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How to turn store cupboard grains, nuts, seeds and dried fruit into a brilliant nutritious loaf – recipe

How to turn store cupboard grains, nuts, seeds and dried fruit into a brilliant nutritious loaf – recipe

The Guardiana day ago

Today's rich, nutritious and no-knead bread is a cornerstone of my weekly routine. Every Saturday, I make a simple rye bread dough, and gather whatever grains, nuts and seeds need using up – from forgotten millet to that last handful of brazil nuts – and soak them overnight. By Sunday lunchtime, the house will be filled with the homely aroma of fresh bread emerging from the oven.
When my daughter won't eat anything but a slice of toast, I want to know she's still being nourished, so I've raised our nutrient baseline by reformulating the recipes for our everyday staples – that is, bread, pasta, porridge and even cakes – with whole grains, omega-rich seeds and nutrient-dense ingredients such as moringa powder. Of course, every family has its own tastes and comfort foods, so these changes need to be gradual. What matters most is that our children eat a diverse range of fruit and vegetables, but whole grains are also a big win.
Today's dense, sustaining loaf is almost a meal in itself. If your family is more used to white bread, begin by including a little wholewheat flour in your usual dough, then experiment – add a touch of buckwheat flour, say (just 5–10% of the total flour weight), or ancient grains such as khorasan or emmer. Soaked grains and seeds are another easy upgrade, and boost the nutritional value of any loaf, while a few raisins or chopped dried fruit can help improve the bread's appeal, especially to children.
The diversity in this loaf isn't just good for our bodies, it's vital for the planet, too. By incorporating a wider range of grains and seeds into our diets, we help support agricultural diversity beyond the traditional big four – wheat, corn, rice and soy – which currently provide 60% of the world's plant-based calories. These industrial monocrops rely heavily on synthetic inputs and intensive farming, while many traditional and alternative grains thrive with fewer interventions. Each time we choose buckwheat, millet or rye, we cast a small but meaningful vote for a more resilient food system.
When blending flours, keep at least 50% of the mix as dark rye or glutenous flour such as wholewheat or emmer. Avoid using too much buckwheat – 100–200g is plenty – because it can turn gummy. That said, this recipe also works beautifully with 100% dark rye or wholewheat flour. I don't add salt or molasses to the mix, because our young baby eats this bread, too, so we try to keep sodium and sugar low. That said, adding either or both will enhance the loaf's flavour.
Traditionally, this kind of loaf would be baked in a Pullman-style tin with a lid – I use a large tin, about 33cm x 10cm. If you have a thermometer or probe, bake until the centre reaches 96C, though it's also a forgiving bread if you don't. The key is to let the loaf set fully, so leave to cool for at least five hours before slicing, and ideally wait until the next day to do so. I usually slice it thinly and store in an airtight container – it keeps well in or out of the fridge; it freezes beautifully, too.
Makes 1 loaf
For the seed mix350g whole grains – buckwheat, pearl barley, brown rice, quinoa, oat groats, rye berries, etc350g mixed seeds, dried fruit and nuts – sunflower seeds, linseed, pumpkin seeds, raisins, dried apricots, goji berries, brazil nuts, walnuts, hazelnuts, etc2 tsp caraway seeds (optional)1 tbsp sea salt (optional)50ml molasses or honey (optional)
For the dough550g dark rye flour, or a mixture of flours if you have bag ends that need using (wholewheat bread flour, buckwheat, emmer, etc), plus extra for dusting1½ tsp instant dried yeast
Oil, for greasing
The night before baking, in a large bowl mix the whole grains, the mixed seeds, dried fruit and nuts and 650g cold water. Add any or all of the optional ingredients, stir well, then cover and leave to soak at room temperature overnight.
In a second large bowl, mix the flour, yeast and 350g cold water to form a stiff dough, then cover and leave to sit alongside the soaking grain mix.
The next day, grease one large or two small loaf tins with a little oil, then line with baking paper or dust with flour. Tip the soaked grain mix into the dough, mix thoroughly until well combined, then scrape into the tin(s). Smooth out the top, dredge with flour, cover and leave to prove at room temperature for one to four hours, until the dough is well risen and the flour topping has cracked.
Bake at 250C (230C fan)/490F/gas 9½ for 30 minutes, then turn down the heat to 220C (200C fan)/425F/gas 7 and bake for another 30 to 40 minutes, until dark brown on top. Turn out on to a wire rack and leave to cool completely for at least five hours before slicing, ideally the next day.

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When my family arrived at the home of a great aunt in St Andrews who hadn't seen us in a while, she bade me the following frank greeting: 'Aye, I see you're still no catching up with your brother.' She was referring to my stature. She took one look at us and noted that the nine-year-old remained half a head shorter than the 10-year-old, just as he had done since we were three and four. My reply to this has been quoted back to me many times in family circles. I think they thought it showed a degree of acuity under fire. I told Auntie Cathie: 'I didn't know it was a competition.' Years passed and I grew taller. But so, damn it, did my brother. By 20, he had overtaken my 6ft 3in father. Me, I pulled up a cruel quarter of an inch short of the 6ft mark. It has been my lot in life to remain forever noticeably lower to the ground than my father and, indeed, his father before him. If that were not bad enough, I've had to watch my older brother match them inch for inch and, more recently, see his sons rocket skywards, flaunting the family gene that somehow passed me by. And I told Auntie Cathie it wasn't a competition. Of course it's a competition. And I'm in last place. That eats at a guy. A scientific study now underlines what I knew all along but wasn't prepared to admit to a plain-spoken aunt peering into my tender soul the moment I entered the room. Size matters. Shorter men really are jealous of taller ones. Deep down, they are dismayed by the differential and, naturally – as we imagine ourselves civilised and 'above' such things – in denial about it. This suppressed sense of inadequacy manifests itself in what we have long recognised as 'short man syndrome' – the observable truism that the quickest male tempers are most often the preserve of the diminutive. The Australian study, published in Evolutionary Behavioural Sciences, finds that smaller men are more likely to be encumbered with exactly the kinds of hang-ups we would expect – intrasexual envy, jealousy, competitiveness. At the extremes of the syndrome, I'd suggest they are way more confrontational too – and paranoid, and out to prove some point that their more altitudinous counterparts don't feel worth proving. Is it just my imagination or, when tensions simmer, is it ever the tall guy who winds the short fellow up more profoundly than anyone else present? Am I off beam, or does the threat of a violent episode double if a lady is watching? Something primordial awakens in some of us – a rage against the natural order of the living world which suggests the bigger beasts get the spoils. Yes, by dint of growing up in a family of giants, I can quite see how short man syndrome gnaws at a person's self-worth. I may have been in denial about the height race but was quite open wanting to take him down in every other area of fraternal competition you can name. Why? He was bigger than me. It wasn't fair. So I was coming for him. I look at the land where I live and I see a lot of me as a 13-year-old in it. Scotland doesn't think it is fair either. England is bigger than it. They grew up side by side and Scotland is the perennial little brother, never catching up or coming anywhere close. In the sport we care about most, we lose against England more often than we win because they are bigger than us. Just like I did with my older brother, we dedicate ourselves to putting one over on them. We run that extra yard, push that bit harder because it's them and it's not fair. Ask not whether short man syndrome is a thing because it indubitably is. Ask instead whether Scotland is suffering from a severe case of small country syndrome. The evidence, I fear, is all around us – in our politics, in our cringe, in our chippiness and in our tantrums. You will hear some rational arguments for Scottish nationalism which are worth a theoretical whirl. It's about addressing the democratic deficit, getting the government we vote for, tailoring economic policy to our specific needs, re-engaging with the EU. You will hear appeals to patriotism – indignation that we proud people with our own flag and history and identity allow ourselves to be governed by next door when, of course, we do no such thing. Some Scots will invoke a sense of moral superiority over our neighbours. Others will argue – still more fancifully – that the last 18 years of SNP rule at Holyrood have proved we're up to the job of independence. They have proved only that while some of us might be, the SNP certainly isn't. But through all the prattle it is the primordial rage that I hear most loudly – the small country's wrathful protest against its own lack of stature. Some of us with the syndrome, I suspect, would not only enjoy putting on the platform heels that independence would bring, but also revel in the schadenfreude of seeing the remainder of the UK lessened – even, perhaps, torn apart. It's not just about winning when you're a small chap. The big guy must lose too. Our cringe makes us miss the wood for the trees. Our contribution to the world stacks up against any small nation in it. We invented the telly, for goodness sake. It took a while but in time I made my peace with the fact I was the wee guy in my family. There are more ways to grow up than vertically and I think I must have found one of them. Wouldn't Scotland benefit from a little maturity on the matter too? Must grievance and resentment forever be our default setting? The plain fact of the matter is while there is almost certainly scientific grounding in the notion of short man syndrome there is no reason why susceptibility to feelings of inadequacy should translate to small countries. Indeed, many around the world seem much more comfortable in their skin than the big ones. Is the idea that we would be one of them just as soon as we separated from England – that a national personality shift towards sunnier dispositions would ensue on the declaration of independence? I am not sure personalities work like that. I think we have grown so accustomed to blaming others – particularly big bruv across the Border – for all our woes that we would find ourselves in crisis the moment we realised our troubles are home grown and, largely, always were. Independence is not what I want and I hope never to see it. I cannot shake off my affinity with the whole UK any more than I can warm to those in my corner of it who blame everything on everyone but themselves. But, if it ever happens, the road to it would be a deal smoother and the transition less traumatic if we lost the small country syndrome right now and started acting like the grown-ups we would surely have to be.

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