Rain, Rolls and a Recipe for Carole

 Tuesday happened, didn't it.

I don't know about you, but I was stood at the kitchen window on Tuesday morning watching the rain come down and I had one of those moments where you do two things at exactly the same time. The first thing is sigh, because it's raining and you had plans and the allotment wasn't going to hoe itself. The second thing — and this happened almost before the sigh was finished — is feel a very deep, very genuine wave of relief. Because my word, we needed it. The allotments needed it, the garden at home needed it, the lawn needed it, and frankly, I think the general mood of the whole county needed it. Everything was beginning to look a little sorry for itself. A bit dry around the edges. A bit like it was holding on by its fingernails and hoping for the best.

And then Tuesday turned up and absolutely delivered.

Now I want to be clear that I am not one of those people who enjoys standing in the rain for the sake of it. I am a man who appreciates weather from the correct side of the glass with a warm drink. But Tuesday's rain was the right kind of rain. Steady. Purposeful. The sort of rain that actually gets down into the soil rather than bouncing off it and running away down the path like it had somewhere better to be. You could almost hear the ground having a long, grateful drink. The beds up the allotment will have pulled that in beautifully. The onions, the brassicas — all of it sitting there soaking it up. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

Of course — and here is the bit that comes with the territory when you're an allotmenteer — rain means weeds. It means you've barely finished congratulating yourself on a tidy plot before the hoeing list quietly doubles overnight. The weeds, bless them, do not wait for a convenient moment. They never have, they never will, and I have made my peace with it. Mostly. The hoe is a never ending companion on an allotment and I have come to see it less as a chore and more as a way of life. A philosophy, if you will. You hoe, therefore you are. Descartes never had an allotment but I reckon if he had, that would have been his conclusion. You're welcome, philosophy fans.

So that's Tuesday dealt with. The rain was very welcome, the weeds are inevitable, and life goes on.

Now. This is going to be a shorter one today, and I'll tell you exactly why — because this post is largely and specifically dedicated to a lovely lady called Carole, who has been reading Sara's blog over at Frugal in Lincolnshire and very kindly asked for the recipe for my bread rolls. Carole, this one's for you. Pull up a chair, get the kettle on, and let's talk bread.

Because here's the thing about bread. People are scared of it. They really are. They treat it like it's some kind of mysterious dark art — all these rules, all these warnings, all these things that can apparently go wrong. And yes, bread can be temperamental, I won't lie to you. But once you find a method that works for you and you stick to it, there's very little in the kitchen that's more satisfying than pulling a tray of fresh rolls out of the oven. The smell alone is worth it. If I could bottle the smell of fresh bread rolls just out of the oven, I would be an extremely wealthy man, and I'd probably still be up the allotment anyway because old habits die hard.

Right. Here we go. This is exactly how I make them.

---

Simon's White Bread Rolls

What you'll need:

• 600g strong white flour — I use Doves Farm traditional flour and I'd recommend it
• 2 tablespoons of milk powder — this enriches the dough and makes a real difference to the texture
• 1 teaspoon of salt
• 1 teaspoon of sugar
• 6 grams of bread improver
• 2 teaspoons of instant yeast
• 300ml of warm milk
• 1 egg
• 2 tablespoons of olive oil

Right, here's what you do:

Start by adding your egg and your olive oil to the mixer bowl. Then pour in the warm milk. Once that's in, add all the dry ingredients — flour, milk powder, salt, sugar, bread improver — and then put your yeast in last. I always add the yeast last and keep it away from the salt if I can manage it, just to give it the best possible start. Salt and yeast are not friends, and I've learned not to force the relationship.

Now, I mix mine for a full fourteen minutes, and I know that sounds like a lot, and some people raise an eyebrow at this. But I'll tell you why I do it — because at the end of those fourteen minutes I get a lovely dough, and that's what I'm after. It's still a little on the heavier side at this point, which is fine, it's absolutely fine, don't panic. That's normal and the proving will sort it out.

Once the mixing is done, take your dough out and put it into a large oiled bowl. Stretch a bit of cling film over the top and leave it somewhere warm for about an hour, or until it's doubled in size. In the winter I put mine on a heat mat, which is one of those purchases I will never regret. In the summer, or when the house is warm enough, the airing cupboard does a grand job. Another trick I use — and this costs absolutely nothing — is popping the bowl in the oven with just the oven light switched on. The gentle warmth from the light is just enough to get things moving without cooking anything. Simple as that.

After that first hour, take the dough out and knock it back. I mean really knock it back — get as much air out of it as you can. Don't be delicate about it, it can take it. This is actually one of the more satisfying parts of the whole process, if I'm honest. Any frustrations you've got knocking about, this is your moment.

Then get your large baking trays ready with silicone liners on them — I use silicone tray liners and they're brilliant, nothing sticks and they clean up in seconds. Divide your dough into twelve equal-ish pieces. Don't stress too much about them being perfect, we're not making them for a competition. For each piece, pull the surface tight and tuck it under itself, then place it on the tray. What you're looking for is a smooth, tight top — this gives you that nice round roll shape once they've baked.

Once all twelve are on the trays, cover them with a clean tea towel and leave them to prove again for another hour. They'll puff up beautifully. This second prove is where the magic really happens.

When the hour's nearly up, heat your oven to 200 degrees. Before you put the rolls in, fill a Pyrex dish with water and put it at the bottom of the oven. That steam in there while they bake is what gives you that lovely soft crust — it makes a real difference. Bake them for around fifteen minutes near but not quite at the bottom of the oven, and keep an eye on them towards the end. You want a nice golden colour — not pale, not dark, just right.

When they come out, place a slightly damp cloth over them while they cool. This keeps the crust soft rather than going hard and crusty. Once they're completely cold, bag them up. And here's a small tip from me — if you're going to freeze them, don't do it straight away. Leave them bagged overnight first. I've found this stops them sticking together in the bag when they freeze. Sounds like a small thing but it's one of those little discoveries that makes all the difference on a cold morning when you just want one roll and you don't want to be fighting the whole batch out of the freezer.

And that, Carole, is the bread rolls. I do hope they work out for you. There's nothing quite like making your own and I think once you've done it a few times you'll wonder why you ever bought them. They freeze beautifully, they taste a hundred times better than anything from a supermarket shelf, and there is something very deeply satisfying about sitting down with a fresh roll that you made yourself. Especially with a bit of proper butter on it. Don't be shy with the butter. Life's too short.

Right then — that's your lot for today. Short and sweet, and hopefully useful. The allotment awaits and the hoe won't wield itself, no matter how many times I've wished it would.

Until next time — keep digging, keep growing, and for goodness sake, get that bread on.