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Five baked loaves, slashed with a well-developed crust in which can be seen some of the many seeds that stud the bread

This is a firm favourite and quite impossible to find anywhere in the city. I’ve been making it forever, based on the original in Hamelman’s Bread adapted for a natural leaven and seven rather than six seeds.

  • 50% wholemeal leaven at 75%
  • 50% strong white flour
  • 20% mixed seeds, soaked (see below). I use oats, corn, pumpkin, sunflower, millet, linseed and sesame.
  • 1.8% salt.
  • 21% additional water (there’s lots in the leaven and the soaker)
  • 5% honey. Optional. I’ve gone off the idea.
  1. Prepare soaker by pouring 125% boiling water over seeds. So, for 200gm seeds, 250gm boiling water. Leave for at least 2 hours.
  2. Mix all ingredients. Knead to incorporate and ensure there is no dry flour. Return to bowl.
  3. Stretch and fold roughly every hour for about 4 hours.
  4. Turn out, pre-shape and rest, shape and proof for about 2 hours.
  5. Preheat oven and a casserole to 220°C. Slash the loaves and bake for 50 minutes, removing the cover and lowering the temperature to 210°C after 25 minutes.
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Two loaves of rye bread, scored across the top, on a dark red checkered cloth with two candlesticks and some other objects in the background.

Two light rye loaves, which could probably have used a little longer proof.

Having recently managed to move this site to a new host, the least I could do is bring it back to a kind of life. I’ve been baking solidly all through its existence, but got out of the habit of posting because I really have nothing new to say. I bake bread. I share it. We eat it. That’ll do.

On the other hand, why not share my formulae here?

Light rye with caraway seeds

  • 40% Whole rye flour, as ripe 100% starter
  • 60% Strong white flour
  • 70% Water
  • 4% Caraway seeds
  • 2% Salt
  1. Mix all ingredients roughly together in a bowl.
  2. Turn out on the counter and ensure the dough is well mixed and uniform.
  3. Replace in bowl, cover, and leave for 50 minutes.
  4. Lightly oil counter, turn out dough, knead hard and fast, about 5 folds, and return to the bowl.
  5. Repeat as required each hour until the dough has doubled in volume.
  6. Turn out, pre-shape and rest, shape and proof for about an hour.
  7. Bake in a covered casserole in a pre-heated oven at 220°C for 50 minutes, removing cover and turning heat down to 200 °C after 20–25 minutes.
  8. Allow to cool at least 18 hours before eating.
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Around this time, as is customary, my little microbial helpers need a dash of tender loving care. The yoghurt has already had two quick passages and is much the better for it. The kefir is about to have its first. But with temperatures in the high 30s°C I wasn’t super keen to look after the bread starters. Of course I could have just refreshed them without actually baking, but where’s the fun in that, and in any case stocks of frozen bread were dwindling fast. So, yesterday I took a look at the stiffer starter.

Old bread starter looking extremely unwell; dark, slimy moist.

It wasn’t good.

The top was dark and slimy, the driest parts powdery (with spores?) and a fair bit of liquid hooch. The smell wasn’t reassurring either. But I’m here to reassure you that all was well and that if you are ever faced with a neglected starter, there’s no need to abandon it.

Turning the lump over, the base was perfectly fine, so I dug out a small spoonful, trying not to break through to the other side. It weighed about 9 gm. I added 24 gm of water and 32 gm of wholewheat flour (preserving the 75% hydration) mixed it up and left it to get going.

One thing about the heat; it got going in a hurry. Three hours later it was light and well aerated. Time for a second build. A single loaf needs only 175 gm of starter, and there was no way I was going to bake two in this heat, so the feed was 75 gm of water and 100 gm of flour.

Again, three hours was about all it took to more than double in volume. After that, I made the bulk dough (50% Manitoba, 50% wholewheat, 2% salt, 70% hydration), gave it a quick knead and left it on the counter for an hour. One set of folds and into the fridge overnight.

This morning I took it out, nicely risen, gently shaped it, placed it in a banneton, and left it for about 90 minutes. Normally I preheat the oven and my Le Creuset casserole for 35 minutes before baking. Given the heat, no way. It has been a long time since I first tried baking from a cold start and only a couple of times since, but saving 35 minutes of oven blasting made it worth it. Lid removed after 30 minutes, baked for a further 20 minutes.

A loaf of bread with four slices, on a cutting board, mozarella and tomatoes on plates in the background

The result was very acceptable. Not as much oven spring perhaps, but plenty, and a nice, even crumb. If this weather keeps up, I will do the same sort of bake when I revive the looser starter.

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A friend kindly gave me a copy of The Perfect Loaf, by Maurizio Leo, and very fortunately there was just about enough room in my suitcase to bring it home with me. The explanatory section at the start is very informative, even if most of it was pretty familiar already, and I did pick up a few new ideas. Still, the proof of the pudding and all that … so I resolved to make his Simple Sourdough.

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Successful panis quadratus seen in elevation

Panis quadratus, an offering to Fornax.

My visit to Ostia Antica last year, guided by the wonderfully knowledgeable Farrell Monaco, was destined to end in more than a podcast. There was no way I was going to be able to avoid attempting a panis quadratus of my own, and what better time to make the effort than during Fornacalia?

This is the festival during which ancient Romans made offerings to the goddess Fornax. She was charged with ensuring that when they parched the wheat, which made it easier to mill, the grain did not burn. I did not go as far as making my own mola salsa, but I had to attempt the bread, using Farrell Monaco’s latest iteration for a particularly festive version with fennel and poppy seeds and fresh parsley.

First effort at panis quadratus; the demarcations have almost vanished because they were not deep enough.

First attempt at panis quadratus. I was too timid with the demarcations, which almost vanished as a result

I’m not going to go into much detail, because thanks to her research and experiments Farrell’s articles tell you all you need to know and plenty more besides. The dough is actually very easy for a slightly experienced baker. It is quite stiff, about the same as my usual bagel dough, but being 100% wholemeal never quite becomes as smooth and elastic. Its stiffness, in fact, makes me really curious about the kneading machines that we saw in Ostia. Could wooden paddles really have had any impact on a 55% hydration dough of 100% wholemeal flour? I’d love to see a reconstruction in operation.

Anyway, the relatively small amount of leaven means it doesn’t rise very quickly, so on my first attempt I put it in the fridge overnight because I didn’t fancy staying up into the early hours even to please Fornax. The second time, I started much earlier in the day — about 8:00 am — and had a baked loaf by 5:00 pm.

Loaf before baking with string tied around the equator, much deeper demarcations and the impressed bread stamp

Second attempt ready for baking, with much deeper demarcations.

The tricky part is not the dough but the shaping and handling. The key elements of panis quadratus are the belt around its equator and the divisions pressed into the top to demarcate the sections. Tying the string, of finest Italian hemp, was a little bit fiddly for my fat fingers. And on the first trial, I was much too timid about pressing my reed (bamboo, actually) into the top of the dough. As a result, just as Farrell foretold during our visit to Ostia, the oven spring all but obliterated the marks. The next time I bore down on the bamboo and the marks survived well. And even though mine were the only loaves in my oven, for the finishing touch I did mark them with the bread stamp Farrell sent me.

The finished panis quadratus, fresh out of the oven, its demarcations and stamp intact

Second attempt just out of the oven, with the demarcations clear and the bread stamp visible.

As for the taste, it really is rather good. The bread is by no means light and fluffy, but it is not hard to chew either. It is soft, without being fluffy, and the taste of the poppyseeds and especially the fennel, comes through in every bite. I really like it with some well-aged sheep’s milk cheese, although it is also very good with a little butter and honey.

Fornacalia ends tomorrow. I reckon I will be in Fornax’s good graces for another year.