There is something I want to explain about bread: bread likes you. It wants to sit down and chat, maybe share a nice, hot beverage. It is a dietary staple that wants to hang out.
I have not found this to be true of certain sauces and that one cooked icing I made back when I was about 14 and I still shudder in remembrance of. I am put off by most cookbooks, finding them fussy and elitist, (the elite being people who cook a lot more than I do) the pretentious hipsters of cooking.
I was, at first, daunted by the idea of making bread. I’ve been around others who were making bread, one who never needed a recipe and the other who wept with frustration over the yeast. So, complicated and obscure and it made you desperate. Who needs it?
Yeah, that would be me. I had some time and the desire for a good baguette. I am originally from Louisiana and I can sure eat the hell out of some good Cajun food. I dream of these two restaurants near the Atchafalaya Basin, Robin’s and Pat’s, and a bakery in Lafayette called Pouparts. Really, if you are ever near Henderson, La. go to Robin’s, it’ll make you happy.
Thus began my two years of making bread. My first loaves were as bricks. The dough would rise, then fall. I couldn’t get the slash right (still can’t) and my loaf would always deflate in the oven.
This is where you know that bread genuinely likes you. You could still eat what I had made. It wasn’t great but it was edible. Some made excellent toast. (Some still makes excellent toast, because while I do have some successes, every other loaf is still flat as a board. At least now there is a good chance I can figure out why.)
So let the sauce break and the cream curdle since you forgot to temper it in, go stir up some dough, push-pull-turn, let it rise and enjoy.
(Just be very careful of how much salt you put in or you will get this, beautiful but deadly.)