A slice of life
Artisan baker Gillian Gulverson tells us about a typical day.
4.00am
The alarm clock shatters a recurring dream about winking bagels and I'm wide awake, ready for a day's baking. The first thing I do is roll up my duvet and take it to the kitchen - of course, it's made of the dough I prepared the night before. Many young bakers don't sleep with their dough any more, but I like to keep up with tradition. The natural body warmth and 'night movements' of a sleeping baker give the dough a special suppleness that is impossible to replicate. I lay the sticky grey goo out on the countertop and use a dustbuster to hoover off any stray hairs. Then I wash my hands - hygiene is paramount - and begin to knead.
5.03am
Shit! I forgot to turn the oven on. It takes ages to heat up. To be honest, I shouldn't ever turn it off.
5.10am
Until the oven reaches the right temperature, there's not much I can usefully do, so I watch a little TV.
12.31pm
I can't believe Alf Stewart is still in Home & Away. Right. I check the oven with my elbow and it's hot enough (volcano temperature) for baking bread. Now I can put in the dough! There's a lot of it, several hundred kilos, so I use that big wooden spade thing to place it on the oven shelf. I don't think it has a name.
1.18pm
Nearly time for Russell Grant's Postcards.
5.20pm
It's bread o'clock! As you can see in the photograph, I take the bread out of the oven and sniff it to make sure it hasn't gone off already (which can happen if the yeast achieves critical mass). Notice that I'm wearing special gloves. That's because I don't want to get my fingerprints on the crust, in case it's a poisoned loaf.
Notice also how the 633kg of dough I started with has shrunk down to just a single 800g loaf. I should really find out why that keeps happening.
5.33pm
I put the hot bread on the sill to cool. The wholesome aroma of the cooling loaf inevitably attracts hobos, who I have to scare off by firing my shotgun out of the window at random intervals.
11.48pm
Disaster! A pigeon and a rat - working in unison and possibly trained by a hobo - just tried to steal my bread! It was nearly cooled down as well. The pigeon distracted me by tapping its beak against the skylight while the rat climbed up to the sill and wrapped its tail around the loaf! I'm not sure quite what happened next, but suffice to say, my hair is full of broken glass, I've shot up the fridge and there's Fairy Liquid all over the walls. The loaf is ruined - full of buckshot and rat guts.
11.53pm
Bedtime! I try and put the lost loaf behind me. What with hungry hobos, flour ghouls and runaway crusting, a baker is used to these kind of setbacks. As I brush my teeth with egg yolk, I promise myself that tomorrow - tomorrow - will be the day that I finally get to taste a slice of bread.
4.00am
The alarm clock shatters a recurring dream about winking bagels and I'm wide awake, ready for a day's baking. The first thing I do is roll up my duvet and take it to the kitchen - of course, it's made of the dough I prepared the night before. Many young bakers don't sleep with their dough any more, but I like to keep up with tradition. The natural body warmth and 'night movements' of a sleeping baker give the dough a special suppleness that is impossible to replicate. I lay the sticky grey goo out on the countertop and use a dustbuster to hoover off any stray hairs. Then I wash my hands - hygiene is paramount - and begin to knead.
5.03am
Shit! I forgot to turn the oven on. It takes ages to heat up. To be honest, I shouldn't ever turn it off.
5.10am
Until the oven reaches the right temperature, there's not much I can usefully do, so I watch a little TV.
12.31pm
I can't believe Alf Stewart is still in Home & Away. Right. I check the oven with my elbow and it's hot enough (volcano temperature) for baking bread. Now I can put in the dough! There's a lot of it, several hundred kilos, so I use that big wooden spade thing to place it on the oven shelf. I don't think it has a name.
1.18pm
Nearly time for Russell Grant's Postcards.
5.20pm
It's bread o'clock! As you can see in the photograph, I take the bread out of the oven and sniff it to make sure it hasn't gone off already (which can happen if the yeast achieves critical mass). Notice that I'm wearing special gloves. That's because I don't want to get my fingerprints on the crust, in case it's a poisoned loaf.
Notice also how the 633kg of dough I started with has shrunk down to just a single 800g loaf. I should really find out why that keeps happening.
5.33pm
I put the hot bread on the sill to cool. The wholesome aroma of the cooling loaf inevitably attracts hobos, who I have to scare off by firing my shotgun out of the window at random intervals.
11.48pm
Disaster! A pigeon and a rat - working in unison and possibly trained by a hobo - just tried to steal my bread! It was nearly cooled down as well. The pigeon distracted me by tapping its beak against the skylight while the rat climbed up to the sill and wrapped its tail around the loaf! I'm not sure quite what happened next, but suffice to say, my hair is full of broken glass, I've shot up the fridge and there's Fairy Liquid all over the walls. The loaf is ruined - full of buckshot and rat guts.
11.53pm
Bedtime! I try and put the lost loaf behind me. What with hungry hobos, flour ghouls and runaway crusting, a baker is used to these kind of setbacks. As I brush my teeth with egg yolk, I promise myself that tomorrow - tomorrow - will be the day that I finally get to taste a slice of bread.
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