The Einkorn Diaries: Attempt #2
Feb 23 | Written By: Sabrina Huizar
Attempt #1 was… humbling. Edible, but humbling. I went into this bake a little wiser and slightly emotionally guarded. The first loaf had been edible and actually fantastic in chili beans, but shaping it felt like wrestling warm peanut butter. So for Attempt #2, I made a few adjustments before we even got to the first fold.
I lowered the hydration just a touch. Not dramatically, just enough to give myself a fighting chance. I also planned for longer rest periods between folds and promised myself I wouldn’t panic-flour at the first sign of stickiness. Wet hands, gentle handling, patience. That was the game plan.
The mix came together smoothly. Stiff, yes. But manageable.
I let it rest. Gave it time to hydrate. Let the flour and water actually get to know each other instead of immediately jumping in to fix things.
Then it was time for the first stretch and fold.
At first, it lifted nicely. A little resistance, a little structure. I thought maybe—just maybe—this would be the batch where einkorn and I finally reached mutual understanding.
And then, right on cue, it turned sticky icky. Again. Two coil folds later it’s still pretty gooey.
I decided to shape it once I started seeing some actually promising activity in the dough after bulk fermenting. The original plan was a freestanding loaf, bold of me, but I quietly greased a loaf pan as a backup. Emotional support pan. Just in case.
The moment shaping began, it became very clear that this was, in fact, a loaf pan situation.
I’m planning to let it proof at room temperature for about two hours, give it time to relax and rise a bit more, and then bake it off. No cold proof. At this point the goal is simple: follow the dough, stay flexible (as if I really have a choice), and remember that with einkorn, having a backup plan isn’t failure. It’s wisdom.
By the time it was in the pan and sitting on the counter, I kept walking by and doing double takes. It had actually doubled. Not fake-doubled. Not “maybe if I squint” doubled. Real doubled.
Einkorn doesn’t usually give you that kind of confidence, so I didn’t fully trust it at first. But the top had smoothed out, there were little bubbles under the surface, and it just looked… settled. It was ready. I was ready.
I almost didn’t spritz it because technically it didn’t need it, but I gave it a quick light mist anyway. More for me than for the dough. A little good-luck gesture. Then I stood there for a second, staring at it in the pan like, okay… I don’t know why, but I’m feeling this loaf.
No overthinking. No poking it. No trying to squeeze more rise out of it than it had to give. At some point you just have to trust what’s in front of you and put it in the oven.
So that’s what I did.
And it came out like a brick.
I don’t know. There was a moment where I genuinely thought I had done it. Now I’m considering walking outside and launching this loaf across the yard like a sourdough brick.
This is the phase no one talks about. The part where you pull a loaf out of the oven, stare at it, and feel personally attacked by its… personality. Because that’s what einkorn has. Personality. Ancient grain energy.
The top cracked. Of course it did. The loaf is shorter than I am. It didn’t spring like a classic sourdough. It didn’t rise dramatically and sing to me from the oven. It just… existed. Firmly.
There’s a strong chance this one will end up next to a bowl of chili and maybe redeem its entire existence.
So no, I didn’t throw it across the yard.
But emotionally? I thought about it.
I will not let einkorn flour defeat me.
Stay tuned and stay cultured.
—Sabrina
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