January 16, 2024
You probably know, if you like bread enough to read these, that a boule is a round loaf, and a batard is an oval loaf.
You probably also know, but in case you don’t, one step in the bread-making process is called proofing, where the dough rests, ferments and rises, typically in baskets that give the dough shape. These baskets can be boule shaped (round), batard shaped (oval), or really, I imagine any shape a person might dream up. Star shaped bread, anyone? (Google image search suggests the existence of triangle and heart, but sadly, no star…)
I have two boule baskets and two batard baskets, each a mismatched set, one in each set slightly bigger than the other. I originally bought pairs, but failed in early trials to appreciate the amount of moisture the rattan baskets would wick away and retain. Moisture which would, if remaining on the basket when the basket returned to storage, grow, in Washington, DC humidity, a luscious furry mold forest on said basket. Goodbye basket.
I regularly bake both batard and boule, although find batard an easier shape to eat, as the slices are more uniform throughout the loaf. Batard is what I’ll be making for our initial Pretty Good Bread offering, the standard sourdough, aka “Ya Basic.”
Unrelated to the insult I’m apparently reclaiming as a badge of honor. . . boules can get especially prettied up with intricate scoring designs, a big blank canvas for snowflakes etc., which I appreciate but are not really my sweet spot. Round here you might instead get the occasional turkey, or monogram, or hey, in light of upcoming festivities, even a football. Stay tuned!
My colleague Maggie ordered my first Pretty Good Bread loaf, asking that it be delivered to our office. Really, it was just a favor to test our ordering system, but that’s the kind of generous soul Maggie is. (Maggie is also the one who requested I name my bread offerings, and as customer #1, I think has earned the right to a beloved GIF .)
Since she was sending it to the office, I made her loaf for sharing, a bigger loaf called a miche. Instead of proofing in a basket, it proofs free form, all wobbly and unsupported, relying on the strength of my shaping to keep from pancake-ifying. Miche are big, a bit dense, and super flavorful. The kind of loaf you imagine a French peasant housewife making to feed her family for the week. They improve with a little time, as the flavor deepens.
When I delivered Maggie’s miche, a crowd of colleagues gathered round, hacking away slices on our cutting board-less work kitchen counter, conversation pausing as people stopped to chew, murmuring sighs of satisfaction. Punctuations of delight drew even more colleagues, and before she knew it, word was going round that Maggie was the new #officehero. If it had been the standard batard, it would have all been eaten-but the monster miche meant she had some to take home for herself. Only a fitting reward for the office hero.
Next step, work out packaging. I don’t want to dash people’s hopes with a Levain bag devoid of cookies…
