Pane di Altamura

Altamura sits on a limestone plateau in Puglia, surrounded by fields of durum wheat that have grown there since the Romans. The bread that bears its name earned protected status from the European Union in 2003, but the recipe predates such bureaucratic honors by centuries. Bakers there still fire wood-burning ovens before dawn. They shape dough by hand. They trust time more than yeast.

Durum wheat gives this bread its character. The semolina creates a crumb the color of pale gold, dense enough to hold olive oil without becoming sodden, yet tender when you chew. The crust develops thickness and depth during a long bake, forming a shell that protects the interior. A properly made loaf stays fresh on the counter for nearly a week. No plastic bag required.

I learned the bones of this technique from a baker in Matera who laughed when I asked for measurements. He worked by feel, by the way dough pulled from his hands, by the hollow sound when he thumped a finished loaf. What follows is my translation of his intuition into something a home cook can replicate. The fermentation takes time. The shaping requires practice. But the bread rewards patience with a loaf that belongs on any table, humble or grand.

You will need semola rimacinata, the re-milled durum flour that gives Altamura bread its soul. Regular semolina works in a pinch, though the texture suffers slightly. Seek out the real thing from Italian importers or well-stocked grocers. This bread deserves honest ingredients.