For reasons tied to my new home in the (usually) snowy north, my love of the Great Plains and my innate desire to zig where others zag, I have begun an exploration of rye breads of all styles and origins. But one can only eat so much bread, so I have been sharing the results of my efforts to any and all comers.
The reactions have been profound, and have helped me better understand the deep meaning bread in all its forms has on those who make and eat it.
I should start by noting that the Great Pandemic Sourdough Craze of 2020-2022 passed me by. Holly was never keen on bread, and, well, it seemed so trendy at the time that I ignored it. Homemade tortillas were fine with me.
But when I finally began to settle down here in St Paul, the same homey urge that hit the nation during the Pandemic began seeping into my bones. I needed a domestic project to occupy my hands and mind as my new life starts to coalesce. Again, wheat sourdough was, well, too common. Rye?
Rye. It’s an odd grain, persnickety, dark, hard to work with, but far more rewarding than wheat once you learn how to dance with it (Kinda like me). Rye is the bread of Scandinavia and Scotland, Minnesota and North Dakota, Russia, Poland and Germany. Places that hold my heart because of their cuisines’ ingenuity with scarce resources and biting cold.
My main guide has been a book by Stanley Ginsburg called The Rye Baker, recommended to me by a friend whose wheat sourdough bread is outstanding. The book leans toward the technical, which I like, because to me, bread baking borders on the mystical — it’s far more precise and demanding than simple savory cooking. Slight errors can lead to ruined loaves.
Ginsburg’s book has allowed me to look at rye breads in other books with a more critical eye, and to successfully alter those other recipes using what I’ve learned from him. Seeds or cracked rye berries in the recipe? Soak them overnight. Is there base dough? Well, you can usually use a rye sourdough starter to make a “sponge” that permeates the final loaf with sour, natural rye yeasts, then limit or eliminate the store-bought yeast later.
Rye baking has been a diverting adventure — albeit a distraction from my normal pursuits — but one I’ve needed. Since I am not really writing about rye breads on Hunter Angler Gardener Cook, it’s allowed me to scratch a cooking itch without the pressure to post.
But even more needed has been the results of all these experiments: Baking bread eases my mind, but breaking bread salves my soul.
Sharing my bread with others has been nothing short of a blessing — and anyone who knows me knows I don’t use that word lightly.
Instant memories: An autumn picnic by a reservoir with a North Dakota rye; a Boston brown bread with my mom’s baked beans, served to an old friend; an airy Galician rye shared with a new neighbor; a sturdy rye sandwich topped with homemade sauerkraut, mustard and dried mutton, shared with a lonely workman installing quarter-round in my living room.
Even though I am no expert baker, my loaves have made people happy in a way I honestly didn’t expect. I’ve seen eyes light up, skepticism turn to happy yummy noises (rye is not the most popular form of bread in this world), and generally just a lot of unalloyed gratitude. You made this? Thank you! And that gratitude has sloughed off on me, fueling my own gratitude toward others.
Bread is fundamental to hospitality wherever it is eaten, regardless of form: tortillas, fry bread, rye, bannock, wheat loaves, naan, lavash, lefse, you name it. To break bread with another says you are here to listen to what she has to say, to see her as she is. Bread is a welcome, a gentle kindness.
A year ago I was not able to offer that kindness. Now I am. And I am better for it.
Having grown up with bread bakers, of Scandinavian and French descent... I began undertaking my own versions of bread in my early 20’s... our family did white and oatmeal. I as a child of the 60’s, brought home whole grain and whole wheat bread and flour. To my surprise, my mother embraced it! To this day I cannot come close to her bread. But I too have been playing with Rye. I love it! ❤️❤️❤️
Fire. Bread. Sharing. These are all part of the common human experience. Woodsmoke and fresh bread might be some of the most powerful scents to draw individuals together. They signal warmth and nourishment and companionship to us. They are impossible without community. Community might be impossible without them.