Earning Earth Mother credentials in the 1970s required knowing how to bake leavened bread from scratch. Homemade bread was the foundation of the whole-food pyramid, a staple of the counterculture diet.

But just because baking bread is basic doesn't mean it's simple. And just because the Egyptians domesticated the yeast fungus (aka Saccharomyces cerevisiae) — more than 4,000 years ago doesn't mean a baby boomer has the skills to tame its more cultivated descendents.

Microbial mendacity

Baking bread is more alchemy than art. Success depends on creating the ideal climate so the moody yeast micro-organisms will wake up, feed on carbs and sugars in the dough and essentially burp until they die. As unappetizing as it sounds, these carbon-dioxide and ethyl-alcohol emissions make the dough rise and give bread its taste and texture.

Creating this perfect environment is tricky. The water that's used to animate active dry yeast before it's mixed with dry ingredients can't be too hot or the yeast dies. The room in which the dough "rests" must be warm and draft-free. The dough can't be bothered while it's rising. And even under the most ideal conditions, some yeast turns out to be the single-celled equivalent of a slacker with a bad attitude.

When good yeast goes bad, the bread that results is more useful as a building material than a food. I could have built a smal garden wall with my first experimental loaves, had I been more resourceful. But I was only 16, and my ego couldn't withstand the humiliation of being bested by a beast I couldn't even see without a microscope. So I dragged my feet for three decades, enjoying delicious baguettes and crusty artisanal breads from authentic European bakeries whenever possible — until a move off the map forced me into a face-off with my old nemesis.

The Southwest rises again!

My bread-making comeback began earlier this year with a pizza crust that required leavening. I stoked the wood stove and drew a warm bath for the yeast, reassuring the basking beasties that I expected nothing more of them than the best they could do. The yeast flourished in the pressure-free atmosphere and the dough rose — followed quickly by my expectations.

That's the problem with beginner's luck: It fosters illusions and makes people careless.

So when the time came to use yeast again — this time for a loaf of Italian-style bread — I disrespected its supersensitive nature and committed multiple microbial murder by dousing the yeast in near-boiling water. Another time I assumed the house was warm enough without the stove going, and the shivering yeast generated only a little gas in its hypothermic death throes.

Loaf after failed loaf was chopped into pieces and left outside for birds, rabbits and my Labrador retriever. When I finally got the yeast to rise again, I forgot to pay attention to other parts of the recipe. Like a president declaring an end to major combat operations a tad early, I got a little ahead of myself.

Misreading one recipe, I mixed cornmeal into the dough before realizing it was meant to coat the bottom of the loaf as it baked on my homemade pizza stone — an unglazed Saltillo tile. I didn't discover the mistake until after baking yet another misshapen brick. Another time I used whole-wheat flour rather than bread flour — without adjusting the other ingredients to accommodate the change — and the dough was too heavy for the yeast to lift.

I found recipes that seemed to be written for inattentive people; they even had photos. I assembled the best, read them carefully, highlighted key directions and drew reminder notes in the margins. I built a fire, turned on the propane space heater, kneaded the dough and did everything I could to coax the yeast into some heavy breathing. And it responded by rising just as I imagine it did for the pharaohs' bakers.

The bread that emerged from the oven an hour later was crispy on the outside and lightly chewy inside. It was quickly devoured. Each loaf seems to get a little better as I grow to understand — and try to fulfill — the needs of my tiny fungal friends.

BASIC FRENCH BREAD

3-3/4 cups bread flour for dough

1/4 cup flour for countertop
or work surface

2 teaspoons active quick-rising dry yeast

2 teaspoons salt

11/2 cups warm water
(no more than 110 degrees Fahrenheit)

Mix 3-3/4 cups flour in a medium bowl with the yeast and salt. Add warm — not hot! — water and use mixer on low speed until the dough clumps together, about two minutes. A dough hook comes in handy once the dough becomes an unmanageable blob, but a wooden spoon works too. Mix for another minute or two. If the dough is too wet, add extra flour a teaspoon at a time. If it's too dry, add water a teaspoon at a time, mixing between additions.

Let the dough rest for five minutes (the yeast becomes cranky if you skip this step).

After naptime, mix the dough again for three minutes before moving it from the bowl to the counter with the other 1/4 cup of flour. Knead the dough, adding flour as needed, until it is smooth and compact.

Place the dough into a lightly oiled bowl and roll it around to coat all sides. Whisper some words of encouragement to the yeast and cover the dough with plastic wrap or a towel before placing it in a warm, draft-free area for 11/2 to 2 hours — until the dough doubles in size.

An hour before rising is complete, place your baking surface (pizza stone, baking sheet or whatever) into the oven and preheat it to 450 degrees Fahrenheit (425 for a convection oven).

Take the risen dough and separate it into two halves, putting half the dough back under the towel or plastic wrap, and place the other half on the lightly floured countertop. Stretch the dough into a long rectangle about an inch thick. Fold one of the long sides toward the middle of the rectangle; do the same with the other long side until both sides meet in the middle. Mash the dough at this seam to seal it, and fold it over in half again or roll it lengthwise until the middle is tucked inside. Pinch the short ends to seal them.

Turn the bread so the seam side is down. Cover it with a towel or plastic wrap and repeat the same procedure with the set-aside dough. Let the loaves rest for half an hour from all this roughhousing. After the nap, cut about four or five slashes into the surface of the loaves to let steam vent and the loaves expand evenly as they bake.

Place the loaves on the baking surface and use a spray bottle filled with water to moisten the crust and make it crispy. Repeat this moistening two or three more times as the bread bakes for 20 to 25 minutes. If you have an instant-read thermometer, remove the bread when the temperature is between 190 to 210 degrees Fahrenheit.