This reminds me of something I learned in school, yes, school, which is a place where I went for a while and afterward they gave me this thing...
...which actually I'm quite proud of. Anyway one day in a class called "Can Poetry Save the Earth: Ways of Reading in Ecopoetry and Ecopoetics," I learned about a legend of the Egyptian king Thamus: when the god Thoth offered the gift of writing for Thamus to give to his people, claiming it would improve their memories and make them wiser, the king rejected the gift, insisting it would do the opposite:
If men learn this, it will implant forgetfulness in their souls; they will cease to exercise memory because they rely on that which is written, calling things to remembrance no longer from within themselves, but by means of external marks.Socrates uses this to illustrate his criticisms of writing in Plato's dialogue Phaedrus. If these ancient philosophers were around today, surely they would be arguing against Wikipedia and WebMD, which allow us to lose touch with our memories--no need to recall what we discussed in history class, we can just type it into the search bar--and our bodies--don't need to listen to what your body wants, the internet will tell you what supplements to swallow and all the things that are going to kill you, like gluten and egg yolks.
But if you are going to eat the deadly bread and eggs, it's not like you have to remember how to make french toast. You just type it in and do exactly what the page says. You don't have to internalize the process, to really know what the egg-soaked bread is supposed to feel like in your hands, to keep the heat down a little lower because last time you burned your hand or set off the smoke alarm, to put cinnamon in your egg goo because you know it will taste pretty bland if you don't; it's easier to just follow someone else's instructions. You don't need to remember from within yourself how to make french toast.
Okay, my example is not that great. But take bread. Baking bread at home. Not many people I know do it. Because why spend hours making bread at home, bread that is going to go stale tomorrow probably, when you can go buy any variety your heart desires at the supermarket, and if you want something nice, go to that fancy bakery or the farmer's market. See, it's the same thing with the seeds; making it yourself is special. Kneading the dough with your hands, sprinkling on more flour or a little more water to get it to the consistency you want, not to mention knowing that you didn't put any chemical preservatives in it, which, alas, is why it won't last a whole week. Making bread is something you really have to learn with your hands, not just with your brain and your words.
The recipe will tell you: one cup warm water, one package active dry yeast, however much salt, three cups flour. And how long to knead it, and to let it rise until it is doubled in size, punch the dough, let it rise again, whatever. But how to explain in words that perfect consistency, the point where you know you've added just enough flour even though it's not the amount the recipe said, where you know if you knead one more time you are just going to wreck it. Is this what they talk about in culinary school? How to feel your dough, listen to it, know it?
I'm not going to culinary school, no way, but I'm starting to know my dough. I know why previous bread attempts have failed, and I know how to make the most of future dough experiments. I feel this confident because I actually made the dough for some successful burger buns:
They came out soft and fluffy, just the way the bread that surrounds a nice juicy burger should be. And I'm not going to tell you the recipe. There are three reasons why I can't tell you: one, because I don't remember the exact measurements of the ingredients; two, because the words "soft, smooth dough" aren't adequate for telling you how that feels when you press it onto a lightly floured surface; and three, because I wasn't there for the dividing and the baking of these buns. That task was carried out by my expert burger maker, who may or may not have ignored my anxious text messages while I was at work, away from my precious dough: "How is the dough?? Has it risen??" "Make sure to flatten the dough balls and then let them rise until they double again!" "Are they okay?" "How are they??"
They were fine. He sprinkled corn meal over the baking sheet, flattened the dough balls and let them rise again, and baked them at a temperature which I forgot to specify. And when I got home, there were beautiful soft fresh buns, just golden on top, so fluffy in the middle. The perfect buns, from a dough that I kneaded with my own hands, from a recipe that I didn't exactly invent myself but altered as I pleased, because when you have a little bit of dough instinct, you can basically do what you want.
This is the recipe I had finally settled on, after clicking through a bunch of different pages, none of which instructed to proof the yeast. I think I was drawn to this recipe because of the vagueness of the instructions: "Mix all of the dough ingredients...to make a soft, smooth dough." Okay, sure. So, I proofed my yeast in the one cup lukewarm water, but actually some of the water was half and half because I had seen a recipe that called for milk and I liked how that sounded, and the sugar, of course, mixed in there for the yeast to eat, but definitely not a quarter cup. Who needs a quarter cup? Once it was nice and foamy, I added the egg and salt and then the flour, a half cup at a time, and I don't remember if I counted. I just know I definitely didn't get to three, and already my dough was too dry, and my heart sank; surely this dough would fail, like those other buns I tried, the dense ones where I didn't proof the yeast, and it was horrible because I could see the yeast granules still intact as I kneaded it, what was I thinking, I'll never be able to make good dough. But I took a deep breath, sprinkled on some extra water, and soon I had what must have been the "soft, smooth dough" required for fluffy buns. Oh, those magical fluffy buns!
So that's as close as I'm going to get to giving you a fluffy bun recipe. I can't tell you how to do it, you just have to go for it. You have to make some bad dough before you make some good. Then you'll learn from it, and you'll remember it, not just with your head but with your hands. You'll rely not on recipes or "external marks," but on your "remembrance from within." Your bread might not last a week, but try storing it in a paper bag, see if that helps. Anyway, when it starts to get stale you can just make french toast with it--don't look up a recipe, just whisk up some eggs with some milk, sweeten it, dip the bread in, and slap it on a hot buttered skillet, I know you can remember that. And remember, "soft, smooth dough" for those fluffy buns. But you're not going to know it until you feel it--go ahead, get your hands doughy!
Next post: taste your dough. (Or your sauce, or your chili.) (And then dehydrate it.)
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