Philosopher Henry David Thoreau was an environmentalist and early naturalist. In 1845 he built a tiny one-room cabin on the shores of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, to experiment with living simply and deliberately. There he grew and gathered his own food and wrote in his journals—living off the grid before there was a grid.

Thoreau even made his own bread. He was inspired by a traditional bread of the Indigenous people of his beloved Massachusetts: unleavened cornmeal flatbread. In his famous book Walden; or, Life in the Woods (1854), he wrote:

“… Bread I at first made of pure cornmeal and salt, genuine hoe-cakes [sometimes made on the blade of a hoe], which I baked before my fire out of doors on a shingle on the end of a stick of timber sawed off in building my house; but it was wont to get smoked and to have a piny flavor. I have tried flour also; but have at last found a mixture of rye and cornmeal most convenient and agreeable…”

Unleavened, smoked, and piny? Not too appealing. But reading about Thoreau’s recipe got me thinking about Anadama Bread, another New England specialty, which also includes cornmeal. And what could be lovelier in fall than the aroma of  Anadama warming your own soon-to-be chilly kitchen?

The version here is not quite so flat as Thoreau’s, but not as lofty as more typical Anadama bread, which generally calls for all-purpose flour, cornmeal, molasses, and milk or butter. It is closely associated with New England, and Massachusetts in particular—possibly Rockport and Gloucester, two of my favorite towns in the world. The cornmeal lends great flavor; if you love it, like I do, you may also appreciate a Portuguese cornbread that appeared in The New Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day. A version of that recipe and a Portuguese fish stew to go with it is here on the website, and as it happens the Portuguese fish stew is also associated with Gloucester and coastal New England.

This Thoreau-inspired loaf is delicious, with a touch of warmth and sweetness from the molasses, a subtle crunch from the cornmeal, and the savory depth of rye. It makes what is perhaps my all-time favorite toast for breakfast, and freezes (after slicing) exceptionally well. Expect 2-inch (5 cm) high slices (keep scrolling here if you’re seeing a blank space).

If you’re new to my method, start with my basic loaf then check back here, where you’ll note I’m presenting this recipe as a 2-pound single loaf, rather than a big dough-batch for daily baking. That said, you can double the recipe and store the dough for up to five days. And though I’m jumping the gun, Anadama would be a great addition to the Thanksgiving table next month. Be aware that cornmeal and rye can conspire to make for a dry crumb, so I mixed this as a very wet dough that can’t be handled or shaped at all, and won’t make a tall sandwich loaf:

1.  Whisk together the flours, cornmeal, and salt in a 5-quart bowl, or, if you’re storing the dough, a lidded (not airtight) food container. Flavors will intensify with storage.

2.   Combine the water, molasses, and yeast, then mix the liquid with the dry ingredients, using a spoon, a food processor (with dough attachment), or a heavy-duty stand mixer (with dough hook). With dough this wet, the stand mixer is the easiest way to go (scrape down dry bits with a spatula as you mix).

3. Use the spatula to pull the dough over itself to give the dough-mass some structure. This is hard to describe but you’ll see what I mean in these pictures:

4.   Cover (not airtight), and allow the dough to rest at room temperature until it rises and collapses (or flattens on top), approximately 2 hours (it should double; go longer if it hasn’t). If you refrigerate the dough overnight, the flavor will intensify, and it can be refrigerated for up to 5 days (beyond that and you’ll find the results too dense).

5. Scrape the dough, doing your best to preserve a round shape, onto a heavy-gauge baking sheet prepared with parchment paper, allowing it to settle by itself into a flat-ish round. Do not try to flour and handle this very wet dough.

6.   Allow to rest, loosely covered with an overturned bowl for 90 minutes.

7.   Thirty minutes before baking time, preheat the oven to 450°F. Place an empty metal broiler tray on any other rack that won’t interfere with the rising bread.

8.   Just before baking, use a pastry brush to paint the top crust with water. Slash the loaf with 1⁄2-inch-deep crossed cuts, using a serrated bread knife.

9.   Slide the loaf directly onto the hot stone (or place the silicone mat or cookie sheet on the stone if you used one). Pour 1 cup of hot tap water into the broiler tray, and quickly close the oven door (if your oven window isn’t made of tempered glass, cover the window with a towel and remove before closing the oven door). Bake for about 30 to 35 minutes, until richly browned and firm, checking at the midway point for over-browning and decrease to 425F if needed. Carefully remove the parchment and bake the loaf directly on an oven rack half-way through baking. Because of the molasses, the crust will be very dark when the loaf is baked through.

10. Allow the bread to cool on a rack before slicing. You should end up with slices that are about 2 inches tall (5 cm).

Thoreau might approve. Here he is in my backyard, not exactly the natural connection he was looking for, but still...

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