A week of morning rolls

The dough tells you more than the clock does, and it took me a long time to believe that. The second loaf of the day is always better than the first, because the oven is properly hot. I fed the starter in the evening and by morning it had doubled and smelled faintly of apples. A cast iron pot does most of what a professional oven does, for a fraction of the trouble.

Nothing here is exact, and that is rather the point. The crust sang as it cooled on the rack, which is still my favourite part. Cold flour and a cold kitchen slow everything down, so in winter I start a day earlier.

Whole grain flour drinks more water than you expect, so I add it in small steps. Salt goes in after the rest, a habit I picked up from an old bakery book.

I keep a notebook by the scale, because I never remember what I changed last time. I used to score too timidly; a quick, confident cut opens far better. This time I let the bulk rise go an hour longer, and the crumb was noticeably more open.