A spare-time curiosity morphs into a full-blown obsession
Among the aging professional chefs of the world it is said you must use your head more and your body less. High-pressure kitchen jobs are for the young, with long hours on your feet, extreme temperatures and frenetic shifts that can cause sleepless nights and wicked hangovers. But even as we may find ourselves further from the stove, we understand there is always more to learn. I’ve heard it called “reinventing yourself,” but it’s really accepting that you are a life-long student.
Crossing over into the unfamiliar is common, though unsettling, for pro chefs. Take baking, for example. Not all chefs are bakers, and not all bakers are chefs. And bread bakers are different from all the rest.
Some chefs dabble in “chef desserts,” producing the safer dishes of crème brulée, bread pudding, cheesecake and panna cotta. I call them safe because most chefs can execute these dishes without much difficulty. However, the Sweet Kitchen, as it’s sometimes known, is a whole study unto itself. Pastry and dessert-making employ a very disciplined routine with precise measuring and weighing in place of dashes and dollops, spoonfuls and sprigs. This is why the quartet of flour, water, yeast and salt can be so perplexing to those in search of the perfect loaf of bread.
I recently embarked on such a quest at home. It started with wanting to try out a popular technique that involved leaving out the heavy lifting, or kneading. The idea is that rough-textured dough, not smooth, can yield rustic-style breads that many covet. I began following the exact directions around Christmas time, changing only one element of the process with each loaf I baked. I recorded the changes and results, employing an almost scientific approach. Now, three months later, the current recipe resembles nothing like my original. I have read two books on bread and am weekly adding the tools of the trade of great bread baking to my kitchen. I am hooked. What began as a curiosity has morphed into a full-blown obsession.
The variables are numerous: strains of yeasts, wet dough versus smooth, pre-heated cast iron pan or baking stone, proper steam injection, first rise, secondary rise, room temperature, long-ferment, starters, unbleached flours, baskets versus free-form, scoring. And they all affect those four simple ingredients and how they combine to give you the simplest, arguably oldest of kitchen byproducts.
As I cut into each loaf, I find myself frequently revisiting the Pixar foodie film Ratatouille, in which Colette says: “How do you tell how good bread is without tasting it? Not the smell, not the look, but the sound of the crust. Listen. [pressing the bread in her hands] A symphony of crackle! Only great bread sounds this way!” Indeed, bread baking can be visceral.
The desire to perfect another dimension of your craft can leave you feeling both humbled and completely restored at the same time. As with many things in life, we are all on our own journey, at our own pace. In the kitchen, you may be way ahead, you may be behind, but always keep moving forward, because when you’re done learning, you’re done.
Robert Lhulier is executive chef at the University and Whist Club in Wilmington.
