Just before this posting was started, the first batch of artisan sourdough, that includes kernza flour, was mixed by yours truly. "Kernza, whuzzat," you say? Take a look at Perennial Pantry's web site. For a deeper background, check out The Land Institute's page on kernza's commercial development.
We've know about kernza for some time, but hadn't found any local sources of flour, although Birchwood Cafe has been offering a few kernza products for awhile. When we found out about a crowd-funding campaign that offered flour and grain, we signed up. The package arrived a few days ago and today was the first time since its arrival we've anticipated baking some artisan sourdough bread. Recently we've been adding about 10% whole wheat flour to a 50%-50% combination of all-purpose and bread flour, plus water, salt, and home brewed starter. Today we substituted kernza for the whole wheat in the recipe. We'll plan on baking tomorrow or Thursday if the cooler weather arrives on schedule and the dough rises the way it needs to.
recent artisan sourdough boule
Photo by J. Harrington
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If all comes together, we'll share some photos and our recipe details. If not, we'll admit "failure" and try a different combination. The folks at Perennial Pantry have an interesting looking Beth Dooley recipe and another piece about how the fineness of the flour grind affects baking. I'm already working on when and how to get more kernza flour so the experiments can continue until we're, or, more accurately, the bread is, successful.
Bread
Each night, in a space he’d makebetween waking and purpose,my grandfather donned his onesuit, in our still dark house, and drovethrough Brooklyn’s deserted streetsfollowing trolley tracks to the bakery.There he’d change into whitelinen work clothes and cap,and in the absence of women,his hands were both loving, wellinto dawn and throughout the day—kneading, rolling out, shapingeach astonishing momentof yeasty predictabilityin that windowless world litby slightly swaying naked bulbs,where the shadows staggered, woozywith the aromatic warmth of the work.Then, the suit and drive, again.At our table, graced by a loafthat steamed when we sliced it,softened the butter and leavenedthe very air we’d breathe,he’d count us blessed.
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