Daring Bakers: Bagging the Baguettes- The Morning After.

I did it.

I didn't, however, succeed the first time. I chose to let the matter rest.

What's more is that I did not cancel my sojourn to Manzanita the next day (to have a foamy cappuccino in this spot). So what if it was a drive in the pouring rain to the coast and back, only to stand on the wind-blown, cold beach for about a minute and spend a few hours in a coffee shop? It was nice to get out of the city, even if only for a few hours. I even took the forlorn baguettes, hoping to find some Manzanita birds to toss the sad, shrunken loaves at. That didn't happen. I left the coffee shop as the rain had begun in decided earnest
and saw my loaves of bread-like matter in the backseat (which upon arriving landed in the trash can in my garage) and then I found peace in the parking lot.

A statue plopped for no apparent reason in the foliage behind the Manzanita News and Espresso house. I was in awe of this discovery and felt quite blissful at seeing it and my corresponding decision to not be at home at that moment trying to unmold my second try of baguettes. Another time, surely, there will be for me and my baguette creation.

Then I returned from my solo vision quest and begun the whole process again before catching a yoga class. The first part of the rising process is lengthy to the tune of 3 hours. This was when I decided that this time around was not the time for the baguette. I mixed the dough up, and went on my way. I was low-key. I came home from Yoga and punched down the bubbling dough. (By-the-way: Turning on the oven light did a masterful job of heating up the oven to a great rising temperature for me) As it rose again, Rob and I went grocery shopping. On return from that adventure. Rob holed himself up in the front room to work on a paper, and I attempted to work on cleaning all the bits of flour from the white cabinetry in the kitchen, and made us dinner of frozen whole foods brand quiche (One in the throws of French Baking has no time for other cooking.)

Later on, I fiddled and folded the dough up as Julia describes, into place for its third rise. Then came that damn unmolding.

I had wrapped it in a towel and throughly doused the towel with ample flour. But that yeasty organism had grown lots. It seemed to prowl with its glutinous self, trying to latch onto whatever surface available to it. Finally it was time to get the thing onto the baking sheet.

Easy does it, Easy does it. Stuck. (!)

Rob appeared at the sound of my trauma after finding me an acceptable razor blade from his artist supplies with which I would slash that sprawling dough. Together we unpeeled the towels, and gingerly pulled off the last bit of attached towel (I think if I do this again, that baker's canvas is something I need to investigate).

AHHH! It sort of broke the cloak of gluten, exposing the sticky inside to the outside world.

"But that's like what happens when you slash it right?"

Quickly we transfered the oozing mass onto the baking sheet- wondering if it was going to defate.

I slashed it. 1-2-3! I shoved it in the oven, put the pan of ice in there with it and shut the door.

It wasn't until later during one dousing with water that I realized it was working. The dough was swelling and there was even some golden color coming on the crusty top. You go, yeast. This is why I love to bake, this feeling right here.

"It's Working!" I shrieked.

We didn't get out first taste until 6am (2-3 hour cooling process, it didn't go in the oven until 11:30pm) right before Rob went to work. But the bread was good, its flavor was tangy, and I'm still glad I didn't bother with the baguette.

The post below this one has links to the recipe I used on the Daring Bakers website and a link to a bunch of other people's tales of French Bread. I want to thank hostesses Mary and Sara for such an amazing challenge...