earning a place at the round table

Finally, I am able to round a piece of dough.

Before this, I waited at the bench as they are being rounded. I could only shape and slash them thereafter.

Rounding is hard and impressive work. The bakers can do them with a piece in each hand, without checking to see if the skin has tightened, and chat at the same time. It's like doing knife work just by feel.

Rounding shares the same principles and limits as winding someone up. You'd push it to the extent just before the person snaps, let them relax a little, let their guard down and then have a go again. Always stopping just before it all gets overboard and it all ends in tears.

The only difference is, in the case of dough, it's the fucker rather than the sucker who will be the one crying.

The whole point of this stage is to strengthen and condition the gluten since it is elastic, stretching it a bit at a time to get bigger loaf volume. If the gluten strands break, there goes the structure.

Wholemeal.

What did it take for me to get there?

A lot of staring at Gyorgy's hands,
... a bit of sneaking a piece of dough and thinking stupidly no one has noticed, 
... quite of chunk of bearing through the shame of trying,
... an overdose of insisting I can do it,
... a little monkey-see-monkey-do,
... getting a better feel each time
... and a little something through osmosis.

Country Cob.

Malted Brown.

Before I got here, I was known as the Dough Killer. I'd overdo it and ruin the dough. When it gets to this stage, the dough is no longer wrapped in a nice tight sheet of gluten. The gluten strands break and shred. Imagine a cat has run its claws through a ball of string.

When done right, it looks like the dough has been given a facelift and everything is taut and springy.