Thought I would share my quadruple great grandmothers kamut bread recipe, found in the family spell book while attempting a love potion. This may not be for prudes, you know who you are.
On Peasant Bread
Firstly, most of the hyped Peasant Bread is actually Bread made by us peasants for our feudal masters. Proper Peasants are much to busy making such nutritionally incomplete fluffy stuff for our whipmasters. There is not time outside of the listless Paris Commune, to be making dreamy stuff for ourselves.
So, now that even peasants can pull out a carde and steal the next door mannors “free internets’, let us therefore call upon Amazon and have James send a box of the Kings own whole Kamut grain.
Since the card says no payments until March 20016, might as well order a nice Pelikan m600, a red one shall do boldly well.
Shortly after Christmass, ye whole Kamut grain shall arrive. Gather then, the spilled grains from about the boxe, And put a handful into the blender. Fear not! It doth no goode. Add some unchlorinated water if you like, more kamut berries, and press go, grinding the stately berries into a coarse grind, such as the doves eat in gravel. Or more finely if you have traded a daughter for a Vita-mix.
Dump in a bowl (the grain), and cover with more unchlorinated water, so not from the masters pool, stirre, and set the uncovered bowl upon ye counter, before rushing forward to serve your master and pilfer the butter.
Come home, as it may be called, and stir the soupy Kamut and water mix before collapsing into your repast. Between first and seconde sleep, soon after the embrace of your wench, stirr again the grain and water, adding handfuls of fresh ground coarse grain, and water to maintain a batter similar to the mistresses pancake batter she likes so well, and just the same, stick ye calloused finger in, to taste, as you do for her.
Repeat until Thorsday, whence there shall be a bubbley souring appearance rising about the bowl and that special twang upon yeor callus ye shall only know by age and experience. Now then, speed ye to slavery once more and steal only so much whey and olive oil as will not be noticed. This is important, for if noticed, your bread shall surely go bad and surley as you swing in the good sherrifs’ wind.
Assuming you are not greedy, or at least that you are clever, empty your prize into the bowl and stirr in some soak softened sprouting kamut berries, salt to the taste of sweat after fresh spring water and stirr like there is a tomorrow. Add more grain till it is like the thick steppe clay which clings to the soul-less boot, and walk away. Or run, it matters not, for where shall ye go if you would?
Perhaps now be a fine time to return the masters horse, all the while collecting some guilded frames for the fire your bread wishes. No, moldy peat will not do. Coke does help but is not the ultimate answer as it results in an unsavory crust to those who use it for long.
When the bread dough has risen, as it is written it will, and this time it’s true, strike your fire to 400f. I would use Centigrade but they hang those who venture beyond the kings foot so ye shall have to do your own math if you do live in pretty much any other country in the worlde beyond this one.
Place Risen bread, doused in the last of the olive oil into the oven, for it is likely Sonday, and all but you are playing croquet, napping, or bothe, which leaves only you, the time for the baking.
Reduce frame pieces to the fire, and baske at 325 until a Ravens foot cries out 180 or 200f, it matters not, but to the crumbe. Cool down and rest the bread while you gather the butter and honey. This is real peasant bread, and worthy of any sting.
Youres, with love,
PS ask questions if you like, but remember, I’ve been ded a long long time.