When I last left you in the saga-of-the-boule I hadn’t told you whether it was edible or not. I wanted to let the tension hang because nothing sets off my inability to concentrate more than the sound of my baby girl not sleeping when she should be. Well, here’s your answer. It was edible.
But it was a bit, dense, really. I mean dense like a lump of lead. I’m not sure if I overhandled it, didn’t work the dough enough in the mixer, or otherwise screwed up, but today I decided to try again.
This time I worked the dough less, let it rise longer, and it was one day from its original mixing, so the yeast had a bit longer to do its thing.
All that said, I’m pretty sure this is going to be some bomb-ass french toast in the morning. Then we will be on to round three of the journey to make passable boules of French bread so as to not buy loaves of processed shit at the grocery store any longer.
Shit. I just realized there might be some baking experten reading my blog right now who could tell me how to make this boule rise to the glory to which it needs to rise. The recipe I’m using is from NPR’s wonderful The Splendid Table, and you can get to it here. I love input. 🙂
Tell me in the comments if you have any suggestions, especially if you’re a pastry chef, swedish chef, or French baker. Or even if you’re a granny at home with an electric oven. Or a man who bakes after work and has more success. Or anyone. All comments welcome.