If you haven’t read the previous post regarding my need to bake, please do so as it will explain so much about my thought process. Now, onto bread day.
Feeling cocky after my Apricot Frangipane Tart and it’s grand conclusion, I decided my next adventure would be bread. But not just plain old white bread. Oh no, that would have been too easy. With my newly found confidence I decided on a Cherry Chocolate 2 plaited loaf. Because who wouldn’t want to start out with a dough that was loaded with whole cherries, white and dark chocolate chips and then braided and baked.
Just in case you need a little clarification, the Brits apparently call braiding plaiting and thus the title 2 plaited bread. More on this later, because you need time to understand the disaster that ensued.
The husband started out in the kitchen with me, under requests to keep his comments and helpful (?) advice to a minimum. Out came the all important Kitchen Aide mixer. The flour, butter, oil, salt and yeast went in the bowl, I started to add the water very slowly and the mixture went round and round. The written recipe told me I needed to turn this lump out onto a floured board and knead for four to seven minutes. I looked in the bowl and the lump I observed was not the rounded, smooth dough I expected but a wet, gloppy mass of goo. But, on I went, confident that the kneading process would straighten it all out.
In keeping with the great bakers on TV, I slung that flour on the kitchen counter top and ended up in a cloud of white covering my entire body and going up my nose. Alright, maybe not that much flour. Out came the dough and I commenced kneading it. And kneading it, and kneading it. I went the entire seven minutes. Why? I wanted to become one with the dough. I wanted to feel it silkiness start to form as the gluten expanded and became soft. At least that’s what I told the husband. As I physically put my heart and soul into this, the goo ball was not performing well. I added some flour, per instructions. I added more flour and more flour. By the time I got that ball looking like bread dough I had added in a little over a cup and a half of flour. Something was not right.
I think I need to go back a little to the beginning. I printed out the exact recipe and on my first viewing I noticed the measurements were in grams and milliliters. I never caught onto the metric way of math, so with the help of the husband, (who was chemistry major/math minor in college) and the internet I converted these strange measurements to something an American could understand. The problem came when the metric way did not exactly translate to the American way and thus the problem with the dough. Oh, you can get close going from grams to cups but as the amounts increase the difference becomes notable. Upon reflection I realized the problem with my dough. I had way too much water and not enough flour. Now I had dough that was a bit of a mystery as to it’s composition. I finally got enough flour in it but was there then enough salt, yeast and oil? Not wanting to waste the cherries and chocolate, (because one should never, ever waste chocolate), on a loaf clearly not to specifications, I decided to bake it in a conventional bread pan and hope for the best.
So, I started my quest againmeasuring out the ingredients in the proper grams. I have to admit this is more accurate. Fortunately I have a scale that can go from ounces to grams with the flick of a switch and measuring cups that have both ounces and milliliters. This will be my chosen way to bake from now on, especially since I appear to have an affinity to the British Baking Show recipes.
Round and round the mixer went and what it produced was a soft, pliable dough ready for kneading. And knead I did, even asking the husband to re-enter the kitchen to view my wonderful technique. Why, because I apparently viewed this as a spectator sport and really wanted an audience. He complied and chose to remain fairly silent with an occasional cheering on in response to my hand action.
At this point I was ready to add in the drained cherries, white chocolate chips and espresso chocolate chips. (Yes, that’s a new thing I found in the baking aisle at Safeway.) I flattened my dough into a rectangle and poured in the goodies and started to incorporate everything into one amazing mixture. I folded the dough around these bits and pieces trying to corral them into one. And as I nipped and tucked cherries and chocolate pieces were flying in every direction possible trying to escape their eventual home.
I had to stop quite often to gather up these wayward bits and bring them back into the fold. In the end I was probably missing a few cherries and about a quarter cup of the chips and in true Magical Mess mode, felt this was quite enough. I would worry about the missing soldiers later when I cleaned up.
Don’t ask my why but I felt the need to consult the British Baking Show segment that showed how to do this. (Does closing the barn door after the horse is out sound familiar?) And what to my surprise do I find? The creator of the recipe, a Mr. Paul Hollywood whom I have become quite acquainted with as he is the top baker on the show, does everything, (and I mean everything, mixing, kneeding, incorporating the goodies), in his mixer. Never have I seen him do this with any other bread. With him it’s always, “Get in the dough with your hands, feel the dough, love the dough. It’s the only way you can control the kneed.” Oh, sure Paul, except for this one loaf where you cheated on me and used, dare I say, a dough hook attached to an electrical device. No hands involved on this one, Paul. I haven’t felt this betrayed in over forty-two years when my old, old boyfriend told me I wasn’t good enough and went out with someone else. (Keep in mind I’ve been married to the husband for almost thirty-nine years so haven’t felt this emotion in an age.)
But I’ve drifted from my story. Now it was time to plait, or braid for you Americans. I split that dough in half and proceeded to roll it out into two equal round long pieces. I ‘ve never braided just two pieces of anything so decided to bring up Mr. Hollywood’s technique on You Tube on my phone. The only trouble was the perspective I was viewing it from. The camera was straight on Paul plaiting. I was looking at my dough from a baker’s perspective and couldn’t figure out how to reverse myself. I tried and tried to flip those braids in tune with him but more than once had to start over. I was so obsessed with doing it Paul’s way that never did it occur to me to reference a different You Tube selection that showed it from the baker’s point of view.
I finally threw in the towel, literally at one point, and did a jumble of a job plaiting that dough together. It resembled a mass of plaits, trying to form a structured union but failing miserably. Time to proof one more time and then bake. And that’s what I did.
I ended up with a fairly tasty but very messy two plated loaf filled with luscious dark cherries and chocolate. Oh, and the other loaf that was kind of like the ugly stepchild? For some reason it turned out also. How I don’t know and that may be my problem. It will take me many, many baking sessions to understand the complexities of bread. What I’m looking at is months of failures to gather the expertise of this art. But that’s okay, I am willing to put in the time because bread making fascinates me. And really, who wouldn’t want a kitchen filled with the yeasty smells this hobby produces. My friends and family will undoubtedly either benefit from my gifts or kindly put up with my gaffs. Either way we can’t possibly consume the many loaves I’ve planned to come out of my kitchen. Especially not when I started the Keto diet yesterday. Ironic? Probably. Bad timing? Most definitely.
In short, and really, there is nothing short about this post, I will conquer bread and I will eat Keto. Just may only six days of the week. That seventh I’ll save for the love of my life, bread. Sorry husband, I didn’t mean to put you second but really, can you compete with bread? It’s in a category unto itself.
Post script – upon cleaning up I found several loose cherries just hanging around, dripping off the lower cabinets. They truly went far afield. And the chocolate chips? I discovered a few in the pocket of my apron, a few in the butter keeper, and the rest? Still sitting in the bowl. Apparently I gave up on incorporating them. Lesson learned and white chocolate chips snacked on as I once again tuned into the Great British Baking Show.
magicalmess 