I’m not a snob but lately I’ve been worrying about my bread, obsessing over hydration, crumb, autolysis, all those fancy terms that people throw around like it’s nothing. I’m obsessing about weights and measures, lucky numbers, whether or not people like me. Holy cow, I’m a mass of insecurities and it all boils down to one thing. Bread.
We all like bread, right? Wheat, Rye, Sourdough, Bagels, Baguettes, and Tartine, who’s the bread making guru of the month, who’s recipe should I try, how long do I let the dough rest, knead or not to knead. I’m losing sleep, wondering how the hell I’m going to afford a deck oven, if it will make it’s own steam, and if it doesn’t should I use ice cubes or lava rocks. What about its floor, simple solid by the book metal, or sturdy heat absorbing stone? Hell, what a freak of nature I am. I’m too old to worry about all this stuff, I mean maybe I have about twenty good years at best, and then I’m on a permanent diet, if you catch my drift.
So, I’m not a bread snob, far from it. I’m not any kind of snob—I’ve been to Snob City and I don’t like it, it’s a bore, the people are boring, they talk down to me, treat me like I’m an idiot. Just eat your bread and be done with it. Let them eat bread, I say!! I’m sick of it. I’m just going to make bread, and if my wife likes it, and I like it, and my friends don’t retch at the sight of it, that’s good enough.
To end this rant, I’m just going to stop thinking. Thinking is bad; doing is better. So in my remaining years, among my last remaining friends, I’m going to stop talking and do more—well do more doing for one! Enough is enough, who cares about hydration, crumb, autolysis—I mean bread has been around a hell of a lot longer than me or you, or that guy, or those other dudes. Right? Sure, you can’t argue with that logic, and those ancient guys, the dudes who were making bread right after they invented fire (or around that time), didn’t talk crap, they just did it.
Today I made bread. That’s enough.