Talking baking with Jim McAleese

On a given day on Main Street in Manayunk, you may spot the occasional passerby duck into a narrow entry and place an order through a window that seems sized for a speakeasy. One might be after ciabatta rolls sturdy enough to stand up to pulled pork. Another might be smitten by a brioche redolent of orange blossom. Or a still-warm croissant.

But what they mostly want - covet - is a $3 baguette. Before they're gone.

This is Breakin' Bread Bakery, baker Jim McAleese's latest venture. He is a baguette whisperer, his versions distinctively bronzed, their noses tipped with char. And to those who've followed him, his baguettes are easily among the best in the business.

We caught him at the end of his all-night shift and asked about what it takes.

Isn't it a little spooky baking by yourself all night long?

I've played the radio a few times lately. But it's usually complete silence. It's just me and me, and we get along pretty well. If I put on a pedometer, I bet I'd put on 20 miles a night.

You said the day-shift servers at Le Bec-Fin, where you once worked, called you the "ghost baker." They'd never see you. Just the bread.

Here, people know I'm working all night for something for them to take home. I'm putting my heart and soul into it: It's not a transaction, but more a transmission from me to them.

You're 46 now, with baking stints at Le Bec, Parc, Le Bus, Agiato, and New York's classic brasserie Balthazar. How'd you get into this racket?

In the early '90s, I was living near Metropolitan Bakery when it was still on Delaware Avenue. I talked to James [Barrett, the head baker], and in three months, I was taking care of business the nights he was off.

What was the story at Parc, the brasserie on Rittenhouse Square?

Bradlee [Bartram, formerly of Starr restaurants] called and said, "We need you to fix the baguette back to the way it was when we opened" in 2008. I saw they hadn't changed the recipe. But they weren't taking care of the temperature and hydration, how the bread was formed and worked. Those are the small details that count.

What makes a baguette a baguette?

The French will tell you it has to be just flour, water, yeast, and salt. Still, you can take liberties, be a little unconventional. I use different preferments and wild yeasts. I've never been to France. But it's really the time and detail.

Specifically?

It's an eight-hour process. I slow the time line . . . a long, slow fermentation, high hydration. Each step - mixing, proofing, cutting - I treat it gently, to get a nice rise in the oven. And I bake it at a higher temperature.

What does that do?

The moisture gets trapped in the lattice work of the crumb structure. If you cut the baguette lengthwise you can see the bubbles of moisture in there, and if you hold it to the light, you can see a golden light shine through. The flour gets sort of toasted to almost nutty flavor; the crust is hard, not squishy. It gets caramelized, slightly acidic.

You say the word "artisan" has gotten so overused, it makes you want to throw up. So, what do you call what you do?

I guess you could say handcrafted. We don't use molders. We shape everything by hand. You have to stand a certain way at the table, feet spread apart. The motion is not just with your hands so much as your elbows and shoulders. I can roll two baguettes a minute. I can close my eyes and do it.

Your home is nearly an hour away in Holland, Pa. Aren't you hungry by morning?

I take a baguette along for the drive. And by the time I get home, I sometimes eat the whole thing. I have to get out of the car and shake the crumbs off.

Breakin' Bread Bakery, 4351 Main St., 267-323-2321.