One even teaspoonful dry salt.
Two full cups of blood-warm water.
Five tablespoonfuls of yeast (good ones).
Sift the flour and salt together into a wooden or stoneware bowl. Make
a hole in the middle and pour in the yeast, then a cupful of the water.
With clean hands begin to work down the flour into the liquid, and
as it stiffens add the rest of the water. When the dough is all wet
dust your fingers with dry flour, and rub off the paste into the bowl.
Scrape the sides of this, dust your fingers again, and make all the
dough into a lump or ball. Dredge your pastry or bread-board well with
flour, put the dough upon it and sift flour lightly over it. Ask your
mother or some experienced person whether or not it is of the right
consistency. There is so much difference in various brands of flour
that only practice can teach one when the dough is just right. _Do not
get it too stiff._ Add flour very cautiously even should it stick to
your fingers. Knead the bread for fifteen minutes—not so fast as to
tire yourself out of breath, but steadily and hard, working it away
from you all the time, turning the ball over and around so as to reach
every part of the mass. It should leave the board without stickiness
at the end of this time, be smooth, firm, and elastic. Strike it hard
with a tight fist, and if the dent thus made fills up at once, you have
kneaded it sufficiently.
Sprinkle your bread-bowl with flour, put the dough in the bottom, sift
flour lightly over the top, cover with a clean thick cloth and set,
in cold weather, in a moderately warm place, in summer, out of the
draught, but away from the fire and sun. It should be light in four
hours in warm weather, in six in winter. If you wish to have it for
breakfast, set at bedtime, and get up early to work it over for the
second rising.
This must not be done until the dough has swollen immensely, and
cracked over the top like “crazed” china. Flour the board and knead as
before, now for ten minutes. Grease two “brick” or round bread-pans
well with sweet lard or butter, make out the dough in two oblong or
round loaves, and pat these down in the pans to fit the corners. Prick
the tops with a sharp fork, cover with a clean cloth, and let them
stand for an hour before putting them into the oven.
The oven must be steady, but not too hot. You should be able to hold
your bare arm in it while you count twenty regularly. Should the bread
rise very fast at first, lay stout paper over the top to prevent it
from browning before the heart is done. Do not allow the stove or range
to be filled with fresh coal or wood while your bread is in the oven,
or it will be “slack-baked.” Should you need to increase the heat, put
in a stick or two of wood to get up a brisk blaze. Do not open the oven
for ten or twelve minutes after the bread goes in, and very seldom
afterward. A peep should suffice to see how it is getting on. If the
loaf rises higher at the back or at one side than in front or on the
other side, turn the tin quickly, and do not jar it, or it will “fall”
into heavy streaks. If the oven is right, your loaves should be done in
_about_ thirty-five minutes.
Set the loaves up on the edge of one end, leaning against the wall or
an upright board, that the air may dry the bottom, throw a dry cloth
over them and leave them to cool. When quite cold wrap in a clean thick
cloth and keep in a tin box or stone crock.
In this, as in other first attempts, let me warn you against being
disheartened by failure, partial or total. It would be far more strange
were you to accomplish perfection in one, or in half a dozen lessons,
than if your early efforts should be only moderately successful.
See that your yeast is lively and not sour, the flour good and dry,
then follow directions implicitly, and I think I can engage that the
result will not mortify you.
2