This post is not Gluten free

I make bread. I never buy bread. It's a habit of mine. It's quite easy but also, can be as technical as you want to make it. You can throw (literally) the ingredients into a mixing bowl, for an easy loaf for example: 500g flour, 9g salt, 290g water, 7g dried yeast. And you can mix it up thoroughly into a dough with the handle of a wooden spoon and just leave it for an hour or so. Kneading isn't strictly necessary. Time can have the same effect. And then you can tip it out, fold it and shape it and leave it half an hour somewhere warm and then bake it. The temperature will depend on your oven. I use 230°C for six minutes then turn the loaf round and take the temperature down to 190°C for about another half an hour. You can make bread this simply, with only a few minutes actual intervention. It really is that simple, and generally it will be better than what you can buy.

Why do I make bread? Well, it started when my daughter had her first anaphylactic attack in response to nut allergy about 20 years ago. Prick-testing showed her to be allergic to all nuts, soya (and all pulses), egg, gelatin, tree pollen and cats. This severely cramps your style when you are three and makes birthday parties a nerve-wracking affair for all concerned.

But we discovered that pretty much all "manufactured" bread contained soya flour, or even stranger, lupin flour. And the bread in the in-store bakeries ran the risk of contamination with nuts, which could have been fatal. And so, we bought a breadmaker and this was a wonderful thing! Every morning, for a two minute preparation and a setting of the timer, we could come down to fresh bread at breakfast. We made white bread, wholemeal bread, bread with olives or sun-dried tomatoes. what a feast every loaf was.

But soon, I tired of the "breadmakery taste" which seemed to characterise every loaf. Oh, it was certainly better than most bread you could buy, but because of the construction of the pan in the machine, you always got a slightly caramel flavour, which was not unpleasant, just samey.

Then, after my brain haemorrhage when I was rather rudimentary for a while, tasks requiring procedural actions and no decision making were all I could manage. So, I made a lot of bread. And I started making it by hand. And this was something altogether different. I did, as it might be described, catch the bug.

I think this qualifies as a Cornucopia.

A local and nationally renowned mill ("By  Appointment to HM The Queen" no less) runs bread making courses lasting a day and explaining about aspects of the process, and a splendid lunch was thrown in to boot. We came away not only with a huge box containing flours and our produce: cottage loaves, plaits, Chelsea buns, pittas and other wonderful types of bread I forget now.

During the course, a kind of conversion took place in me. The revered and eminently knowledgeable chap running the course, with some authority, explained to us how bread is made in industry.  He told us of the Chorley Wood process and how a loaf can be made from flour and other ingredients in as little as half an hour, by high speed mixing, extra fast yeasts optimised for carbon dioxide production, and how this caused fast rising but led to collapse of the structure necessitating the need for extra gluten to be added. He explained how the bread went into steam ovens to be cooked at 90°C meaning that in some cases, along with all the unfermented starches and unmodified glutenins and gliadins (the proteins commonly referred to as "gluten"), the yeast might still be active right in the middle of the loaf. And all this using the cheapest ingredients possible to still be able to call it bread.
The purpose of the bread industry is not to make bread, but to make profit.

And so, enthused, I now had good reason to indulge my passion. When we left the course, he also gave us some of his sourdough culture. This is a mixture of wild yeasts such as lives in the air and on the husks of the grain and bacteria such as lactobacilli which like to hang out with yeasts. In short, it is a community of micro-organisms which all resides in a kind of pasty mixture. You feed it with flour and it adapts to the type of flour and the environment in your kitchen. Each place I have lived has caused my sourdough culture to produce different flavours in the bread. I assume this is because the population changes to include the residents of the new kitchen and worktops.

Latest bakings: Seeded Wholegrain sourdough

The beauty of sourdough is that it is a gentle process which is in some ways the antithesis of the Chorley Wood process: It takes time. Of course, you can make bread using yeast. I often buy a block from the bakery at the supermarket. It is good and strong and will lift dough which is "enriched" (mixed with oil or butter) which sourdough sometimes struggles with. But for my daily bread, I use sourdough (which is not sour by the way. A healthy culture, well fed will not go "lactic". That only happens if it is not fed adequately.

A sourdough fermentation can last days. Personally, once it is kneaded for five minutes or so, I tend to favour an overnight dough, usually no longer than twenty four hours in a fridge or cool kitchen. This long process, usually done somewhere cool, allows the yeasts and bacteria to "do some of the digesting for you". It also produces the deliciousness lacking in too much commercial bread. fermentation by products are what give the deliciousness. And slower and cooler give more. Of course, it grows and you have to "knock it back" (knock the gas out) at periodic intervals lest it take over your kitchen.

As I said earlier, you can make bread simply. Or you can get into the more complicated factors like hydration levels and different protein levels in flours. Simply put: bread flour needs at least 12% protein. British flour struggles to reach this, but that makes it good for biscuits. french bread uses "stronger " flour i.e. flour with more gluten.

54% hydration, yeast dough. Traditional cottage loaf and rolls

Hydration is an interesting variable. It just means the proportion of water to flour. I use between 54% (for a cottage loaf, a sandwich loaf or anything requiring a shape to be retained during baking) and 80% (for a ciabatta or focaccia.) The less water, the "tighter" the "crumb". This just means the bubble are smaller and the bread is more dense. Perfect for a good cheddar and some pickle.

A lighter crumb is a lower density, light bread with big bubbles. You don't knead this, but fold it at intervals, usually 45 minutes or an hour, four or so times. It makes bread that is perfect for soaking up a good olive oil.

ciabatta loaves. 75% hydration. Messy but worth it!

I have been making bread for 20 years in one way or another. It doesn't take much time once the process is clear in your head. I do ten minutes mixing and kneading, put the dough aside, leave it a period of time, knock it back for a few minutes, shape it, leave it a couple more hours and bake it for between half an hour and an hour. Actual intervention time is about twenty minutes and  I bake usually five or six loaves. I like to fill the oven for the sake of efficiency. I can freeze loaves when cool and apparently they are lower GI once thawed and so better with respect to insulin response. My usual batch of bread costs me, in UK money, £1.50 or thereabouts for ingredients and obviously, a few units of electricity for baking. For contrast, the local farmers' market sells large sourdough loaves for £3.50 to £6 a loaf. Food once a staple of the peasant diet is artisan and out of the reach of normal people. Or you can make your own.

I am an evangelist for good bread. I believe the stuff made in factories is bad for us. I am not a conspiracy theorist. I just understand the economics, the processes and the chemistry. People who tell me "I bloat when I have bread" say in puzzled tones that they can eat mine with no discomfort. I think my explanation above may hint at reasons why this might be. And I now bloat if I eat shop-bought bread (and I am by no means a "sensitive type" I can generally eat anything pretty much that falls within the category of "food").

Now I no longer have a salary, I cant afford to turn up with an expensive bottle of wine to a dinner party. But I can turn up with bread that will stop the conversation in the room. And the bread is no longer just a vehicle for more exotic foods. It is a star in  its own right.

I also run occasional courses of my own, and the look of delight when people open the oven door to behold their first loaf of bread, all crusty and perfect is a joy I never get tired of. The subsequent proud photos I receive always give me a deep sense of satisfaction that someone else is now finding their way in this wonderful craft and may bring me to new ways of baking by their discoveries.

If you don't already, I urge you to give it a try. There are some excellent videos on youtube I could point you to. I am still learning from them myself. It is better for you, even a loaf such as I described at the beginning of this piece. The making of it grounds you and leaves you feeling peaceful but accomplished. Of course, you get the occasional failure, but generally, it is a pastime that only brings deep gratification.