A Loaf That Tastes of the Coast

There is something quietly satisfying about baking bread that carries the flavour of the shoreline. A good sea salt and rosemary loaf has a crackling crust, a soft crumb and that unmistakable savoury perfume of rosemary warmed through the oven. It needs nothing more than butter, though it comes into its own beside a bowl of smoked haddock chowder, a leek and potato soup or a mug of something hot on a blustery afternoon.

This is a straightforward yeasted loaf, not a sourdough, so you can mix it after breakfast and be slicing it by late afternoon. The salt does two jobs here: fine sea salt seasons the dough from within, while a scattering of flaky salt on top gives you those bright, crunchy bursts against the rosemary. Use a decent olive oil or a knob of butter for the crust, and you will not be disappointed.

What You Will Need

This makes one large round loaf, roughly 900g, which serves six to eight generously. If you prefer, divide it into two smaller loaves and reduce the baking time by about five minutes.

• 500g strong white bread flour, plus extra for dusting
• 350ml lukewarm water — about blood temperature, no hotter
• 7g fast-action dried yeast (one sachet)
• 10g fine sea salt
• 2 tablespoons fresh rosemary, finely chopped, plus a few sprigs to finish
• 1 tablespoon olive oil, plus a little for the bowl
• 1 teaspoon flaky sea salt for the top

Equipment-wise, you want a large mixing bowl, a dough scraper if you have one, a clean tea towel and either a lidded cast-iron pot or a heavy baking tray. A probe thermometer is a genuinely useful gadget for bread; it takes the guesswork out of the final stages.

Mixing the Dough

Tip the flour into the bowl, add the yeast to one side and the fine salt to the other, and stir briefly. Keeping the salt and yeast apart at this stage prevents the salt from inhibiting the yeast before it has a chance to wake up.

Pour in the water and olive oil, then bring everything together with your hand or a wooden spoon until no dry flour remains. You will have a shaggy, slightly sticky mass. Scrape the sides of the bowl clean, cover with the tea towel and leave it for 20 minutes. This short rest, sometimes called autolysis, lets the flour hydrate properly and makes the dough far easier to handle.

Now knead. Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and work it for eight to ten minutes, until it is smooth, elastic and springs back when you press it with a finger. If it sticks, resist the urge to add handfuls of flour — a light dusting is plenty. Add the chopped rosemary in the last two minutes of kneading so the needles are evenly distributed without being bruised to a pulp.

Shape the dough into a ball, oil the bowl lightly, return it and cover. Leave it somewhere draught-free for one to two hours, until roughly doubled in size. In a warm kitchen this happens quickly; in a cool coastal cottage it may take a little longer. Judge by the dough, not the clock.

Shaping, Proving and the Crust Trick

Turn the risen dough onto a lightly floured surface and knock it back gently — you are not trying to bully the air out, just to even it through. Shape it into a tight round by pulling the edges into the centre, turning the ball as you go, then pinching the seam underneath.

Place it seam-side down on a sheet of baking parchment, cover loosely and prove for 45 minutes to an hour. Meanwhile, put your cast-iron pot, lid and all, into the oven and heat it to 230°C (210°C fan). A screaming-hot pot is the simplest route to a proper crust: the dough hits the metal, steam is trapped under the lid, and the loaf rises dramatically before it sets.

Just before baking, slash the top of the loaf once or twice with a sharp blade — a cross or a single confident line — about a centimetre deep. Brush the surface with a little water, scatter over the flaky sea salt and press a few rosemary sprigs gently into the slashes.

Into the Oven

Lift the parchment and loaf into the hot pot, lid on, and bake for 30 minutes. Then remove the lid and bake for a further 15 to 20 minutes, until the crust is deep golden and the loaf sounds hollow when tapped on the base. For certainty, probe the centre: you are looking for 96°C.

Slide the loaf onto a wire rack and let it cool completely before slicing. This is the hardest instruction in the whole recipe and also the most important. Cutting into hot bread lets steam escape and gives you a gummy crumb, undoing all your good work.

Serving, Storing and Small Variations

Served warm with salted butter, this loaf is hard to beat. It is equally good torn into chunks and dunked into soup, or toasted the next day and topped with mashed avocado, a slick of olive oil and a squeeze of lemon. Leftovers make excellent croutons — cube, toss in oil and bake for ten minutes at 180°C.

Keep it cut-side down on a board for a day or two, then wrap and freeze in slices. It does not enjoy the fridge, which dries bread out faster than any sea breeze.

Once you are confident with the basic method, play with it. A handful of grated hard cheese worked into the dough is superb. So is a teaspoon of cracked black pepper, or a switch from rosemary to thyme and lemon zest. Whatever you choose, keep the salt generous and the crust dark — that is where the character lives.