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Created by Chef Remy
A three-day labor of love that transforms Louisiana rice into a crusty, tender loaf with a crumb so soft it melts on your tongue, carrying whispers of the bayou in every bite.
Rice has been growing in Louisiana since the 1700s, long before the Acadians arrived with their French bread traditions. When those two worlds collided, something beautiful happened. Bakers started folding cooked rice into their doughs, creating loaves with a tenderness you can't achieve any other way. The rice holds moisture, adds a subtle sweetness, and gives you a crumb that practically dissolves on your tongue.
This bread takes three days. There's no way around it. Good sourdough requires time the same way good gumbo requires time. You're building flavor in layers: the wild yeast in your starter, the fermentation during bulk proof, the cold overnight rest that develops complexity you can't rush. My grandmother Evangeline used to say that the best things in life make you wait.
The crust on this loaf will shatter when you cut it. The interior will be open and airy with pockets where the rice created little cushions of tenderness. Tear off a piece while it's still barely warm, spread it with good butter, and you'll understand why four generations of Boudreaux bakers have kept this recipe alive.
Quantity
100g
Quantity
400g
Quantity
50g
Quantity
150g
cooked and cooled
Quantity
325g
room temperature
Quantity
10g
Quantity
for dusting
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| active sourdough starter | 100g |
| bread flour | 400g |
| rice flour | 50g |
| Louisiana medium-grain ricecooked and cooled | 150g |
| waterroom temperature | 325g |
| fine sea salt | 10g |
| rice flour | for dusting |
The night before you mix your dough, feed your sourdough starter. Equal parts flour and water by weight, mixed into whatever mother culture you've been keeping alive. You want it bubbly, active, and ready to work by morning. A healthy starter should double in size within four to six hours at room temperature.
Cook your Louisiana rice according to package directions, but use slightly less water than called for. You want individual grains, not porridge. Spread the cooked rice on a sheet pan and let it cool completely, then refrigerate overnight. Cold rice incorporates better and won't kill your starter with residual heat. This rice is the soul of the bread, so don't skimp on quality.
In a large bowl, combine the bread flour, rice flour, and room temperature water. Mix with your hands until no dry flour remains. This shaggy, rough mess is exactly what you want. Cover and let it rest for one hour. This autolyse lets the flour hydrate fully and begins gluten development before you even start kneading. The bayou way is patient. The bread knows.
After the autolyse, add your active starter and the salt. Use wet hands to squeeze and fold the dough, incorporating the starter throughout. This takes three to four minutes of patient work. The dough will feel sticky and resistant at first, then gradually become more cohesive. Don't fight it. Work with it.
Scatter the cold cooked rice over the dough surface. Using wet hands, fold the dough over itself repeatedly, pressing gently to distribute the rice throughout. Some grains will poke through the surface. That's fine. They'll create those beautiful pockets of tender sweetness in the final loaf. The rice wants to be part of this bread. Let it.
Cover the bowl and let the dough ferment at room temperature for four to five hours. Every 30 minutes for the first two hours, perform a set of stretch and folds: wet your hands, grab one side of the dough, stretch it up, and fold it over the center. Rotate the bowl and repeat three more times. After the folds are complete, leave the dough undisturbed for the remaining time. It should increase in volume by about 50 percent and feel airy when you touch it.
Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Gently shape it into a round by folding the edges toward the center, then flip it seam-side down. Cup your hands around the dough and drag it toward you to create surface tension. The skin should feel taut. Don't tear it. This tension is what gives you that beautiful rise in the oven.
Dust a banneton or a bowl lined with a floured kitchen towel generously with rice flour. Place the shaped dough seam-side up in the basket. Cover with plastic wrap or a shower cap and refrigerate for 12 to 16 hours. This cold proof develops complex flavors and makes the dough easier to score. The magic happens while you sleep.
Place your Dutch oven with its lid inside your regular oven. Preheat to 500 degrees for a full hour. That cast iron needs to be screaming hot. The initial blast of heat combined with the trapped steam from the lid is what creates that shattering crust. Don't rush this step. Patience is the bayou way.
Remove the dough from the refrigerator. Turn it out onto a piece of parchment paper, seam-side down. Using a sharp razor blade or knife held at a 45-degree angle, score a deep slash across the top, about half an inch deep. Work quickly and confidently. Carefully lower the dough on its parchment into the screaming hot Dutch oven. Cover immediately and bake at 500 degrees for 20 minutes.
Remove the lid and reduce oven temperature to 450 degrees. Bake for another 20 to 25 minutes until the crust is deeply caramelized, mahogany brown with some darker spots where the score opened. The loaf should sound hollow when you tap the bottom. Internal temperature should read 205 to 210 degrees if you have a thermometer, but your eyes and ears will tell you the truth.
Transfer the loaf to a wire rack and let it cool for at least one hour before cutting. I know this is the hardest part. The bread is singing to you as it cools, those little crackling sounds as the crust sets. But the interior is still setting up, still steaming. Cut too soon and you'll have gummy bread. Trust the process. When you finally tear into it, you'll find a tender, almost custardy crumb with pockets of sweet rice throughout. That's the reward for your patience.
1 serving (about 75g)
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