Brick Kiln Sourdough

I brought my faithful rye starter to the pub with me (made according to instructions in Dan Lepard’s inimitable ‘The Handmade Loaf’), and like to use it in the restaurant bread as it gives a depth of flavour that cannot be achieved with just added (and comparatively expensive) ingredients . It was an easy decision to make this the first recipe in the blog since it uses our bespoke ale, Brick Kiln from the West Berkshire Brewery. I wanted to make a loaf including it which echoed The Pot Kiln in rustic appeal, but of course the Brick Kiln can be substituted for any worthy real ale which isn’t too pale. The hoppy tang really compliments the sourness from the starter and the fragrant nuttiness of the rye, and makes the bread taste how I imagine it would’ve used to centuries ago.

This loaf need to be started the day before to allow the ale and grains to get acquainted overnight.

Makes 2 big loaves.

300g whole spelt

700ml water

1pt Brick Kiln

In a heavy based saucepan, bring water and spelt up to the boil and cook on a subtle simmer for 40 minutes until the gain is cooked, or until the water is all absorbed. Take off the heat, place in a container with the ale. Cover and leave overnight unrefrigerated.

750g light rye flour

250g strong white flour

250g wholemeal

2tbsp sea salt

500g rye sourdough

30g fresh yeast

100ml ambient water

2tbsp malt extract

The following morning combine the flours and salt in a large bowl. Mix the other ingredients with the grain and ale, then add to the dry ingredients. Combine to form a sticky dough. Cover and leave for 10 minutes. Turn out onto a lightly oiled surface, knead briefly for a minute until the dough forms a ball. Cover and leave for 10 minutes. Knead briefly again in around 10 movements, ending with the dough in a ball. Cover and leave for 10 minutes. Repeat the kneading process. Leave for an hour then repeat the kneading process. I will discuss this course of action at length in another post, but it can be made more flexible when other factors such as temperature are taken into account.

Leave for a couple of hours, then cut the dough in half and shape. I always think a ring looks impressive on a bread board and yields neat little wedges when cut. After shaping and placing on trays or in proving baskets, leave the dough covered for at least 5 hours, or at a cooler temperature for longer if it suits. If you want to slash the dough before baking, do so then leave for 10 minutes before placing in the oven as I’ve found this makes the rise more prominent with a sourdough (I haven't done this in the picture below). Bake at 200˚c for an hour, turning down the oven to 180˚c if the top is looking too brown. Enjoy with a hard cheese and sweetish chutney.

Behind the blog

This is the Pot Kiln, a red-brick, wooden-floored embodiment of everything a rural English pub should be. It is the centre of the community, rooted in its West Berkshire surroundings; and the food served here is a succinct reflection of this. It is a place where locals turn up for a pint and hand over freshly caught brown trout, or earthy ceps in wicker baskets plucked from nearby secret locations. It is a place where the ale of choice, Brick Kiln, is brewed especially for us a mile down the road, and the venison around which the menu centres is stalked by the owner, Mr. Mike Robinson himself. It is a place where the chefs are to be found precariously stanced up apple and plum trees, making use of the latest glut from the well-established kitchen garden, if not scouring the hedgerows on blackberry duty.

It is also my new home, where I’ve begun life as a pastry chef. A year after graduating from Oxford, I have swapped a weighty obligatory bookshelf of Alexander Pope and Mary Wollstonecraft, in whose company I never felt quite at ease, for a scant selection of Dan Lepard and River Cottage. Cooking has always been a huge part of my life (at primary school I would beg the dinner lady for her quiche recipe), but this is my first foray into the daunting world of the professional kitchen. I am therefore relatively inexperienced, but like to reassure myself that enthusiasm counts almost as much as practice. One task I have been given sole charge of at the Pot Kiln is to keep the restaurant supplied daily with freshly baked bread. My brief is simple:  4 loaves of white, 4 loaves of brown, to be sitting proudly on the scarred oak bread board by midday, and the rest is left to me.

It is the task of assembling and baking this dough that my blog will focus on, as the combination of water, flour, salt and yeast, with its infinite potential and promise, captivated me long before I had paying customers to consider. It’s a running joke that my movements can be tracked by the trail of flour I leave in my wake, and before moving out I exacerbated my mum by filling our modest dining room with 25kg sacks of rye. I love that such humble beginnings, given time and care, will produce something sustaining and with a depth of flavour hard to conceive looking at the raw ingredients. No two loaves can ever be the same when made by hand, so each creation is unique. I hope that the recipes I share will be a reflection of my passion, and of how much I am learning along my journey.