In the end, dear friends, all of my mewling and puking was completely unnecessary. It was all fine. The trial run was fine. I was fine, especially considering that I lost my notes three hours before class, when a driving wind from the nor’easter pounding the city split my bag open, sending my books into a snowdrift, my notes into the sewer and a pint jar of damson jam I’d put up last summer smashing to the pavement. The damson jam was not fine. Fortunately, I was outside the Time Warner Center (a/k/a “the mall") at the time, so I was able to duck into Williams-Sonoma and pick up some cherry jam and lemon curd. I was able to be the hostess with the mostest as well as a decent lecturer. We love it when that happens.
There are many reasons why the brioche turned out the way it did. It could be because the top of the loaf set before the interior finished its oven spring. It could be because the loaf was overproofed (although I doubt this because overproofed loaves tend to collapse in the oven, and these were okay). It could be that the loaves were too close to each other, or too close to the oven walls. Considering that my oven is about 13 inches wide and 18 inches long, it sounds like this may be the cause. This is further proof, as if I needed it, that Lloyd and I need to move.
Nobody really cared why the brioche burst open. When you put half a pound of butter and half a dozen eggs into a loaf of bread, the only question anyone really has is “is it time to cut the brioche yet?”
Now as soon as I figure out how to give this lecture while making three loaves of bread, a Sally Lunn, creme brulee and lemon curd, I’ll be in clover.