I’ve been baking bread. This is mostly because of my Auntie Susan. She very generously gave me some Amazon vouchers for Christmas, and I went for books by the two great and terrible leaders of the baking world: Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood. With the GBBO overlords at my side, I figured, I’d be unstoppable.
Paul Hollywood’s book, How to Bake, is quite brisk. His attitude is this: you can bake great bread, and it’s not too hard, but you have to do exactly as he says. And also all of your initial attempts will suck. But you’ll get there in the end.
I like his honesty. In its spirit, I tackled his white cob loaf, for starters. And it was perfect, except for the tiny fact that we couldn’t wait long enough for it to cool down so we ended up eating it when it was still basically a hot doughy mess.
But the half of the loaf that we managed not to wolf down as soon as it was out of the oven was perfect. The crust was infinitely softer, saltier, rougher than any breads I’ve made before. So, OK, Paul. You’re pretty good. I’m going to have a crack at your sourdough next.