What I Think About When I Think About Baking

Charlie recollects his baking memories with the ‘deepest, greediest, affection’.

By Charlie Gladstone

Lots of things spring to mind when I think about baking.

I don’t think my Mum was particularly Mummsy but she did make a wonderful Victoria Sponge from time to time and Christmas cake was a thing in our house. And we used to make drop scones by dropping the goo directly onto the Aga; that was fun and I loved their sweet, chewy, incredibly simple taste.

I remember shop-bought Crumpets with butter and Marmite with the deepest, greediest of affection.

When our children were young Caroline and I read a book about supermarket culture and learned about all of the fat and preservatives in the bread we were eating. From that point on Caroline baked all of our bread and that culture has now been passed on to all of the children who are maestros.

Image: Xanthe Gladstone

“Once I came across a slice that was about two inches thick and I sent it back to them with a note that said, ‘I know it’s called Mighty White but this is ridiculous’. They sent me a 50p piece as compensation.”

What else do I think about?

Well, I remember a story told by AA Gill about a homeless man he encountered who was clutching a bag of Poilane bread. Gill asked him why he chose to buy such expensive bread and the man looked at him as if that was the stupidest of questions and explained that bread was everything; anything else he ate was an afterthought. That story really stuck with me.

I remember Mighty White, a sort of supermarket bread that posed as healthy and that came in thick, off-white slices. I loved that. Once I came across a slice that was about two inches thick and I sent it back to them with a note that said, ‘I know it’s called Mighty White but this is ridiculous’. They sent me a 50p piece as compensation.

I remember many good things. Beans on toast; white bread and cheese sandwiches that stick to the roof of my mouth; fresh baguettes in France with Comte; pancakes and harissa on a roof terrace in Morocco; a cinnamon bagel that I devoured when it was the only thing I could find to eat after the wettest New York Marathon on record. Oh, and bagels and lox at EAT on the Upper East Side. Chip butties, crisp sandwiches, warm pitta with everything.

Image: Department Two

“Bread is universal greed and love and comfort and generosity and although it varies from country to country, the differences are pretty minimal.”

I’m not big on cake but a homemade Millionaire’s shortbread takes some beating.

Money is often known as ‘bread’ or ‘dough’ because, well, both are fundamental to our existence. Bringing the bread home is the same as bringing money home, isn’t it? And, in Cockney rhyming slang I think that ‘bread’ is used for ‘money’ because it rhymes with ‘bread and honey’.

There was a huge soft rock group called Bread that I have a soft spot for you; they wrote Everything I Own which is a great song.

Around 18 months ago I had an operation and the stitches got infected and then I picked up a nasty bug. And for the next year, I spent around 50% of the time feeling pretty rotten; my stomach was awful, I was stiff, had endless headaches and I often felt exhausted. I went to doctors, stomach guys and specialists. No one could figure out what was wrong and then guess what? It turned out it was gluten. I didn’t see that coming. Now I don’t eat it and after a mere 10 weeks, I feel like a new person.

But fear not, that isn’t the end of my relationship with bread. Two of my daughters have introduced me to Teff, an ancient Ethiopian and Eritrean grain that is much prized. They bake me these wonderful, dense, dry cakes that I love. It’s a complex process, this baking, and I don’t have the patience for it but when Kinvara and India bake it for me I am all in.

And that’s it, really. I came up with the idea for Lockdown Loaf Club and the badges very quickly when I was trying to think of something fun to do with this lockdown. I hope it works well and that people enjoy it.

Finally, why did the baker have brown hands? Because he kneaded a pooh.

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