At some point in history, (God only knows when), somebody had the bright idea to combine flour, water, salt and yeast together. Then the concoction was somehow baked, and bread was born. At least that's how I imagine the origins of bread. A culinary "monkey and the bone" moment (an obscure Space Odyssey reference there).
Then came the French, who kneaded, stretched and perfected what to me has become the defining form of bread, the baguette. Yes I know I've already blogged about baguettes and my misadventures. But tonight my gripes come to an end, if only for a moment. Perhaps Providence saw fit on this Easter Sunday to grant me a success in bread-making so to remind us all that dough is not the only "risen" gift to come about today. Who knows?
Sadly, pictures and the printed page do not do this creation justice. Ladies and gentlemen, there simply is no explanation or pontificating I can muster that can convey the satisfaction of making a made-from-scratch baguette. At least I can't do so in this venue. Given a bit of time, I am fairly certain I could conjure endless eloquencies and praises for this glorified-giant-French-breadstick.
Warm; soft; chewey; golden; This little baguette was all of these things. The big differences this time around were my use of egg-wash, steam, and a little change in baking time and temperature. Such small details really do make such a difference, and a delicious difference indeed. This loaf, however, will have to live on in cyberspace because it lasted about 10 minutes after the photo-shoot. Devoured by a ravenous tubby Italiano. I still have some more dough in the fridge, and I plan on rectifying that situation in a few hours so I can share some of this "Bountious Goodnees" (as Pops would pray) with my fellow classmates.
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