002 | Memories of Comfort
10 min read

Seeded rye, spelt and whole wheat sourdough.

Memories of Comfort

Welcome to the second edition of Companion Piece!

This issue is inspired by interior worlds and journeys, with friends and strangers alike, through memories that nest complex histories, family traditions, feelings of comfort and joy. The rich tapestry of stories they’ve shared is woven together by a sense of appreciation that lights up their faces – either for someone or an experience they’ve recalled, as their memories are mediated into words. Talking to people about bread and memories has been a revelatory experience of which I would like to share a few vignettes.

The first is of a friend who delightfully told the story of his father picking up a loaf of bread with his daily newspaper. The hero of the story unfailingly succumbs to the whiff of freshly-baked bread and arrives at home each morning with one side of the loaf nibbled off.

The theme of irresistibility resurfaced recently when an acquaintance shared that the smell of freshly baked bread rouses a feeling of hunger in him, even on a full stomach. He now avoids bakeries altogether – a feat I imagine is difficult to pull off while living in a city that is suffused by the smell of freshly baked loaves twice daily. But his experience made me wonder whether this seemingly insatiable hunger for bread is linked to a desire for comfort and satisfaction implanted by early memories of eating bread.

The final vignette is of my dear friend, who has a penchant for deeply inhaling the aroma of bread before she bites into it. This simple act invites me to observe a moment of reverence and intimacy devoted to the rich familial traditions of breadmaking and consumption rooted in her childhood spent in Georgia. These moments are often punctuated by her recounting of a distant but endearing experience from a home left behind during a time of unrest, 4,500 miles away from New York City.

In Marcel Proust’s novel In Search of Lost Time, (also featured in this edition's 'Curiosities' section), the author beautifully describes a sensory experience familiar to most of us, dubbed the Proust Effect. It’s the spontaneous triggering of an intense emotion or vivid autobiographical memory by a scent. Proust writes,

“She sent out for one of those short, plump little cakes called 'petites madeleines,' which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted scallop of a pilgrim's shell. And soon, mechanically, weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate, a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, but individual, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me, it was myself.”

The smell of ‘brown bread’, a Ghanaian-style whole wheat bread has transported me back into the body of my six year old self many times. I am seated, and just tall enough to peer over our family’s dining table, which was always covered in a cream jacquard tablecloth. In my hand, I hold a pillowy soft piece of bread spread with a layer of margarine that my mother has lovingly prepared for me for breakfast. Each time I take a bite, the salt crystals, although perfectly blended into the spread, dot my palate and delight my taste buds. This is what the comfort of home feels like to me.

Considering Time

I’ve been watching the warmer Spring days in New York usher in a more favorable environment in which the wild yeast and bacteria in my sourdough starter can thrive on the kitchen counter. When I started baking last winter, I had to resort to creating an artificially cozy environment for them by turning on the light in my oven. Warmth arouses these microorganisms to be more active during feedings.

While developing this month’s recipe, I noticed one weekend that my kitchen temperature had inched up to 75°F, just a few degrees shy of the ideal temperature I strive for in dough temperature. This meant that I could begin fermenting my dough without the aid of my oven light, although it would noticeably slow down the breadmaking process, before putting it in the fridge overnight to finish the fermentation process.

I was primarily interested in the impact on the bread itself. But the first change I noticed was in myself, as I watched my expectations recede having removed the pressure of time imposed on the process. With this change came an openness to be fully present for the task at hand and a willingness to make mistakes and learn, which I found helpful while developing something new.

I also noticed a shift in how I received visual and tactile feedback from the dough I was working with. I have always been aware that the dough is alive. Deciding not to work with alarms meant that I was receiving cues for precision directly through observation – and relying on the dough to directly communicate that it was ready for the next step in the process. Doing this surfaced an unconscious belief that sticking to strict timetables gives me more control over the unknown or unpredictable aspects of the microorganisms in my bread. This awareness temporarily freed me from the pure mechanics of performing according to the constraints of self-imposed time.

Let's delve into this month's recipe below.

Sauerkraut and Onion Sourdough

This edition's recipe is inspired by a Polish sauerkraut and rye bread recipe I read that left me intrigued and wondering how fermentation might be impacted by combining microorganisms in sauerkraut and wild yeast. An unsuccessful search for a variation on the recipe that incorporates whole grains and a sourdough starter meant that I had to develop my own. My craving for a loaf with an intensely savory flavor profile led to the addition of onion to the dough. Butter introduces a complementary sweetness by amplifying notes of caramelization and produces a flakier crust. I can imagine a future iteration of this recipe that includes cheese.

I enjoyed the various delightful sensory experiences while making this bread. For example, working sauerkraut-infused butter into the dough is a deeply soothing activity that also pleases the eyes. Then there are the exquisite fragrances the dough releases through various stages of mixing, fermentation and baking. Once the loaf enters the oven, an irresistible scent of caramelized onions slowly fills your kitchen and lingers for hours – testing your patience until it has completely cooled down and is ready for slicing.

Flavor and texture notes for this recipe

Savory (umami) with notes of caramelization. Hearty, wheat flavor develops after 24 hours. Chewy, creamy crumb with a firm, slightly flaky crust. Smells toasted and buttery with hints of a vegetal dairy aroma.

*The slice depicted in the above image has been toasted.

This bread needs at least 4 hours of rest after baking for the moisture to be fully integrated. Its palette of flavors are more pronounced at 12 hours and fully articulated after 24 hours of resting.

The recipe below is meant for home bakers with a foundational knowledge for making sourdough bread. Note that the dough is very wet and can be challenging for a beginner to handle.

Links to pre-made flavorings
Caraway Sauerkraut
Onion Flakes

Recipe for three small loaves of bread

Levain

60g ripe sourdough starter, at 100% hydration

30g whole rye flour

30g bread flour

60g filtered spring water (78°F)

Autolyse

493g bread flour

233g whole spelt flour

208g whole wheat flour

52g whole rye flour

736g water (78°F)
Mix and let rest for 1 hour.

Add 164g of the ripe levain and 22g of salt to the dough. Mix and strengthen the dough using the ‘slap and fold’ technique for 10 minutes.

Lamination Mixture
100g drained sauerkraut; pat dry
100g unsalted butter at room temperature
30g onion flakes

Prepare your lamination mixture by combining the butter and sauerkraut into a ball.

Bulk ferment the dough for 4 hours with 4 ‘coil folds’ at 45 minute intervals and a lamination. Laminate the dough before the final ‘coil fold’ by evenly spreading the sauerkraut and flavored butter across its surface and sprinkling the onion flakes on top.

Once bulk fermentation is complete, split the dough into three equal parts, preshape, and let rest for 15 minutes uncovered.

Shape as desired, either a bâtard or a boule work well, and transfer to proofing baskets.

Cover and proof in the fridge at 34°F for 20 hours. Once proofing is complete, bake in a preheated dutch oven at 455°F for 20 minutes with a lid, to generate steam. Remove the lid and bake for an additional 30 minutes. Let cool on an elevated rack for a minimum of 4 hours (ideally 12), and enjoy!

Happenings

At our March gathering on Zoom, we learned about preferments, including sourdough starters and the foundational tools needed to create your own. The date for our next meeting in June will be announced in the May newsletter. We hope you will join us!

Curiosities

The 'Madeline Moment' that Almost Didn't Happen
Continuing our exploration of the Proust Effect, which appears in this edition's introduction, it turns out that before Proust settled on the small, sweet sponge cake, he actually wrote about.... bread, of course!

A recent exhibition in Paris showed earlier drafts of the novel which reveal that he considered stale bread (pain rassis) for the famed passage before revising it to toast (pain grillé) and then a twice-baked bread called rusk. SMH.

As much as I love bread, I can’t say that I disagree with him on his final choice ;).

Thank you for reading this far and please share this newsletter with anyone you think might enjoy it!

If you have any feedback, I would love to hear it! Simply reply to this email.

Until next time . . .
Nana

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