In defence of a dense rye

I’ve been meaning to write about the rye loaf for two seasons. The bread got noticeably better once I started weighing the water instead of guessing.

A small detour

In any case, adding a spoonful of rye to the flour made the whole thing smell better, though I couldn’t tell you why. Part of the problem was the starter, although I didn’t want to admit it at the time. Most of what I know about the rye loaf came from getting things wrong first. Looking back, I underestimated the rye loaf.

I could have avoided the whole thing by reading my own notes from last year. Some of this was down to luck, and I’m happy to take it. My first instinct was to blame the crumb, and my first instinct is usually wrong. I tried again a week later, paying closer attention, and it went noticeably better.

What I changed

By the end of a few weeks I had stopped worrying about the rye loaf and begun to enjoy it again. I’d like to say I planned it this way, but I didn’t. It took me a couple of years to notice what I had been getting wrong with the rye loaf. A neighbour asked about the rye loaf last week, and I found I had less to say than I thought.

Done badly is still done.

Where it stands

The slow part turned out to be the best part, which I didn’t expect. Comparing this with last year’s notes, not much has changed except my expectations. I tried again a week later, paying closer attention, and it went noticeably better.

I have changed my mind about the rye loaf at least three times now. Most of what I know about the rye loaf came from getting things wrong first. I’ve kept at it mostly out of curiosity, and partly out of stubbornness.

That’s all for now; I’ll add to this when there’s something worth adding.