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At four o'clock in the morning , the stone - walled bakery in the foothills smelled of toasted flour and woodsmoke , but Simon was sweating over his electronic scale . He had weighed the sea salt down to the tenth of a gram and measured the water temperature with a calibrated laser probe . Despite his calculations , the large wooden trough of wild sourdough dough had barely risen since midnight , remaining a sluggish , stubborn mass beneath its linen cloth . From across the flour - dusted workbench , Madame Laurent watched him with amused patience , wiping her palms on her apron . " Simon , put the plastic timer away . You ought to feel the dough with your knuckles rather than consulting a digital display . " " The formula specifies six hours of primary fermentation at twenty - one degrees , " Simon replied , gesturing defensively at his leather - bound notebook . " The cellar temperature dropped to seventeen when the rain began . If the acidity develops too quickly , the gluten network collapses . We ought not to proceed with shaping until the volume doubles . " Madame Laurent stepped over , pulled back the linen , and plunged both hands gently beneath the pale dough . She lifted a corner , stretching it upward toward the hanging copper lamps to inspect the translucent web of gluten . " You needn't fear a slow morning , " she said softly . " A wild culture lives by the weather , not your wrist watch . When the mountain air is heavy with moisture , the yeast takes its time . You needn't force the pace with commercial additives or extra warmth . " " The breakfast delivery leaves at seven , " Simon reminded her , glancing nervously at the wood - fired brick oven . " If we miss the village hotel , Monsieur Girard will cancel his standing order . Dare we risk an under - proofed crumb in his dining room ? " Madame Laurent chuckled , folding the dough back onto itself with a single deft turn of her wrists . " We dare not serve an inferior loaf , of course , but this dough is far from ruined . It merely demands thirty more minutes and a slightly hotter hearth . A baker ought to listen to his ingredients instead of treating flour as an engineering exercise . " Simon hesitated , looked down at his clean digital screen , and then switched it off . He dipped his fingers into the bowl of warm water , touched the surface of the dough , and felt the faint , elastic breathing of the yeast beneath his skin .
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