Our long-promised update on kernza baking

 One of the nice things about the early onset Winter we're enjoying is that it creates a very appropriate setting for soups, stews, chili and freshly baked artisan sourdough bread. Last night we enjoyed the Better Half's bean soup and fresh bread by Yr obt svt. It took most of the chill off of the view out the window.

kernza whole grain and flour

Photo by J. Harrington

Here's one version of the recipe we've been playing with for the past several weeks. It seems to work fairly well.

• starter: 120 g(rams)
• water: 350 g
• kernza: 50 g
• bread flour: 225 g
• all purpose flour: 225 g
• salt: 10 g

Make sure the starter floats. Mix all ingredients except salt in a large bowl. Let sit for an hour. Knead in the salt. Let rise overnight in a warm location in the bowl covered with a wet dish towel. Shape the dough. Let it sit in the refrigerator for at least an hour. We bake the dough boule in a cloche, lined with parchment paper, at 500℉ for 30 minutes (spritzing the top with water helps crisp the crust); remove cloche top and continue at 400℉ for 20 minutes; take off cloche bottom and parchment paper and let bake at 400℉ for another 15 minutes or so. Check internal temperature. The bread should be done at 204+/-℉.

one of our artisan kernza sourdough bread loaves

Photo by J. Harrington

The Friends of the Mississippi River [FMR] has an interesting assortment of kernza recipes where they ask us to: Choose the winners of the great FMR Kernza bake-off! We're not sure how we can do that without a taste test or the complete recipes but perhaps we're being a little picky since the question on which we're to vote is "If you could only try one, which would you pick?" We wonder if FMR is planning on a kernza cookbook with recipes as a fundraiser.

Bread

By Richard Levine

Each night, in a space he’d make 

between waking and purpose, 

my grandfather donned his one 

suit, in our still dark house, and drove 

through Brooklyn’s deserted streets 

following trolley tracks to the bakery.

There he’d change into white 

linen work clothes and cap, 

and in the absence of women, 

his hands were both loving, well 

into dawn and throughout the day— 

kneading, rolling out, shaping

each astonishing moment 

of yeasty predictability 

in that windowless world lit 

by slightly swaying naked bulbs, 

where the shadows staggered, woozy 

with the aromatic warmth of the work.

Then, the suit and drive, again. 

At our table, graced by a loaf 

that steamed when we sliced it, 

softened the butter and leavened 

the very air we’d breathe,

he’d count us blessed.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.