The first loaf was a triumph in that it actually became bread. That alone is a win. The crust had a lovely golden brown hue, and the crumb was airy in places, but dense in others. The flavor? Tangy, complex, but slightly underdeveloped. However, some areas could have used more rise, and the hydration felt off.
After reviewing my process, I noted a few key areas for improvement: (1) I needed to control my dough temperature better—perhaps the ambient temperature was too low, slowing fermentation. (2) My hydration level may have been too low, making the dough stiffer and limiting extensibility. (3) The bulk fermentation time might have been insufficient. With these adjustments in mind, I set out to craft the next loaf with a more refined approach.
This time, I made the following changes:
- Hydration: I increased the water percentage from 70% to 75% to create a dough with better extensibility.
- Temperature Control: I kept the dough at a stable 75°F using a proofer.
- Fermentation Time: I extended bulk fermentation by an hour, ensuring the dough had ample time to develop flavor and structure.
- Shaping: I focused on improving tension in the final shaping stage, which should help with oven spring and crumb structure.
These adjustments were based on both scientific principles and my own observations. By focusing on hydration, fermentation, and shaping, I aimed for a loaf with better balance between structure and flavor.
The second loaf was already looking promising by the time it hit the oven. The fermentation bubbles were evenly distributed, the dough held its shape well, and I scored it with more confidence. As the loaf baked, the scent was intoxicating—nutty, caramelized, and inviting.
At the 20-minute mark, I checked for oven spring, and this time, I saw significant improvement. The loaf had risen higher, with a more open crumb structure. I let it cool for an hour (torture, truly) before slicing into it. The crumb was more even, with pockets of air that promised a delightful chew. The crust was crisp, yet not too thick, making for a satisfying bite. The flavor? Even more developed than the first. This was progress!
Each loaf should have a purpose beyond my own learning, so this one found its home with my neighbor, an elderly woman who had shared stories of her own baking days. I wrapped it in a linen cloth, still warm, and walked it over. Her face lit up as she accepted it, reminiscing about the days when she made bread for her children.
Gifting bread is an act of connection—something so simple yet deeply meaningful. It’s a way to share warmth, nourishment, and effort. This loaf taught me patience, precision, and, most importantly, the value of passing on something made with care. And with that, it’s time to prepare for the next bake.