The first time I visited Jo’s house, there was something soaking in a tub on the draining board. From a distance it looked like sponges, or short sections of the natural loofah that hung around our bathroom in the 1980s, which, at the time, reminded me of a chewed corn on the cob. But, up close, I realised it was bits of bread floating like rafts in the blue tub of water.
I don’t think I had ever heard the word panzanella before. Jo explained that age dictates the quantity of water: the older the bread, the more it requires. Several days-old bread needs only swishing under a tap to dampen it back to life, while older, raffermato – that is, firmed-up-but-still-rippable – bread needs a cup or so of water pouring over. Hard or rock-hard bread, meanwhile – the sort that seems to say: “Go on, try me” to both hands and knives – needs fully soaking and/or immersion for the water to penetrate the crumb and make it soft again. This is also why, once softened, the bread needs squeezing, so the final consistency is damp crumbs.
