Okay, that's probably not true, as I find the process quite soothing and reminiscent of my childhood; but I was finally compelled to try a "no-knead" recipe today. After finally succumbing to the futility of making lovely loaves of bread that I cannot consume, I happened upon a 60-second recipe for ciabatta that I could no longer ignore.
I rolled out of bed at 6:07am and dumped
two cups of warm water
1/4 teaspoon of yeast
4 cups of all purpose flour
1 teaspoon of salt
into my pretty Pyrex mixing bowl and slapped a piece of plastic wrap on it.
When I came home from work, it has risen to become this impressive blob of yeasty, gluten-filled goodness.
Thirty minutes before the arrival of our Wednesday night crew, I poured the dough into a pan, topped it with some dried basil and oregano and a generous handful of freshly grated Parmesan and tossed it in a 400-degree oven.
Twenty-five minutes later, this emerged:
Half-assed? Absolutely. But not half bad. My "I don't eat bread" husband chowed down on several slices, slathered with horseradish mustard and layers of corned beef and Dubliner cheddar.
Thanks, Kitchen Hack, for encouraging my desire to become lazy, happy, and fat.
Maybe eventually I'll buy one of those cookbooks. But maybe not, because it may exceed my 60-second time limit.
