Jill of all trades...

I am self-aware enough to acknowledge that there are certain things that I am just terrible at. I know, for example, that I have no natural inclination towards the sciences or maths (unlike my sisters). Nor will I ever excel at anything sporty. But that's OK. This is not an exercise in me-bashing. I'm equally aware of what I am particularly good at, which usually (though not always) coincides with what I am most interested in - namely baking cakes, dealing with the past (history and archaeology - not incredibly useful in daily life unless you're an archaeologist, it has to be said) and all things linguistic (languages, books, writing).

But scattered all along the middle of the road are the many, many things that I'm OK at - I'm happy to have a go simply because I enjoy them, safe in the knowledge that I don't have to master them to perfection (Jill of all trades, master of none?). And as they're not something I have to do well in order to make a living out of them, perform to an audience or ace in an exam, I can remain content in my mediocrity. So I can sing somewhat tunefully along to my favourite songs (I will confess that, although my music tastes are broad, I have a penchant for a Country and Western ballad to sing along to - take it away Dolly!). I can make a half-decent curry for dinner (and no, I don't roast and grind my own spices). I can benefit from my years of yoga practice without ever beating myself up for not managing a headstand unaided or full lotus position. I'm also pretty handy with a paint-brush, though other feats of DIY require a handyman. 

Maltana

This is all by way of an introduction to my recipe for my malted raisin yeast bread. I will confess straight up that I am no Master Bread Baker. I love good bread, but generally wouldn't ever get a yearning for it in the same way that I would for cake, and I don't tend to eat a huge amount of it. So while I have spent years mastering the baking of cakes, biscuits and other sweet treats, yeast bread is a relatively new endeavour. I probably would have left well enough alone had my sister not bought a bread machine a few years ago. Her success led to us buying one for our Dad (already a champion soda bread maker). More than any other bread from the machines (all of which is pretty fabulous by the way), the Maltana made me want to try my hand at bread-making. Yes, you can still buy lovely Maltana in the shops, but it's nice to make it yourself and know exactly what's in it. 

Now my kitchen is small and counter space is tight, so there was no way I'd be investing in a bread machine myself. Armed with the recipe from the bread-machine book, I began the first of what would be many trials. The recipe as it stood turned out OK but was a bit dense (what works in the controlled environment of a bread-machine doesn't necessarily do the same outside). I upped the yeast quotient for the next loaf and added some treacle for colour, but still wasn't happy - too heavy. After a bit of research, I realised one of my fundamental errors was adding the raisins in at the start of the process, instead of kneading them in after the first prove (yes indeed, research first would have been a great idea). Third trial involved a whole new recipe (by Delia), which oddly required no kneading (should have trusted my instincts there) and contained a lot more treacle - this one was funny in texture and had a burnt after-taste from too much treacle (third time was not the charm). 

Finally, a variation on the original recipe worked a treat, with the addition of some melted butter, a touch of mixed spice for flavour, milk instead of water (for a softer crumb), and making sure the dough was wetter than usual and the raisins pre-soaked (to stop them sucking the moisture from the dough). And if you’re feeling a bit lazy like I was, instead of kneading in the raisins, simply roll the dough out flat, press on the raisins and roll the dough up tightly before placing in the tin. This has the added advantage of looking a bit like a pain au raisin, which fools the eye into thinking you’re being bold, when really you’re not.

I'm sure the formidable Paul Hollywood would toss it aside dismissively as an imperfect loaf of bread. And he would be right - it wasn't perfect, but it was pretty damn good and no doubt it will get better with practice. So if, like me, you're no Master Bread-Maker, don't worry about it. Give it a go anyway (I've put the recipe below). There's nothing like the smell of bread baking in the house and the sight of a loaf warm from the oven, cooling on the rack. If at first you don't succeed, try and try again (they do say practice makes perfect, so I live in hope). Or if you're not as tenacious (stubborn) as I am, do as my sister would tell you - buy a bread-machine.

Malted raisin yeast bread

Ingredients

2 tbsp malt extract

1 tbsp golden syrup

1 tbsp treacle

55g butter

1 1/4 tsp salt

1/2 tsp mixed spice

454g strong flour

2 tsp fast-action yeast

200-250ml milk

160g raisins / sultanas 

Method

Melt the butter, golden syrup and treacle and allow to cool completely. Scald the milk (i.e. bring to a boil, allow to cool, then remove the skin from the top of the milk). Place the dry ingredients in a bowl (keeping the salt and yeast to separate sides initially), add the butter, syrup and treacle and mix together. Add enough milk to make a slightly wet dough (you don't want it gloopy, just a bit sticky) and mix. The dough should be kneaded for about 10 minutes by hand (or about 5 mins in the machine with a dough hook, which is what I do), until it looks smooth and soft. Place it in a large oiled bowl, cover with cling film and leave to prove for 1.5 to 2 hours (until it has doubled in size).  

While this is happening, soak the raisins or sultanas in a small amount of boiling water from the kettle, covering the bowl with cling film and leaving them to soak up the water (you can drain off any excess moisture left before you add them to the dough). Knead in the dried fruit, form into a rough oval, almost the length of your loaf tin (I use a 22cm long x 12cm wide x 6cm deep tin), place in the tin and leave to prove (covered) for another couple of hours - it will almost double in size again and when you gently press your finger into the dough it will spring back. Bake for about 40 mins in a pre-heated oven at 200C (fan) - this varies depending on your oven.

Working with yeast (which is alive) can be tricky, as there are so many variables - moisture in the air on a particular day, how warm your kitchen is, the batch of flour you're using - each of these factors can affect how the dough proves and how the bread fares in terms of texture and taste. As you make more and more bread, you become more attuned to how it should look and feel at certain stages, so in this case, practice really does make perfect!