Hokkaido toast

The day before yesterday, at 3 a.m., the noodles were sent into the freezer and fermented, and 18 hours later, it was another night, and three days were spent on this toast. It's bad, it's bad. Don't get bad math in the next life. Usually, bread is rarely made entirely according to the formula, because much of the household's raw materials are left in the east and in the west, and in order to run out of them, I tend to add or subtract something. Breads are not as cheesy as cakes, the raw materials are slightly altered, the temperature changes slightly, and they don't seem to affect it much. So I still believe that bread is very tolerant to people. But it also has a relatively harsh side, namely, the state of the noodles — the fact that unfilmable bread is not good bread, and the time of fermentation — the fact that it can't be fermented. During the previous period, a Hokkaido kit had been made, but the formula had in fact been transformed into a completely different formulation. So this weekend we're trying to get a Hokkaido toast that's fully fermented and fermented, and we're trying to be precise at every step. The Chinese method was used this time, and 100 per cent of the Chinese are called the French Hokkaido because all the flour is in the Chinese noodle and the main noodle is not in the flour. The noodles are very wet and sticky and very soft, full of fresh cream. I don't know if I'm right. Usually the more the noodles sticky, the more the bread is made, the softer it is. However, such a mask would require great patience in its plasticization, as well as minimal use of hand powder. This toast doesn't have eggnog. It's a very nice plain. And because of the size of the dough, the mushroom head was rising. This kind of bread is a bit torn up, and it's cut in a regular way, and on Monday morning it's fried an egg, added bacon, caught in the middle of two pieces of toast, is an energy breakfast。