Sprout season has commenced

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Clover sprouts

For a while I had forgotten about sprouts. But I remembered recently while at Whole Foods, puzzling over what sort of winter salad fixin’s were freshest and cheapest. Whole Foods’ salad fixin’s were fresh, but they weren’t cheap. So I ordered fresh sprouting seeds from SproutPeople.org, got out my sprouting jars, and got back into the habit.

If you order from SproutPeople, complain in the comments box at checkout that their shipping prices are too high. They’re trying to get everyone to order more than $60 worth to get free shipping. That’s a lot of seeds to order at once.

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Sourdough in winter

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During a couple of early cold snaps, I learned that making sourdough bread takes forever in a cold kitchen. Though all the experts seem to like the idea of a long, slow rise, I don’t have forever. The leaven process must complete overnight, and the rest of the job must be done in time to bake by 5 p.m. or so the next day.

The method I’ve hit upon is to let the dough rise in the oven with the oven light on. Then things seem to happen at about the same rate as during the summer. And while I’m at it, I set a jar of clover sprouts in the oven with the dough. All seeds (as far as I know) germinate better when they’re warm.

The standard abbey sourdough loaf is big — about three pounds. It’s half whole wheat. The whole wheat dough rises nicely, but I don’t get much oven spring with half whole wheat. The crumb is far from dense, though, and it’s great hot, cold, or as toast. When there’s company, or for a showy loaf, I use unbleached flour. That makes a much higher loaf with dramatic oven spring.

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The thermostat on a typical winter morning

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The dough doubles after about four hours in a warm oven

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Ready to put the lid on and bake. The parchment is for lifting the dough out of the bowl into the Dutch oven. Lining the dough-rising bowl with parchment, then lifting by the edges of the paper, is the only way I’ve found to transfer the dough to the Dutch oven, which is preheated to 500 degrees. Upending the dough bowl over the Dutch oven deflates the dough.

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Another finished loaf of abbey bread

Apple expedition

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What an apple should look like

Someday the abbey’s orchard will have a stand of grand old apple trees that will supply a variety of apples from late summer until fall. But unfortunately the abbey’s orchard is only five years old. Though it’s producing apples, the young trees can’t make apples faster than the squirrels can sneak over the fence from the woods and carry them off (along with the figs).

Therefore, whenever we’re out and about, Ken and I are on the lookout for abandoned apple trees. On a recent trip to Asheville, we hit the jackpot. There were two grand apple trees — a green and a red — near a friend’s house, and he had been given picking rights by the owner.

I won’t repeat my rant about the worthlessness of grocery store apples. I’ll just summarize with the fact that, whatever they are, they are not apples. I will make do with commercial apples when I can’t get anything else. But the only real apples come from old, abandoned trees. The age of the tree helps ensure that the apples are of an honest variety meant for eating rather than shipping. And being abandoned ensures that they’ve never been sprayed. A healthy apple tree is remarkably pest free. The ugly skin of the apple is the truest indicator of its quality. An apple with a beautiful skin is hardly ever fit to eat.

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These apples were at the perfect time for picking. They were hard and very juicy.

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Ken in the apple tree

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The red tree wasn’t quite as grand as the green tree

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The green apple tree

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Ken dines in Dingle (without me)

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Photos by Ken Ilgunas

Ken is in Ireland, near the end of a six-week trip to England, France, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Ireland. He’ll be home in a few days.

I insisted that, while he is in Dingle in County Kerry, he have dinner at my favorite place — Benners Hotel. This evening he emailed me photos from Dingle, including a photo of his Sunday night supper. Pricey, wasn’t it, Ken?

I’ve stayed at Benners Hotel in Dingle on both my trips to Ireland. The food is excellent. Dingle is a charming fishing village on the coast of County Kerry. And County Kerry is on the west coast of Ireland. One of the great things about the Kerry coast is that the highest mountain in Ireland is right up against the sea, making for some rugged terrain and wild scenery. Off the coast lie the mysterious skelligs — the spires of rock jutting out of the sea. Some of the skelligs are like small islands. There was a tiny monastery on Skellig Michael during the Middle Ages.

No doubt Ken will have more photos from County Kerry later on.

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A photo of the Dingle harbor that I took on my last trip there.

The official abbey bread


Click on photo for larger version

Any proper abbey (or so I have thought for a long time) ought to have its trademark bread. And any abbot worth his salt ought to be able to bake it. Not just any bread will do. There has to be something special about it. So gradually I have been refining the recipe for Acorn Abbey’s signature loaf.

I just used the dreaded word “recipe.” I’ve been making bread for decades, measuring vaguely and just baking out of experience. But with the rustic sourdough loaves, I have been measuring, by weight, using a kitchen scale. This is because I’ve found that to get consistent results, one needs to control the “hydration” of bread — that is, the ratio of flour to water. Abbey bread at present is 85 percent hydration (100 parts flour to 85 parts water, by weight). Though wetter bread would be nicer, it’s much harder to handle. I probably will experiment with trying to increase the hydration a few percent and see how it goes.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the abbey bread is inspired by Michael Pollan’s book Cooked, in which the bread concept is based on the sourdough bread at Tartine bakery in San Francisco. It’s baked in a Dutch oven.

There was one part of Pollan’s method that just did not work for me. He gives the dough its final proofing in a bowl with the loaf face down. He upends the bowl over the Dutch oven and lets it plop. I found that unworkable. What if the dough sticks to the bowl? What if the dough loses its loft from the fall? I’ve settled on a method which is a bit more trouble but which is reliable. I line the proofing bowl with wide strips of parchment paper, then set the loaf right side up on the parchment paper for the final proofing. When it’s ready for the Dutch oven, I lift the loaf by the ends of the parchment paper and set it gently into Dutch oven.

The total amount of time to make decent sourdough bread is not that great. But one must start the night before, and the bread requires regular attention on baking day. The abbey bread is usually done by 5 p.m.

I’ve settled on a kind of Mediterranean schedule of baking every three days. Strangely enough, this has reduced the net amount of bread, and therefore carbs, consumed at the abbey. This is because I’ve stopped making biscuits and rolls, all of which tend to get eaten at one meal. On day 1, the bread is served warm for supper. On days 2 and 3 it comes back as toast or in slices at supper. If there is any left (rare), then the chickens get it.

From the orchard

There were many apple pies this summer, but only one pie from the abbey orchard. Though the five-year-old trees produced a respectable quantity of apples this year, the squirrels got them before we did. At present, the squirrels are stealing the figs.

Grocery store apples, as far as I’m concerned, are useless for pies. I like ugly, old-fashioned apples. Ken noticed an apple tree in someone’s yard about a mile up the road and was bold enough to ask if we could buy some apples. They gave them to us, of course. It was an old tree that had gone feral, and the apples were sublimely ugly. We got four pies out of those very local apples.

Fermented onions

Ken was away for an unexpectedly long time in June to visit his parents and also traveling to do publicity appearances for his book. Consequently the garden got a bit out of hand, and a surplus built up. In particular there was a surplus of onions, and onions, being sacred, are much too good to waste. So what to do?

Ferment them.

Though all my fermenting experience is with sauerkraut, pretty much any kind of vegetable can be fermented if you know the process. The process isn’t complex: Put the vegetables, appropriately sliced or shredded, into a crock and use the right amount of salt or brine.

As with sauerkraut, the prep work is a huge chore. I peeled about 30 pounds of onions and cut them into wedges. I put them in the crock and covered them with brine made from Celtic sea salt (about 3 tablespoons of salt per quart of water). In about three weeks we’ll see how they taste.

These are sweet and mild Georgia-style onions, and they’re organic, like everything grown at the abbey. To my surprise, peeling them and cutting them didn’t even provoke any onion tears.

More bread portraits


75% whole wheat, 25 percent unbleached bread flour

The sourdough testing continues, using the Tartine method described by Michael Pollan in his book Cooked. I have been very excited by the results and continue to try to refine my sourdough boule technique.

Another virtue of sourdough bread: It keeps longer. Yeast bread normally molds on the third day. I have three-day-old sourdough bread with no sign of mold. I suppose this has to do with the lactic acid in sourdough bread, acting as a natural preserve.


50% whole wheat, 50% unbleached bread flour

Taking bread up a level


First test: not too shabby, especially for 75% whole wheat

A week ago, I would have said that no hope existed that I would ever be able to make bread that could begin to compare with the bread one can buy from the excellent bakers of sourdough bread in the San Francisco Bay Area. Now I think it is possible. Michael Pollan’s new book, Cooked, has shown the way.

Part of my problem is that recipes are useless. No recipe can tell you, or teach how, how to make proper bread. Measuring (for example) has nothing to do with it. Rather, the ability to bake good bread can arise only from a deep understanding of how the process works. Pollan’s book has helped me figure out what knowledge I was missing that was holding me back. Don’t get me wrong — I can make delicious breads. But I had no idea how to get to the next level.

Pollan’s main source on bread for this book was Chad Robertson, who runs a bakery in San Francisco and who has a book out named Tartine Bread. When Pollan revealed that Robertson’s instructions for sourdough bread are more than 40 pages long but never quite gives a recipe, I knew that I had finally found my way to the next level. Those 40 pages are about the concepts behind the bread — exactly what I needed.

Here is a summary of some of the new knowledge I’ve gained that has helped fill some of my blind spots and misconceptions:

1. Sourdough is superior to yeast for many reasons. Sourdough bread is actually fermented, and some components of the flour are partially digested, releasing more nutrients and lowering the glycemic index of the bread. The lactic acid generated during the fermentation helps to strengthen the gluten. And gluten, of course, is what makes bread rise. I’ve started a new sourdough culture, which should be ready to use in about a week. My previous sourdough culture died out more than a year ago from neglect.

2. The reasons that whole wheat makes heavier bread can be explained, and there are ways of dealing with it. For one, the bran is sharp, and it cuts and weakens the strands of gluten. Overnight soaking of the flour softens the bran and helps reduce this sharpness. The shaping of the loaf is critical. Steam during the first part of baking is critical.

3. Random kneading of dough is useless. I have come to understand that the point is not just to form the gluten into strands, but to align those strands in such a way that they define the way you want the loaf to go when it rises. That is, the gluten strands form a kind of skeleton for the loaf. The point is to manipulate the dough in such a way that the gluten strands are formed into a skeleton.

4. The main reason steam is critical is that the formation of the crust must be postponed. If the crust forms too soon, it prevents the bread from rising. Throwing water into the oven is one way of dealing with this. But a better way is to bake in a covered Dutch oven. You remove the lid when the bread is about half done, after the loaf has already finished its “oven spring” — the inflation of the loaf when the heat hits it.

5. Maximizing oven spring is critical. The Dutch oven method works nicely. But another factor that is important to good oven spring is building up a proper gluten skeleton by manipulating the dough and to start baking at the right time. Bake too soon and there isn’t enough air in the loaf. Wait too long and the gluten becomes tired. Good oven spring is probably the single most important indicator of good bread and a good baker.

6. The dough must be wet. This probably has been my biggest failing as a baker over the years. Wet dough is difficult to work with. But it must be done.

It will be at least a week before I can attempt my first sourdough loaf. But I did make a loaf of bread with yeast this morning to practice manipulating the dough into a proper boule and to test the Dutch oven method. The loaf was 75 percent whole wheat and 25 percent unbleached white flour. It worked beautifully, and I got excellent “oven spring.” The top of the loaf broke open even though I forgot to slash it with a razor blade before baking.

Michael Pollan’s Cooked is not just about baking. He divides all cookery into four categories — fire (roasting, of meat in particular), water (cooking in pots), air (bread), and earth (fermentation). For each category, he seeks out experts and gets them to reveal their secrets. Though I have some experience with making sauerkraut, Cooked has motivated me to expand my food fermentation skills. And though the abbey’s kitchen is far from a slouchy kitchen, it’s exciting to have new, and higher, goals to aim for.