Day 58: a stress-free boule

It never ceases to surprise me when I succeed at a recipe that I was very apprehensive about at the start. This apprehension doesn’t come from my doubt in the recipe, but is instead - or at least I think - rooted in the lack of faith I have myself. I am that person who often thinks of the worst outcome to a situation, whether it be something I am cooking, a job interview, an application I’m waiting to hear about or even - and this isn’t so relevant in the current lockdown circumstances - waiting to hear back from a friend as to whether they are free to go out or meet up. If I think that it won’t happen and it doesn't happen, then I am not surprised; if I think that it won’t happen and then it does happen, then I am of course pleasantly surprised. It doesn’t mean that deep down I don’t still hope for a better outcome, even if I am masquerading it with pessimism.

This is not, however, the best way to go through life. I know that; you know that. Masquerading one’s hope with pessimism is really only a superficial way of reassuring oneself, especially when deep down we know that we really do want the best possible outcome. In our defence, though, we feel it easier to cope with the disappointment if we already expect it of ourselves; whether or not there is truth in that expectation is irrelevant. However, all this does, in my opinion, is create inner conflict and a turmoil of emotions. Turmoil, that will only result in irritating our volatile anxieties. Despite knowing this, and recognising the flawed approach to specific situations, does it stop us from thinking in that negative way?

We all cope with new situations in different ways, and I am not a healthcare professional that is either qualified or capable of imparting mental health tips, but I do believe that facing new situations with a helping hand can help recondition the mind. When going into a new situation, I think it’s very important to pay close attention to how you feel. Not to the point that you can’t focus on anything else, but enough so that you are just keeping a lookout for what your emotions are doing or how your body is moving. Are you speeding up? Are you making mistakes? For me, if my anxiety levels rise when I’m cooking, I start dropping things, the kitchen gets messier and anyone talking to me irritates me greatly. So what do I do? I think of that point on the horizon that you focus on when you’re suffering from travel sickness, for example, and in cooking - in this cookalong - that takes the form of the Nigella recipe book I’m using at that point in time; I revert back to the book to help ground my emotions so that my body and mind may regroup. It’s not always the actual step-by-step method of the recipe I’m working on that I refer to; it’s often the introductory text - the wise and wonderful witterings of Nigella - that enables me to block all other thoughts and focus on the task at hand.

I’ve gone off on a little tangent there, but that’s the glory of these jabberings: they enable me to take some time to think about how I’m feeling, which isn’t something that happens often. That’s the glory of them to me, anyway; to you, they may be horrendously dull. I wouldn’t take offence! In fact, have these three paragraphs even made any sense? If I had the time to sit and write for hours, I would love nothing more than to bore the socks off of you. But alas, I do not.

What I’ve been trying to explain is that when I made bread (Nigella’s Old-Fashioned Sandwich Loaf in these cases) for the first time - and indeed the second and the third time - I went in assuming the worst. It didn’t matter how sure of myself I was, I kept thinking it would fail or - more is the case - that I would fail. The irony is that I didn’t fail once despite all of this worry; I didn’t even fail in today's pick. On every occasion that I’ve made homemade bread, I’ve managed to produce perfectly edible - in fact, delicious - bread. So, where is this negativity coming from? Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer to that, but I have decided to pursue breadmaking (just two types) until I knock a little confidence back in myself. I know that I can make this bread now, but, for some reason, I still go in assuming the worst. I’m hoping that if I keep repeating the process over and over again that I’ll eventually have a little faith in myself. The more proficient and automated I become in a repetitive task, the more time I can spend understanding where these negative thoughts are coming from; thereby using cooking in a meditative form to spend much-needed alone time with myself. I am full of self-doubt and it’s about time I told it to do one.

I’m done blabbering now. I feel maybe I should have put one of those “Skip to End” buttons at the top of the page to save you all from that boredom. Anyway, finally, we can get on with today’s pick: Nigella’s No-Knead Bread. Luckily for you, and for me (as it means I don’t have to write much), there isn’t a huge deal to say about the process of making this bread; there is literally nothing to it; everything is left to the yeast to work its magic on your dough.

Nigella’s No-Knead Bread

Add wet ingredients to dry ingredients; mix said ingredients for 30 seconds; leave for 16-18hrs. Now, this is where I started to get a little nervous: tip the sticky, wet dough onto a floured surface before shaping it into a ball and placing it on a floured/polenta-lined tea towel and leaving it to rise (covered with the other half of the cloth) for another hour or so. There were further palpitations when it came to inverting the dough into the hot casserole before returning the now dough-filled and covered casserole to the oven. Seriously though, I over-dramatise things. That’s me. This isn’t a scary feat to achieve, I am just a worrier, and I have no doubt that over time that I will learn to handle these scenarios better.

As I had no reference point (I’ve never made this kind of bread before), I honestly thought it was going to come out flat as a pancake (there you go - thinking the worst again), or perhaps a slightly-inflated, rock-hard frisbee. I was therefore gloriously surprised, and very happy, to see a well-rounded boule when I took the lid off of the casserole for its last 15 minutes of baking.

Flavour musings

Once cooled, we very eagerly carved and enjoyed multiple slices smothered generously with butter and a sprinkling of sea salt flakes. The butter was already salted, but don’t judge me! This no-knead bread is delightfully chewy, with a sourdoughesque quality that, to me, matches anything I might spend a small fortune on in the shops. I am not claiming I am the breadmaker of the year, far from it, but I am happy to pursue homemade breadmaking should my results match or indeed succeed this.

There is not just no need to knead Nigella’s No-Knead Bread, there’s also absolutely no need for the stress I placed on myself when making it; it is your guaranteed ticket to a stress-free sourdougheque boule, and I highly recommend it. To make sure this wasn’t beginners luck, I will repeat the process a few times before experimenting with different flours.

PS. If I have used ‘irony’ in the wrong context, please feel free to get in touch and correct me :)