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Shredded Wheat Bread — The Anchor That Holds the Week Together

Writing third book concept forming: a novel, the thing she wanted to write at fourteen, the thing Reverend James said was impractical. The week was the life. The life was the cooking. The cooking was the love. And the love was the week, and the week was one of the weeks that stack together to become the years, and the years become the life, and the life is the woman at the stove who cooks and writes and loves and does not stop.

I made she-crab soup on Sunday — the anchor, the constant, the practice. The soup was perfect. The perfection was the practice. And the practice continues, one Sunday at a time, one bowl at a time, one life at a time, the woman stirring, the roux thickening, the kitchen warm, the family fed, the love alive.

The soup was the anchor, but bread is what I reach for when I need to feel the week hold still — when the novel is forming somewhere in the back of my mind and I need my hands to do something honest and slow. Shredded Wheat Bread is that bread for me: humble ingredients, patient rising, the smell of molasses and warmth filling the kitchen the same way it did last Sunday, and the Sunday before that. Reverend James never understood why a woman would spend a lifetime practicing something that doesn’t change; I think now that’s exactly the point.

Shredded Wheat Bread

Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 3 hr 5 min (includes rise time) | Servings: 2 loaves (about 16 slices)

Ingredients

  • 2 large shredded wheat biscuits, crumbled (or 1 cup spoon-size shredded wheat)
  • 1 1/2 cups boiling water
  • 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
  • 2 tablespoons molasses
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 1 packet (2 1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast
  • 1/4 cup warm water (105–110°F)
  • 1 teaspoon granulated sugar
  • 4 to 4 1/2 cups bread flour, plus more for kneading

Instructions

  1. Soften the cereal. Place the crumbled shredded wheat in a large mixing bowl. Pour the boiling water over it and let it sit for 5 minutes until softened. Add the butter, molasses, and salt, stirring until the butter is melted. Let the mixture cool to lukewarm, about 20 minutes.
  2. Proof the yeast. In a small bowl, combine the warm water and sugar. Sprinkle the yeast over the top and let stand 5–10 minutes until foamy and fragrant.
  3. Build the dough. Add the proofed yeast to the cooled cereal mixture and stir to combine. Add flour one cup at a time, stirring after each addition, until the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl and becomes too stiff to stir.
  4. Knead. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for 8–10 minutes, adding flour as needed, until the dough is smooth, elastic, and slightly tacky but not sticky.
  5. First rise. Shape the dough into a ball and place in a lightly oiled bowl, turning once to coat. Cover with a clean kitchen towel and let rise in a warm place for 1 hour, or until doubled in size.
  6. Shape the loaves. Punch the dough down and divide it in half. Shape each half into a loaf and place seam-side down in two greased 9x5-inch loaf pans.
  7. Second rise. Cover loosely and let rise again for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until the dough crowns about 1 inch above the rim of the pans.
  8. Bake. Preheat the oven to 375°F. Bake for 30–35 minutes, until the tops are deep golden brown and the loaves sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. Remove from pans and cool on a wire rack for at least 15 minutes before slicing.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 148 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 2g | Carbs: 29g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 152mg

Naomi Blackwood
About the cook who shared this
Naomi Blackwood
Week 520 of Naomi’s 30-year story · Charleston, South Carolina
Naomi is a retired librarian from Charleston who spent thirty-one years putting books in people's hands and now spends her days putting her mother's Lowcountry recipes on paper before they're lost. She survived her husband's affair, her father's sudden death, and the long goodbye of her mother's final years. She cooks she-crab soup in a bowl that Carolyn brought from Beaufort, and in every spoonful you can taste the marsh and the memory and the grace of a woman who chose to stay and rebuild.

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