My first attempt at baking bread was a wait-and-see operation. I've always heard that baking is a real science--that using the right proportions can make all the difference in the oven. My roommate doesn't have measuring cups or a scale, so I eye-balled the flour and water, and when the ingredient list called for a coffee spoon and half of salt I used a few healthy pinches. The recipe on the back of the flour bag didn't actually say anything about kneading, and it's hard to tell once the dough has "fermente hasta que duplique su volumen" when you happen to forget what the original volume looked like.
I cooled the loaves on a makeshift rack of overturned plates and upon my first bite I figured that they would at least provide an ample supply of crumbs for some Murcian recipes I'd seen.
But just like most things can be rescued by roasting, so too can they be improved by toasting. I came downstairs the next day to see my roommates with slices on their plates, and Yolanda said it had actually made for a treat. As a little girl growing up in Jaén, her Dad would make up some toast topped with olive oil for breakfast, and then, when her mom wasn't looking, he would top hers off with a little sugar.
What didn't get eaten or grated for crumbs in the first couple days got sliced up and put in the freezer, and I retrieved a couple pieces this morning to listen to Spanish radio over a Jaén pop-tart of my own.
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