The simple joy of homemade flatbread

First instalment from my year of slow living

Like many, I have a fear of making bread.

My excuse is I’ve always lived somewhere cold, where proofing felt impossible. We’ve never been able to afford to put on the heating much in my family. Even when we did, the creaky old houses with single glazed windows never held the heat well.

It is a trend I have taken into adulthood. Only once in my life have a lived in a ‘normal’ house. It was a suburban 2 up 2 down. Within walking distance to the local retail park. Surrounded by families and young professionals. It was nice, but it was never going to hold me long.

Sadly, it never occurred to me to make bread when I had the perfect proofing opportunity to do so. I never even attempted it when I lived in a the draughty caravan where the windows would freeze on the inside.

Now we live in the tiny home, things are looking up. We spent a lot of money on the insulation and recently got a diesel heater fitted for the winter, to replace the expensive electric one we relied on last year.

Granted, the diesel heater is rather small and the insulation has been impaired slightly by the holes my partner (rather manically) drilled throughout the house for a (questionable) solution to our damp problem. However, our heater could keep the house at a steady 17 degrees on a mild winter day without much effort. I decided this was good enough.

Rather than putting it off, I got on with my cooking straight after our morning dog walk. My apron was on at 8.30am and I cleared the decks to ensure I had absolute focus. Normally, I am one to skim over recipes. So much so I’ve been known to add ingredients that were never even listed! Ahem gnocchi that was meant to be a bean stew…

Today, I poured over each instruction of this flatbread recipe. Reading it multiple times even before I started baking. I even read all the blurb that came before the actual recipe, which I usually skim past, before scrolling back up in frustration, thinking I must of missed it as its gone on so long!

Finally, I was ready to begin. First, the flour was exactly measured. Then, I added the salt, sugar and yeast, even skimming the top of my beautiful new bamboo measuring spoons to ensure it was level.

The water was a dilemma. At 135ml, I was concerned my measuring jug wouldn’t be exact enough. I decided to put the jug on top of the scales. This only served to cause more confusion. Of course, the scales didn’t match the jug. Not even remotely. The other issue was the instruction for ‘warm’ water. Without a thermometer or hot running water, I had to haphazardly mix cold water with that boiled in the kettle. As I scientist, I found this all a bit much!

Many compromises later, I slowly started adding the water and, by some miracle, a dough was formed.

Now came the part I was dreading. Time to let the dough rest and the yeast do its magic. I debated where was best to put it. After much travelling backwards and forwards through the house and repeated consultation with my partner, I decided on the shoe rack (as you do, in a Tiny Home…). This way, I could angle it in front of the diesel heater so it got some heat, but not be blasted. Was there such a thing as too much heat?

I left it where is was and tried to resist peeking. After the hour past, I was left with rather a sad looking dough. Exasperated, I was convinced it had failed. It didn’t look to have risen at all. Following some reassurance from my partner that flatbread dough isn’t meant to rise *that* much (not that either of us had the foggiest), I decided to plough on.

After some half-hearted kneading, I cut the ball of dough into 6 even (ish - how is this possible from a circle!) pieces and started rolling them. I abandoned the idea of trying to get the perfect oval shape rather quickly. Or even a recognisable shape at all, and just concentrated on getting them flat enough, without getting them stuck to the worktop. All the Bake Off fails were jumping around my head. Paul’s snide remarks about too much flour on the work surface was front and centre. This is apparently a very bad thing that I was keen to avoid…

Once some sort of shapes had been formed, I added my first sacrifice into the hot (tested with a now stinging finger) skillet and crossed all fingers.

I crouched over the pan. Eye’s watering with concentration. Then, by some miracle, bubbles started to form. Something was indeed happening. Peeking underneath I was astounded to be confronted with something that didn’t look dissimilar to pitta bread. Had this actually been a success?

Well, the fact that my partner polished off 2 in quick succession made me think that it had. Skye had also taken to loitering in the kitchen, nose twitching in anticipation, which I took as a good sign.

I was elated. I had created something that actually resembled bread!

A small bud of confidence has started to bloom. I’m excited to try different variations and maybe even try a loaf! Bake Off here I come!

In the meantime, I get to enjoy my flatbreads with my homemade chilli this evening. A simple, nourishing meal made from scratch. My year of cooking is getting off to a wonderful start (watch my latest YouTube video to learn about my other New Year intentions).

P.S., I hope you enjoyed this blog format. I’d like to share more quiet everyday moments from my year of slow living. Let me know what you think in the comments and please do share your bread recipes!

Molly xx

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