Whole Wheat or Half Baked?

The following is based on a speech I wrote in preparation for the State of the University address in fall, 2006 (which never took place). So imagine me standing in the Cox Pavilion in front of a sign saying “State of the University,” and saying:

Good morning. When writing comments for an event of this importance, I always begin by picking a grand historical example upon which to model my words of inspiration. Today, I have selected as my guide Alton Brown of the Food Network, and as my topic, the baking of bread.

The first step in baking a loaf of bread sounds the simplest, but, in reality, is the most difficult and most important. A baker must begin by deciding what this loaf of bread is going to do. What is its mission? Augment a fine meal? Be glued together by a layer of Skippy? Be a home to raisins, and toasted early on a cold winter morning? Good bakers knead to know. Until we agree on what kind of loaf we are really going to be, and focus on what it takes to be that loaf, the results of our efforts are at best going to be a rather indifferent loaf of bread, certainly not one that inspires us or our community.

We also cannot bake a great loaf of bread by trying to copy Wonder, Sara Lee, or the University of California, Cinnamon Raisin. Great bread makes its own statement, serves its own unique purpose, and brings its special character to the table. Our loaf must fill the stomachs of our friends and family, hungry to eat, not provide what someone in some other state cooks in their distant kitchens.

It takes great planning to turn that mission statement into great bread. A one pound loaf of bread requires six cups of flour. If we only have four cups, we must get more flour, or decide instead to bake rolls, or croissants, or some other delight. No good baker pulls an inedible brick from the oven, and calls it bread, yet this seems to frequently be our way. Great bakers make tough choices. They recognize that no single loaf can serve every meal, nor make everyone happy. They don’t try to spread one package of yeast among four pans of dough.

Great bakers also reject taking the well traveled road. Six cups of plain white flour will make a boring loaf. Great bread has character born of its ingredients. Great bread warms the room as it cooks, and fills our senses, not just our stomachs. It tickles our tongue with textures familiar and un. Great bakers take pride in the diversity of their flours, and the subtle message of their spices.

All too often today, modern “bakers” think that “baking” means dumping the ingredients in a machine, and going off to play golf. What emerges from a machine is bread in name only – it lacks heart – it lacks soul. Real bakers know that real bread requires them to be elbow deep in the dough, and leaves them covered in flour and sore in a way that only hard, honest work can make you.

Bread baking is not a public relations activity, nor at its finest an activity carried on in isolation. It is about family. It is about parents and kids deciding together what should be made for dinner, about standing side-by-side in the warm kitchen, hands on the same ball of dough, baking and eating, filling stomachs, touching hearts, and stimulating minds.

I can spout statistics about our loaf, and what I think it lacks, all day long. I can talk about our archaic baking practices, and our poorly equipped kitchens, but I think that misses the point. What stands in our way from becoming the great loaf of bread that we so long to be is not the paucity of our flour supplies, nor the lack of understanding of how good bread tastes.

Pure and simple we have too many “bakers” who do not comprehend that only a family can create great bread, and making great bread will create a great family. We will eventually succeed, when all the “bakers” put down their Blackberries, put on their aprons, happily join us in the kitchen to help with the baking, and joyfully share with us the warm and wonderful bread that emerges.