Back in May I started a series to track my journey through The Bread Bible by Rose Levy Berenbaum. In that first post, I shared about this wonderful find and how I hoped it would be the end to a streak of bread failures. Now that I think about it they weren’t even all that terrible. But her loaves, goodness. Her loaves are worth whole afternoons. Her loaves will surely summon my heirloom tomatoes to finally redden and come home to their destiny in the revered TTS. (Toasted Tomato Sandwich, for those of you unfamiliar with my family’s tendency to abbreviate everything.)
The revelation that this book brought faded quickly with the arrival of summer, whose heat promptly bowled over all my wheaty aspirations. The flash of June left me running from an apartment that made me feel like a bun in the oven. Rose’s book went back to the library and onto my Amazon wishlist. All those bookmarked recipes gave way to store bought bread (gasp!) and meals where cooking either took place outside or not at all. In moments of extreme weakness there was always bread from the farmer’s market, but as good as it was, it just wasn’t. I hadn’t watched it grow up, you know?
Last week a serendipitous email brought me back to bread. It was from Rose herself, successful cookbook author, patron saint of Cake and Bread. It read simply “have I thanked you yet for your great posting about bread and my book and work? this was so special I was waiting ’til I had time to do it full justice.” I had emailed her my post and then forgotten all about it.
Her email, along with the news that my blog was being added to a famous person’s list of links have sent me running back to my oven begging for forgiveness. The cool evenings beginning to entice Syracuse into late summer might help with that too.
This can be mine again, adorned with pithy tomatoes, buttery home-grown lettuce, and sprouts born not of soil but of water in a jar in my cupboard.
This Tyrolean Ten-Grain Torpedo that was my third Bread Bible Bread was an absolute treat. Notes accompanying my pictures include: Might’ve let rise a tad too long (was working in the garden), it browned really really fast. Covered with foil and finished the latter half of baking right on the baking stone. Very crusty and the grains on top were a rustic addition. Has that almost metallic, iron-y taste I like in bread. Vital wheat gluten makes it almost impossibly soft for a baguette-style loaf.
Not my most poetic writing, but enough to take me back to that May day that passed pleasantly in my garden while my poor dough puffed its way just past perfection.
Months later I can’t remember why Rose called it Tyrolean. My guess is that it has something to do with Tyrol, the region of Europe that bridges part of Austria and Northern Italy. Beyond that, it’s escaped me. I’m assuming the torpedo part comes from its shape and the ten grains from its crunchy composition.
Now that I occupy my own eighth of an inch of a famous bread baker’s website, I’ll have to get back to work ploughing through her mammoth collection. As long as these late August nights keep wrapping themselves around the day like a cool cloth on a fevered forehead, I can be found crouched before my 400-degree oven wishing it had a window. Inside, great bread will be happening. Bread so good that just knowing about it will be enough.