
Chef Thomas
A Bloomer
A proper British bloomer, slashed deep and baked until the cuts open wide and the crust turns deep, glossy gold. The kind of loaf that makes the rest of the day feel deliberate.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A four-ingredient loaf scored with a deep cross and baked hot, ready in under an hour, the kind of bread you tear into while the crust still crackles and the butter melts on contact.
There are evenings when you need bread and you need it now. A pot of soup on the hob, friends arriving in an hour, nothing on the board to tear and butter. This is the loaf for those evenings. Flour, salt, bicarb, buttermilk. No yeast, no proving, no waiting around. The kettle hasn't even boiled twice and there's a warm round loaf cooling on the rack.
Soda bread is the most forgiving bread you'll ever make. You don't knead it. You barely handle it. The whole thing comes together in about four minutes of mixing and goes straight into a hot oven. The bicarb reacts with the buttermilk the moment they meet, and that reaction is what lifts the loaf, so the rule is simple: work fast, mix lightly, get it into the heat. A heavy hand is the only way to spoil it.
The cross on top is the bit everyone remembers. Cut it deep, almost down to the tray, and it opens out in the oven into four proud quarters with a craggy, freckled crust. The crumb inside is dense and tender, faintly sweet from the buttermilk, slightly nutty if you've used wholemeal. It wants butter and not much else, though a wedge of strong cheddar and a spoonful of chutney wouldn't be turned away.
I wrote it down in the notebook the first time I made one properly: "Soda bread. Tuesday. Soup night. Right food, right evening." I've made it a hundred times since and the note still holds. We're only making dinner.
Quantity
500g
or half wholemeal, half plain for a lighter loaf
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
400ml
plus a splash more if needed
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| wholemeal flouror half wholemeal, half plain for a lighter loaf | 500g |
| fine sea salt | 1 teaspoon |
| bicarbonate of soda | 1 teaspoon |
| buttermilkplus a splash more if needed | 400ml |
Set the oven to 220C/200C fan. Properly hot. Soda bread wants heat the way a roast wants heat: enough to drive a real crust in the time it takes the inside to cook through. While the oven comes up, dust a baking tray with a little flour. No tin, no parchment. Just the tray.
Tip the flour into a wide bowl. Add the salt and the bicarb. Use your hand to mix them through, lifting and dropping the flour to bring some air into it. This is the only sieving the dough will get, and your fingers do it better than a sieve.
Make a well in the centre and pour in most of the buttermilk. Use one hand, fingers spread like a claw, to bring the flour into the liquid in big, slow circles. You're not kneading. You're gathering. The dough should come together into a soft, slightly tacky mass that just holds its shape. If it feels dry, add the rest of the buttermilk. If it feels wet, a small dusting of flour. It should look rough, not smooth. Stop the moment it holds.
Tip the dough out onto the floured tray. Shape it into a round, gently, with floured hands. A rough dome, about the size of a small cabbage. No tucking, no smoothing. The surface should look craggy. That's the bread you want.
Take a sharp knife and cut a deep cross into the top, going almost all the way down to the tray. Deeper than feels right. The old story is that the cross lets the fairies out, and you can believe that or not, but what it actually does is open the loaf so the heat gets into the middle and the bread bakes through without burning the crust. Deep, confident, four quarters.
Slide the tray into the hot oven. Bake for thirty to thirty-five minutes. The crust will go a deep, freckled brown and the cross will open out into four proud quarters. The kitchen will smell of toasted flour and warm milk, which is one of the better things a kitchen can smell of. To check it's done, lift the loaf and tap the bottom with your knuckle. It should sound hollow, like knocking on a small wooden door. If it sounds dull, give it another five minutes.
Lift the loaf onto a wire rack. The temptation is to cut straight in. Resist for ten minutes, no more. Soda bread is at its best while the crust still crackles when you tear it and the inside is warm enough to melt butter on contact. Tear, don't slice. It's that kind of bread.
1 serving (about 125g)
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