Alright, so the other day, I got this itch, you know? A real hankering for some proper bread. Not that airy, flimsy stuff you get in plastic bags. I wanted something with a bit of heft, something that warms you from the inside out. And then it hit me – oat molasses bread. Specifically, the kind that always makes me think of Maine, all rustic and comforting.
Getting Started with the Goodness
First things first, I had to rummage through my cupboards. Found the rolled oats, thank goodness. And the molasses, the dark, sticky kind. You can’t skimp on that; it’s where all the magic comes from. I also grabbed some whole wheat flour and some regular all-purpose stuff. I like a mix.
Then came the yeast. Always a bit of a gamble, right? I warmed up some water, not too hot, not too cold, like a lukewarm bath. Sprinkled in the yeast and a pinch of sugar. Then I just waited, holding my breath a little. After a few minutes, phew, it started to get all foamy. We were in business!
Mixing it All Up
Into my biggest bowl went the flours, the oats, a bit of salt, and a good glug of that dark molasses. Then the yeasty water. I started mixing it with a wooden spoon, but pretty soon, I just ditched it and got my hands in there. There’s something about feeling the dough come together, you know? It started off a shaggy mess, super sticky. I almost panicked and threw in a ton more flour, but I remembered to go slow. A little sprinkle here, a little there, until it was still tacky but not glued to my fingers quite so much.
Then the kneading. Oh boy, kneading. I actually don’t mind it. Some folks use their fancy mixers, but I find it kind of therapeutic. Pushing, folding, turning. Did that for a good ten minutes, maybe more. My arms were feeling it, but the dough started to get smooth and elastic. That’s what you want.
The Waiting Game (and Baking)
I plopped the dough into a greased bowl, turned it over so the top was greased too, and covered it with a tea towel. Found a nice, cozy spot for it to rise, away from any drafts. Our old farmhouse can be a bit drafty, even in summer. Then, patience. This is the hard part for me. I kept peeking. Probably shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.
After about an hour, maybe a bit more, it had pretty much doubled. Looked like a giant puffy cloud. So satisfying. I punched it down – another satisfying moment – then divided it into two. Tried to shape them into decent loaf shapes. Mine always end up a bit… unique. Character, I call it. Popped them into greased loaf pans for the second rise. This one’s usually quicker.
Once they looked nicely puffed up again, into the preheated oven they went. My oven’s a bit ancient, so I always keep a close eye on things. The smell, though! That’s the best part. The whole house started to smell amazing, all warm and sweet and yeasty. After about 30-35 minutes, they were looking beautifully browned. I tapped the bottoms, and they sounded hollow. Perfect!
The Reward
Pulled them out and set them on a wire rack to cool. This, my friends, is pure torture. The smell is incredible, and you just want to tear into it. But you gotta wait. Or at least, try to wait. I might have sliced off a tiny end piece when it was still pretty warm. Don’t tell anyone.
And there you have it. My adventure in making Maine-style oat molasses bread. It’s dense, a little chewy, with that lovely dark sweetness from the molasses and the wholesome taste of oats. Perfect with a slab of butter, or for a hearty sandwich. Way better than anything from a store, I tell ya. Takes a bit of effort, sure, but it’s so worth it.
Here’s roughly what I threw in, if you’re curious:
- Some warm water
- Active dry yeast
- A bit of sugar for the yeast
- Dark molasses (a good amount!)
- Rolled oats
- Whole wheat flour
- All-purpose flour
- A bit of salt
- Some oil or melted butter for the dough and greasing
No exact science here, I mostly go by feel. But it turns out great every time. Give it a shot if you’re feeling adventurous!
