities (less than 2% of the weight of the flour) and some noted Italian breads don’t use any at all.
Sea salt? I use sea salt because it seems more in keeping with the story I’m telling at my bakery. However, I’ve used table salt occasionally over the years and haven’t really noticed a difference. I’ve never used the fancy schmancy French sea salt for this. There are plenty of less expensive ones that work just fine. See what you think.
Pink Himalayan Rock Salt? Spare me.
Wild Yeast
Yeast is an indispensable ingredient in bread. (After all, we’re not talkin’ matzoh here!) If, for some strange reason, you use commercial yeast, then, yes, you add it to the other ingredients.
If, however, you use wild yeast, as you should, then it grows naturally in the other ingredients. Wild yeast, a fungus, grows everywhere: the world is covered in it. The whole point behind naturally leavened bread is to grow and maintain a culture of wild yeast and use it to leaven your bread forever.
While there are many, many kinds of wild yeast, the ones we’re interested in for baking like to eat a mixture of flour and water. With a little help from us, the culture of one of these particular kinds of yeast will start growing fairly easily and, again, with a little help from us, will live for a long, long time.
Yeast, wild and otherwise, is essential to the fermentation process. It’s no coincidence that Charles and Maximillian Fleischmann founded both Fleischmann’s Yeast and Fleischmann’s Distillery. The yeast they invented in the mid-19th century sped up both the American baking and the American distilling industries and made them wealthy. (Distilled spirits, of course, are made from a mash of fermented grains.)
When I made the switch from commercial to wild yeast it was, indeed, another revelation. What I had previously thought was the taste and aroma of fresh-baked bread turned out to be merely the taste and aroma of commercial yeast. There’s no doubt that commercial yeast is faster and stronger than wild yeast. (I remember that the lids on my sealed fermentation bowls would pop off when dough was rising with commercial yeast. Not so with wild yeast.) While you measure total bread-making time in hours (if not minutes) with commercial yeast, with wild yeast, you measure it in days. But what you gain in time with commercial yeast you lose in flavor and texture.
Starting a wild yeast culture is not as daunting as you may think. I’ll show you how to start and care for one in a section that follows.
Yeast is an indispensable ingredient in bread. (After all, we’re not talkin’ matzoh here!) If, for some strange reason, you use commercial yeast, then, yes, you add it to the other ingredients.
If, however, you use wild yeast, as you should, then it grows naturally in the other ingredients. Wild yeast, a fungus, grows everywhere: the world is covered in it. The whole point behind naturally leavened bread is to grow and maintain a culture of wild yeast and use it to leaven your bread forever.
While there are many, many kinds of wild yeast, the ones we’re interested in for baking like to eat a mixture of flour and water. With a little help from us, the culture of one of these particular kinds of yeast will start growing fairly easily and, again, with a little help from us, will live for a long, long time.
Yeast, wild and otherwise, is essential to the fermentation process. It’s no coincidence that Charles and Maximillian Fleischmann founded both Fleischmann’s Yeast and Fleischmann’s Distillery. The yeast they invented in the mid-19th century sped up both the American baking and the American distilling industries and made them wealthy. (Distilled spirits, of course, are made from a mash of fermented grains.)
When I made the switch from commercial to wild yeast it was, indeed, another revelation. What I had previously thought was the taste and aroma of fresh-baked bread turned out to be merely the taste and aroma of commercial yeast. There’s no doubt that commercial yeast is faster and stronger than wild yeast. (I remember that the lids on my sealed fermentation bowls would pop off when dough was rising with commercial yeast. Not so with wild yeast.) While you measure total bread-making time in hours (if not minutes) with commercial yeast, with wild yeast, you measure it in days. But what you gain in time with commercial yeast you lose in flavor and texture.
Starting a wild yeast culture is not as daunting as you may think. I’ll show you how to start and care for one in a section that follows.
Time & Heat
Are they ingredients? Well, you need them both, in varying amounts, to make a loaf of bread. With wild yeast you need more time and you have to be more sensitive to the ambient temperature.
There’s an inverse ratio between the two. The warmer it is, the faster the yeast works and, so, the quicker the process. It’s far from an exact science. When I’m baking, I generally note the time to the nearest quarter of an hour, which is good enough, and you can probably get by with even less precision.
In fact, the best gauge of both time and temperature is your senses. Do the builds, the dough, or the loaves look, feel, and smell the way you think they should? If not, let it (or them) have more time. After a while, you’ll develop a sense of how long it takes to complete the various steps in the process. Most of this time is spent waiting for the yeast to eat, grow, reproduce, and expel gas. Of course, you can be doing something else while it does so.
And remember – the time it takes for the yeast to do its work depends a great deal on the temperature of your kitchen and, of course, the temperature of the ingredients, either individually or mixed together as a dough. The warmer things are, the less time it takes. If it’s too hot, though, it works too fast and doesn’t have anything left to do in the oven.
Next Chapter: How To Bake an Outstanding Loaf of Bread in Your Home Kitchen - An Overview
Are they ingredients? Well, you need them both, in varying amounts, to make a loaf of bread. With wild yeast you need more time and you have to be more sensitive to the ambient temperature.
There’s an inverse ratio between the two. The warmer it is, the faster the yeast works and, so, the quicker the process. It’s far from an exact science. When I’m baking, I generally note the time to the nearest quarter of an hour, which is good enough, and you can probably get by with even less precision.
In fact, the best gauge of both time and temperature is your senses. Do the builds, the dough, or the loaves look, feel, and smell the way you think they should? If not, let it (or them) have more time. After a while, you’ll develop a sense of how long it takes to complete the various steps in the process. Most of this time is spent waiting for the yeast to eat, grow, reproduce, and expel gas. Of course, you can be doing something else while it does so.
And remember – the time it takes for the yeast to do its work depends a great deal on the temperature of your kitchen and, of course, the temperature of the ingredients, either individually or mixed together as a dough. The warmer things are, the less time it takes. If it’s too hot, though, it works too fast and doesn’t have anything left to do in the oven.
Next Chapter: How To Bake an Outstanding Loaf of Bread in Your Home Kitchen - An Overview