From kneading to baking: how was bread made in Mallorca?

Bread making is lost in the mists of time. The saying says it all: ‘older than kneading’ (ser més vell que el pastar). In fact, folklorist Joan Amades points out that in some Hellenic communities, kneading was accompanied by a musical instrument. Some ceramic pieces from this period show scenes of flute players alongside a group of women making bread.

As mentioned above, traditional Mallorcan bread, made without salt, is a product that has been a pillar of the islanders’ survival. But it has also become a product with a strong identity and excellence. In 1923, Pedro Ballester, in his work De re cibaria, stated that “Mallorcan bread, also without salt and very tasty even when hard, is irreplaceable in the delicious Mallorcan soups and for eating soaked in the best olive oil produced there, rubbing garlic on the slice. It offers no other differences from ours except for its very dark colour. Its fame is widespread and dates back to ancient times: Rousseau, in Emile, advises that children at weaning age, to help them teethe, should be given thin, long crusts of stale bread or biscuits similar to Mallorcan bread.”

Although there is a saying that everyone cooks and kneads as they please in their own home (cada u a ca seva cuina i pasta així com vol), there are some general guidelines for making bread at home. The first thing to note is that in the past, dough was kneaded once a week. The house had a special place, the amasador, where the trough (pastera) and the necessary sacks of flour were kept. The first task was cendre, that is, to remove any impurities from the flour with rods and a sieve, which fell into the trough. Father Gabriel Reus describes this operation in a very graphic way, while also adding a curious note: “Swinging back and forth… tec-a-tec… tec-a-tec… the sieve hit the two ends of the rods and the flour formed a crater of very fine grains inside the trough. Inside the sieve – depending on the fineness of its holes – was the bran, which, scalded with boiling water, would be used to feed and warm the chickens and other animals in the farmyard in the early hours of winter. It was also widely used to make cakes to cure stomach ache and other ailments.”

(“Engronsa que engronsa… tec-a-tec… tec-a-tec… the bran stuck to the two ends of the sieves and the flour formed inside the trough like a crater of very fine grains. Inside the sieve – more or less depending on the fineness of its holes – remained the bran which, heated with boiling water, would be used to feed and warm the chickens and other farmyard animals in the early winter mornings. It was also widely used to make cakes to cure stomach ache and other ailments.”

Then, a slit was made in the sifted flour, into which yeast and warm water were added. The traditional way of obtaining yeast was to use a piece of fermented dough that had been set aside from the previous kneading (a week) and stored in a bowl. To keep it soft, it was covered with a vine or chard leaf. The small lump was also covered with a little flour and left for Mother Nature to do her work. Then the lid of the trough was lowered and left to ferment overnight. The next day, when the dough had cracked, it was ready to be kneaded: hot water and firm fists until balls of one kilo or one and a half kilos were formed. The more it was kneaded, the better. It was necessary to make a dough that was neither too thick nor too thin.

These balls were transferred to the hintero, where the loaves were made. If any dough remained on the walls of the trough, it was removed with a scraper. They were then placed on the pasting board where they remained for a few hours, covered with the maseras, although a blanket or a set of rags could also be used.

When they cracked, they were taken to the oven, a structure formed by a large clay vault, pieces of tile (the old ones) or bricks (the more modern ones). It was fuelled with fine wood and when the vault turned whitish, the pieces were baked. This operation was usually accompanied by a prayer that the bread would turn out just right. They remained there for an hour and a half and, from time to time, were moved with a scraper to prevent them from touching each other. Once baked, they were removed with a shovel and cleaned with a cloth.

On some occasions, the neighbours would agree to use the same oven. That is, each one kneaded the dough at home, but only one oven was lit. Guillem Garau remembers this from his childhood: “Sometimes two neighbours would agree to knead the dough at home, but only one would light the oven, and they would bake everything in one house […] The lady who had to light the oven when she put the water on the fire to knead the dough would shout to the other one to let her know, so that they would have their baking trays ready at the same time. The shout was “Aiguasfoc!” (Water on the fire).”

This system, which has now completely disappeared in our part of the world, is still very much alive in many places around the globe, such as Africa.

Tomàs Vibot is a writer, researcher and promoter of culture and heritage.