Baker’s heaven
Sensory pleasure of making artisanal loaf is as rewarding as devouring it afterward
This is part of a weekly series in which the Star looks at how one small decision can have big consequences — often, for the better. Each week, a Star reporter will make a change, face a fear or learn a new skill, and document the effect.
They say baking bread creates good karma in the kitchen. It’s been called the essence of happiness, as calming as yoga, and the source of aromas that evoke innocence, delight and the comfort of home.
But not if you’re always stressing over whether the dough will rise.
That’s why I find myself sitting in a spacious teaching kitchen one Sunday, dusted in flour and absorbed in the chemistry of gluten formation. It’s time to let go of yeast anxiety and embrace the peaceful rhythm of bread-making.
A one-day artisanal bread course at the Bonnie Gordon College of Confectionary Arts in Toronto is a unique kind of indulgence. Six hours immersed in the sensory pleasures of feeling dough transform from sticky to silky beneath my palms, the scent of yeast and the sight of my own plump whole-grain loaf, puffy and ready for the oven.
No experience is necessary. Cost is $150 plus tax for lessons in making melt-in-your-mouth baguette, hearty grain bread with cracked golden flax, bulgur and rolled oats, and an airy focaccia, fragrant with olive oil and herbs. Then you get to take it home.
I’m no stranger to baking, thrilled to be plastered in flour after a day rolling pastry dough, icing layer cakes or experimenting with the latest trendy cookie recipe. But bread has always struck me as the temperamental teenager in the baked goods family. So I’ve always been inclined to back off.
But soon after perching on a stool alongside 11 other apron-clad students, a new attitude begins to ferment.
The introduction by instructor Michael Smith is heartening.
Don’t worry, he says. It’s common to be intimidated by yeast “but bread dough is very forgiving.”
Smith, 29, is a pastry chef from Waterloo who trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Ottawa and is chief operating officer at the college.
His role during class is part coach, part science teacher. He kneads baguette dough in an easy rhythm while demystifying the process.
He explains the finer points of chemical reactions between yeast, flour and water, how kneading traps the carbon dioxide that makes bread rise, and the way gluten forms when wheat proteins mix with water.
He also fires off practical tips that bring it all down to earth: don’t mix the yeast and salt directly because salt kills the bacteria in yeast. Instead, add one of them to the flour, which acts as a buffer, then add the other. Water added to the recipe should be no hotter than a warm bath. And if you overwork the dough until it becomes tight and difficult, cover and let it rest. (Like that sulky teen, it comes around when you give it space.)
He mixes art with his science, going “by feel” when it comes to dough consistency. And applies logic: brush with water if it’s too dry, dip your hands in flour if it’s too wet.
As we move between demos, weighing and mixing ingredients, and practising each step at the huge stainless steel counters, it begins to make sense.
We work on kneading — folding the dough and pushing it, then rotating a quarter turn and repeating — until we get a sense of how soothing the process can be.
We discover that while baguette requires only four base ingredients and water, it also needs a lot of TLC, and that unlike the other two breads, focaccia dough only rises once.
“Learn to love the stickiness,” Smith tells us as we wrestle with the wet golden-grains dough.
“Be very gentle,” he says when it’s time to stretch and fold our baguettes.
By the end of the day, my recipe handouts are covered in scrawled notes and my head is crammed.
One guiding principle stands out: slower is better. Not just for the experience, but the taste.
Unlike many home cooks who value speed, “artisanal breadmakers are always trying to slow down the rising of bread,” says Smith.
Therein lies the secret to that kitchen karma I had been seeking: patience and willingness to savour the process.
The real test comes the following weekend, when the time has come to bake solo. I mix baguette dough in the morning and leave it to rise through the afternoon, lifting the dish towel regularly to peek at it in awe, the way I once tended my newborns.
Every now and then, it gets a stretch-and-fold until it’s finally ready for the oven.
The patience pays off by dinner time. I am peaceful. The bread has risen. Bonnie Gordon College of Confectionary Arts currently offers two six-hour weekend bread courses: Artisanal Bread; and Bread Basics and Beyond. Cost $150 plus tax. For more information visit bonniegordoncollege.com Next week, Star columnist Amy Pataki reflects on learning to drum.