Sometimes I worry that I’m flighty. And not in a charming, no one can tie me down, I’m-a-free-spirit sort of way. But rather skittish, unreliable, inconstant. When I feel that way, I come home and bake spelt bread.
Spelt bread is grounding. It is quick, physical work that you have to do with your hands. It doesn’t require skill, implements or fancy ingredients. I don’t need to set a timer or panic about precision. It transforms me into someone pragmatic, capable and resilient. Spelt bread turns me into the baker I wanted to be when I first started cooking.
I love sourdough. I think it’s magical, in the most literal sense of the word. It makes me feel like an alchemist or a witch standing over a cauldron, day by day watching the mixture slowly change from flour and water to something capable of making a loaf of bread and, finally, an actual loaf. But it is seriously slow-food. And it is serious. It requires care and tending. It is a literal flour baby, which sits in my fridge, and needs feeding every single day. The recipe I use for sourdough takes a week from start(er) to finish, and even when the starter is fully-fledged, there is a three day wait for the bread.
Spelt isn’t like that. If sourdough makes me feel like a (slightly nervous) magician, spelt bread makes me feel strong, powerful and deeply practical.
If sourdough makes me feel like a (slightly nervous) magician, spelt bread makes me feel strong, powerful and deeply practical.
Spelt bread proves very quickly compared to normal strong white, wholemeal, or rye bread flour. With a fair wind, you can start this bread when you get home from work and have it ready for supper. How’s that for practical and capable?
It’s a sturdy bread, that will support the heartiest of sandwiches, without being dense and claggy like pure rye bread.
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