Daniel Leader - Living Bread : Tradition and Innovation in Artisan Bread Making

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Copyright 2019 by Daniel Leader

Photographs 2019 by Joerg Lehmann

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Leader, Daniel, author. | Chattman, Lauren, author.

Title: Living bread : tradition and innovation in artisan bread making / Daniel Leader with Lauren Chattman.

Description: New York : Avery, an imprint of Penguin Random House, [2019] | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019015854| ISBN 9780735213838 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780735213845 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Bread. | LCGFT: Cookbooks.

Classification: LCC TX769 .L3736 2019 | DDC 641.81/5dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019015854

p. cm.

The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

Neither the publisher nor author is engaged in rendering professional advice or services to the individual reader. The ideas, procedures, and suggestions contained in this book are not intended as a substitute for consulting with your physician. All matters regarding your health require medical supervision. Neither the author nor the publisher shall be liable or responsible for any loss or damage allegedly arising from any information or suggestion in this book.

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IN LOVING MEMORY OF BENNETT LEADER AND ALAN WEISBERG

INTRODUCTION

Paris, 1978

Im 22, a recent graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, a fledgling restaurant cook, and in Paris for the first time in my life. Ive just finished my first year cooking in New York, at Le Veau dOr, the oldest and most traditional French bistro in the city, and then at The Palace, the most expensive restaurant of the day. While I learned to make a few classics like blanquette de veau and tarte tatin that year, I mostly spent the time learning what it meant to be the newest member of the brigade and on the lowest rung of the ladder in a tough French kitchen. To get away and broaden my horizons, Ive flown from New York to Amsterdam, taken a train to the Gare du Nord, checked into a little hotel near the Place de la Sorbonne, and set my travel alarm clock for 5 a.m. I have a list of Michelin 3-star restaurants I plan to visit in France and Switzerland, including Fernand Points La Pyramide and Frdy Girardets eponymous place, at that moment considered the greatest restaurant in the world. In those days, great chefs were regularly in their kitchens and accessible to those who dared to knock on the door. But today Im determined that my first food experience in Paris will be an early morning stroll through the nearby March Mouffetard, an ancient and expansive outdoor food market I had originally read about in Ernest Hemingways AMoveable Feast.

With a 22-year-olds energy, Im practically sprinting from my hotel along the narrow cobblestone streets in the direction of the market, from the Pantheon to the Rue Mouffetard, stopping short at every corner to take in the ornately carved doorways and small shops, and regularly unfolding and checking my map, which I have carefully marked with culinary destinations around the city. Its a warm August morning. The sky is brightening to a grayish blue and this quiet Parisian neighborhood is just waking up. Street cleaners in their uniforms are already at work washing the sidewalks and sweeping up debris with their long-handled brooms. At the Cafe Le Mouffetard, the staff is neatly arranging outdoor tables and red and white rattan chairs. Burly workmen are standing at the bar and chatting in small groups, downing small cups of espresso with shots of golden liquor.

Just short of the cafe, Im bewitched by the perfume of fresh bread that pulls me to a doorway between a fromagerie and an epicerie. Under a stone archway, the bakery door is open, a pounding afro beat mingles with the scent of the bread, and through a suspended haze of flour and steam I see a guy in his forties, in worn cream-colored cotton shorts, sandals, and a frayed white T-shirt printed with the image of a wind-powered flour mill. He is standing next to an enormous mixer, its wide forked arm turning the bowl slowly. Smokey puffs of flour erupt from the bowl each time it makes a revolution. I smell the warm, earthy aroma of fresh bread. A lanky kid, maybe 16, his hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, and arms coated with a dusting of flour, stands to the bakers right, dressed in an equally worn and frayed outfit. He is pushing a long conveyor on a rolling stand, neatly lined with unbaked baguettes, into the multitiered oven. He pulls a lever on the conveyor after pushing it into the oven and Im astonished when it emerges empty. He presses a silver button on the front of the oven and there is a loud groan and a strong whoosh of steam out the oven door followed by a lingering whistle. The baker leaves the mixer churning, goes to a work table, casually throws a large tub of soft dough on the table, and starts dividing it into small chunks with a wood-handled scraper, weighing each piece with a quick flick of his wrist on an old brass balance scale, and then nonchalantly placing pieces, neatly lined up like soldiers, on the linen-lined wooden shelves below the table as he goes. He sees me, walks over with a stern expression, and, just when I expect him to throw me out, asks, Voulez-vous une baguette chaude, Monsieur?

Having been coached before dinner service by my French colleagues at The Palace, I recite the introduction I have memorized: Im an American cook on my first trip to Paris. Is it okay if I come in to watch? And then I ad-lib, Today is actually my first day in France. Im astonished when he commands