I took Wednesday off from breadmaking. I don't really know why and I think it was probably a mistake, but it happened. However, I did make a loaf today and, to shroud it in fog, I did it. I did it today, for the first time, and certainly not the last.
What I did, in the step by step and rather boring way I've come to tell you, was simply this: I poured a smaller amount of hot water than usual over brown sugar, covered the top of the liquid with yeast (no idea how much I used, none at all), and after ten minutes I started adding flour. Mostly, it was whole wheat pastry flour, which Peter informs me does not have as much gluten and is not from the usual red wheat. At any rate, that's what I did, adding between three and four cups. I also salted the hell out of the dough and added more than a tablespoon of oil. I might have only added two to three cups of flour; I don't know how much measure my hands hold. I kneaded it until it was the way it should be, then I let it rise once, took it out, set the oven to 375F, formed it into a long loaf by rolling it lengthwise, placed it in a loaf pan and salted the top. It was very small in the loaf pan. I let it rise during the preheat, scored it thrice, and then baked it for maybe forty minutes, maybe less.
But what I DID was create heaven. The salt finally brought out the full wheat flavor and the pastry flour does have a better taste (Peter does know bread). I'm not even going to try to describe this loaf. Everything about it is perfect and I don't even know why I continue to exist after creating such a wonderful delicacy. It's tempting to view this as proof that I am a god, but of course that would just be ridiculous. The bread was not just good, the bread was divine.