peregrine's oatmeal bread
I've composed a few poems about the weekly ritual of bread-baking (most recently 'Bread bowl,' given below), and a few readers have kindly asked me to share the recipe.
This recipe is very close to what my mother and grandmother made. Sorry I don’t have exact measurements; I use some old measuring cups, the palm of my hand, etc., and I eyeball the amounts of oil and honey or molasses, and mix and knead by feel more than by measurement.
I have my grandmother’s big yellow ware bread bowl, and I use it only for making bread. I use only King Arthur brand flours, not only because they are the best, but because during the summer she was 16, my mother was nanny to a baby (Frank Sands) who grew up to be the owner of the King Arthur flour company.
I have my grandmother’s big yellow ware bread bowl, and I use it only for making bread. I use only King Arthur brand flours, not only because they are the best, but because during the summer she was 16, my mother was nanny to a baby (Frank Sands) who grew up to be the owner of the King Arthur flour company.
peregrine’s oatmeal bread
In a large stainless steel bowl, placeabout 1.5+ cups old fashioned rolled oats (not quick oats)about 2 teaspoons table salt (I measure it in the palm of my hand)about ¼ to 1/3 cup honey or molassesabout ¼ cup neutral oil (corn or canola)
Pour over these about 2 cups of boiling water. Give it a few stirs and let it cool to “yeast temperature.”
When the oatmeal mixture has cooled, mix in a small cup 1 tablespoon (or 1 packet) of active dry yeast with about a half cup of warm water. I mix this with a little fork to be sure it has all dissolved; I don’t bother proofing the yeast (waiting to see if it bubbles, if it’s alive and ready to leaven the bread) because I bake very often and always have fresh yeast on hand. If you don’t bake often and if your yeast might be old, do proof it. If it doesn’t froth, it won’t leaven the bread, and you’ll need fresh yeast.
Lightly oil a large ceramic bowl in which the dough will rise.
Stir the yeast mixture into the oats, rinsing the cup with a little more warm water if needed to ensure that all the yeast gets into the dough.
Add to the oat mixture 2 to 2.5 cups of whole grain flour. When I use molasses, I use traditional whole wheat (brown) flour. When I use honey, I use golden wheat flour (used to be called white wheat flour). Mix thoroughly. A sturdy old wooden spoon is best, scraped often during the mixing process.
Stir in 2 cups bread flour; mix thoroughly. Continue to add bread flour, a half cup or so at a time, always mixing thoroughly, until the dough becomes cohesive and begins to pull away from the sides of the bowl. Depending on the weather (ambient humidity), the age of the flour, and the amount of water and liquids you’ve added so far, you will need about 2-4 cups bread flour in all.
Flour the kneading surface and gently turn the dough out. Working gently from the bottom, and smoothing flour under and around the dough as you go, gather the dough into a ball, taking care to create and maintain a smooth surface as you work. That’s the trick to easy, neat kneading: Keep the surface intact, and rub the bits of dough off your hands frequently so that they stay smooth and will not adhere to the dough as you knead it. Knead for 5 minutes or more, until the dough becomes elastic and springy, always taking care to keep the smooth surface of the dough intact. Add more flour as needed, always in small quantities.
Put the smooth ball of kneaded bread into the oiled bowl, turning the dough one or twice to coat with oil. Leave it in a warm place (a slightly warmed oven or a sunny counter) to rise for an hour or so. In cool weather, I usually place a flat cookie sheet on top of the bowl to keep in the natural warmth of the rising yeast.
This bread does not like a long rise; give it a poke after an hour or so; if it feels soft and your fingerprint remains, it’s ready. If it rises more, even to double, that’s fine too.
Oil two loaf pans, each 8.5 in x 4.5.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured counter, and with the same attention to keeping its surface intact, press and turn it and steadily knead the air bubbles out of it. Do not “punch it down;” that’s a horribly aggressive thing to do to bread. Knead it until it is smooth and elastic. If the mass of dough is too large for small hands, you can cut it half and knead each piece separately.
Divide the dough evenly into two portions; knead briefly, then shape each into a neat oblong, being sure that the edges of the dough are sealed underneath. Press and shape. Re-do it if needed. The bread is patient. Lay each loaf in a pan, flatten it slightly with the palm of your hand, and press it gently into the corners of the pan.
Preheat the oven to 350F; have a rack in the center of the oven.
Let the loaves rise only slightly, about 15 minutes, perhaps 20 if your kitchen is cool. Set the timer for this rising. They should increase in size only by a quarter or a third. NOTE: The standard “let rise until doubled” advice does not work for this recipe, and will result in a loaf that is too large, dry, and crumbly. If you forget and find that they have risen above the tops of the pans, turn them out again, knead back down, re-shape, and put them back in the pans, and let them rise slightly. Set the timer for just 5-10 minutes. The oats in this recipe make it very forgiving.
Slash the top of each loaf from end to end; this will prevent the crust from forming into a solid “roof,” which would prevent the bread from rising symmetrically and vertically. I use a pair of kitchen shears, snip snip snip from one end to the other. (I’m too cheap to buy a lame for the purpose.)
Bake for 55-60 minutes, or until the internal temperature is about 210F. The old advice to knock the bottom of the loaf in hopes of hearing a “hollow” sound does not work for this dense dough. Remove the loaves from the pans immediately; use a thin sharp knife around the edges if necessary to loosen them from the pans. (Bake often enough and you will have beautifully seasoned bread pans from which the loaves will fall easily.) Cool the loaves completely before bagging. This bread has a very crusty crust which can tear through thin plastic.
NOTES: Lazy raisin bread: Add two cups raisins and two tablespoons of ground cinnamon to the oatmeal before adding the boiling water. Storage: Because this bread has no preservatives, it will go stale within a few days, and will also mold if kept in a warm place. It will also dry out if kept in the refrigerator. It’s best eaten within a few days. It freezes very well if well-wrapped. Versatile: This bread is lovely for sandwiches and is essential for the perfect late-summer BLT. This bread also makes superb toast and sublime French toast, bread puddings (sweet or savory), and stuffing for roast fowl. Stale loaves are easily converted into crumbs for use in all sorts of recipes.
In a large stainless steel bowl, placeabout 1.5+ cups old fashioned rolled oats (not quick oats)about 2 teaspoons table salt (I measure it in the palm of my hand)about ¼ to 1/3 cup honey or molassesabout ¼ cup neutral oil (corn or canola)
Pour over these about 2 cups of boiling water. Give it a few stirs and let it cool to “yeast temperature.”
When the oatmeal mixture has cooled, mix in a small cup 1 tablespoon (or 1 packet) of active dry yeast with about a half cup of warm water. I mix this with a little fork to be sure it has all dissolved; I don’t bother proofing the yeast (waiting to see if it bubbles, if it’s alive and ready to leaven the bread) because I bake very often and always have fresh yeast on hand. If you don’t bake often and if your yeast might be old, do proof it. If it doesn’t froth, it won’t leaven the bread, and you’ll need fresh yeast.
Lightly oil a large ceramic bowl in which the dough will rise.
Stir the yeast mixture into the oats, rinsing the cup with a little more warm water if needed to ensure that all the yeast gets into the dough.
Add to the oat mixture 2 to 2.5 cups of whole grain flour. When I use molasses, I use traditional whole wheat (brown) flour. When I use honey, I use golden wheat flour (used to be called white wheat flour). Mix thoroughly. A sturdy old wooden spoon is best, scraped often during the mixing process.
Stir in 2 cups bread flour; mix thoroughly. Continue to add bread flour, a half cup or so at a time, always mixing thoroughly, until the dough becomes cohesive and begins to pull away from the sides of the bowl. Depending on the weather (ambient humidity), the age of the flour, and the amount of water and liquids you’ve added so far, you will need about 2-4 cups bread flour in all.
Flour the kneading surface and gently turn the dough out. Working gently from the bottom, and smoothing flour under and around the dough as you go, gather the dough into a ball, taking care to create and maintain a smooth surface as you work. That’s the trick to easy, neat kneading: Keep the surface intact, and rub the bits of dough off your hands frequently so that they stay smooth and will not adhere to the dough as you knead it. Knead for 5 minutes or more, until the dough becomes elastic and springy, always taking care to keep the smooth surface of the dough intact. Add more flour as needed, always in small quantities.
Put the smooth ball of kneaded bread into the oiled bowl, turning the dough one or twice to coat with oil. Leave it in a warm place (a slightly warmed oven or a sunny counter) to rise for an hour or so. In cool weather, I usually place a flat cookie sheet on top of the bowl to keep in the natural warmth of the rising yeast.
This bread does not like a long rise; give it a poke after an hour or so; if it feels soft and your fingerprint remains, it’s ready. If it rises more, even to double, that’s fine too.
Oil two loaf pans, each 8.5 in x 4.5.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured counter, and with the same attention to keeping its surface intact, press and turn it and steadily knead the air bubbles out of it. Do not “punch it down;” that’s a horribly aggressive thing to do to bread. Knead it until it is smooth and elastic. If the mass of dough is too large for small hands, you can cut it half and knead each piece separately.
Divide the dough evenly into two portions; knead briefly, then shape each into a neat oblong, being sure that the edges of the dough are sealed underneath. Press and shape. Re-do it if needed. The bread is patient. Lay each loaf in a pan, flatten it slightly with the palm of your hand, and press it gently into the corners of the pan.
Preheat the oven to 350F; have a rack in the center of the oven.
Let the loaves rise only slightly, about 15 minutes, perhaps 20 if your kitchen is cool. Set the timer for this rising. They should increase in size only by a quarter or a third. NOTE: The standard “let rise until doubled” advice does not work for this recipe, and will result in a loaf that is too large, dry, and crumbly. If you forget and find that they have risen above the tops of the pans, turn them out again, knead back down, re-shape, and put them back in the pans, and let them rise slightly. Set the timer for just 5-10 minutes. The oats in this recipe make it very forgiving.
Slash the top of each loaf from end to end; this will prevent the crust from forming into a solid “roof,” which would prevent the bread from rising symmetrically and vertically. I use a pair of kitchen shears, snip snip snip from one end to the other. (I’m too cheap to buy a lame for the purpose.)
Bake for 55-60 minutes, or until the internal temperature is about 210F. The old advice to knock the bottom of the loaf in hopes of hearing a “hollow” sound does not work for this dense dough. Remove the loaves from the pans immediately; use a thin sharp knife around the edges if necessary to loosen them from the pans. (Bake often enough and you will have beautifully seasoned bread pans from which the loaves will fall easily.) Cool the loaves completely before bagging. This bread has a very crusty crust which can tear through thin plastic.
NOTES: Lazy raisin bread: Add two cups raisins and two tablespoons of ground cinnamon to the oatmeal before adding the boiling water. Storage: Because this bread has no preservatives, it will go stale within a few days, and will also mold if kept in a warm place. It will also dry out if kept in the refrigerator. It’s best eaten within a few days. It freezes very well if well-wrapped. Versatile: This bread is lovely for sandwiches and is essential for the perfect late-summer BLT. This bread also makes superb toast and sublime French toast, bread puddings (sweet or savory), and stuffing for roast fowl. Stale loaves are easily converted into crumbs for use in all sorts of recipes.
Bread Bowl
Two lifetimes ago, my grandmother used this bowl,large and heavy, ceramic, butter-yellow,when she made bread: A weekly ritualborne of necessity in those hard times.Then my own mother, week on week,used the same bowl for her own fresh loaves.I watched her measure, mix, knead, caress,learning by heart the motion of her loving handsthat made that most mundane of foods – new bread –into something sacred, to be savored.The headiness of living rising yeast,and then the fragrance of the baking loavesfurling curling around and through my dreamsintoxicated me, the smallest girl,as sweet alfalfa delights a fresh-eyed foal.
When we made our first home together,that bowl – large and heavy, butter yellow –was my mother’s gift —and legacy.And week on week, for more than forty years,I’ve made our bread in that yellow bowl.No recipe for what I know by heart:Oats, molasses, salt, and simple oil;the heady yeast, whole wheat flour,the finest bread flour fluffed to airiness,kneaded in by hand, rolled and ovaled,then set to rise in the old bread bowlby the kitchen window, looking west,warmed by winter sun and memories.
I could buy bread, and save the bowl to look at,set it on the shelf with memories;But something in the weekly ritualrecalls the flavor of my rural past,an old connection I never want to lose;And so I bake, the same soft oatmeal loavesthat my mother and grandmother made before me.I fall easily into the kneading rhythmthat lulls me back to earlier simpler times.
Someday soon I’ll bring that bowl to her,my dearest one, she who knows its worth,who loves the bread and its olden stories,that she might learn to love the weekly baking,that she may stir, and knead, and think, and dream,and let it rise by the sunny windowin that bowl – large and heavy, butter yellow. peregrine, January 28, 2026
When we made our first home together,that bowl – large and heavy, butter yellow –was my mother’s gift —and legacy.And week on week, for more than forty years,I’ve made our bread in that yellow bowl.No recipe for what I know by heart:Oats, molasses, salt, and simple oil;the heady yeast, whole wheat flour,the finest bread flour fluffed to airiness,kneaded in by hand, rolled and ovaled,then set to rise in the old bread bowlby the kitchen window, looking west,warmed by winter sun and memories.
I could buy bread, and save the bowl to look at,set it on the shelf with memories;But something in the weekly ritualrecalls the flavor of my rural past,an old connection I never want to lose;And so I bake, the same soft oatmeal loavesthat my mother and grandmother made before me.I fall easily into the kneading rhythmthat lulls me back to earlier simpler times.
Someday soon I’ll bring that bowl to her,my dearest one, she who knows its worth,who loves the bread and its olden stories,that she might learn to love the weekly baking,that she may stir, and knead, and think, and dream,and let it rise by the sunny windowin that bowl – large and heavy, butter yellow. peregrine, January 28, 2026