Food
William Skidelsky reveals the art of bread-making
Published 02 February 2004
Let them eat bread, but make sure it's home-made and brown
For much of my childhood, bread played a big part in my life. When I began at my London primary school, school dinners were compulsory. It is only now that I realise quite how barbaric this was: those school dinners were definitely the most disgusting things I've ever eaten. Thankfully, the school relaxed its approach after a few years, and packed lunches were permitted. But this only created a new problem. At least the old system had been egalitarian: no one could be picked on because of what they had in their lunch box. I now discovered just how intolerant children could be. The real problem was my sandwiches. Those of my fellow pupils were mostly made from sliced white bread, and had relatively innocuous fillings, such as ham and cheese. Not only were mine made from (horror of horrors) home-made brown bread, but they were likely to be filled with such alien substances as aubergine caviar and chicken liver pate. For many years, my sandwiches were a source of deep and daily mortification, although I never went as far as my younger sister, who insisted on white bread being bought specially for her.
None of this is to imply, however, that I in any way regret my mother's devotion to home baking. The years of being teased (which in any case were not that bad) were worth putting up with for the privilege of being able to eat her bread. My mother is an excellent cook for all sorts of reasons, but it is at bread-making that Gus truly excels. I can honestly say that nothing else has had more of an impact on my interest in food.
The recipe Gus follows has always (I think) been pretty much the same. I know that it includes wholewheat flour and molasses, but apart from that it is a mystery. But this is only as it should be, since I would regard it as a sacrilege for anyone to imitate my mother's bread. Over the years, Gus has had to put up with a certain amount of teasing by other family members, on account of the appearance of her loaves. Among other things, we have laughed at their (considerable) density, and at the various idiosyncrasies they have developed, such as the crescent shape two-thirds of the way up that makes each slice look as if it is scowling. But our ribaldry merely reflects the esteem in which we hold her bread.
In recent years, Gus has relaxed her approach and started making breads based on other people's recipes. Although these are obviously not as good as her own, they are extremely tasty, and worth trying out. A couple of good examples are soda bread and Bara Brith (a kind of Welsh teacake).
Soda bread, which doesn't require yeast, must be one of the easiest breads to make. It is also extremely delicious, especially when eaten fresh out of the oven. It is vital to use the right kind of oatmeal; this must be pinhead oatmeal, which isn't always available at supermarkets but is at any health shop. The ingredients are: 8oz wholemeal flour, 2oz oatmeal, half a teaspoon of salt and a teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda. Mix these together in a bowl and then add 8oz buttermilk. Stir well, and turn the mixture out on to a baking tray that has either been greased or lined with greaseproof paper. Invert a cake tin over the mixture, and bake at 220 C/gas mark 7 for 25 minutes. Remove the tin, and bake uncovered for a final five minutes.
For Bara Brith, place 3oz butter, a quarter-pint of milk and 2oz brown sugar in a saucepan, and gently warm until the butter and sugar have melted. Meanwhile, place a tablespoon of yeast in a cup containing a small amount of warm water, and add a teaspoon of sugar. Mix the yeast with 1lb of wholemeal flour, add the warm milk, and then knead. Add more hot water if the mixture seems dry. Then cover with a tea towel and leave for half an hour or so in a warm place to prove. Knock the bread down (ie, knead it some more), and add 3oz each of currants and raisins, 1oz candied peel, ftsp of mixed spice and 4oz of walnut pieces. The mixture may seem very stiff at this stage, but persevere. Place the mixture in two tins lined with greaseproof paper and bake for 20-30 minutes at 220 C/gas mark 7. Bara Brith is also best eaten warm, preferably with a soft cheese such as Taleggio.
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