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So after all these crusty, rustic and free-form breads, I thought I'd take a stab at the one bread I've been purposely avoiding. In a way, sandwich bread (particularly stuff like Wonder Bread and other enriched white breads) are the reason I even started baking at all. Simpler and, frankly, more "European" just struck me as better. In the end, though, I have come to learn that using good judgement in choosing ingredients is more important than what that bread might happen to symbolize for you. And really, it makes sense: Sandwich bread is really good for, surprise surprise, sandwiches.
This is another recipe taken from Hintz's book (the same one as the whole wheat loaf). As such, it is again super unfriendly for mixing by hand. The basic dough is quite stiff, as it counts on the addition of a stick of softened butter, but then there is the challenge of integrating that butter into the dough. Otherwise, it is a starter-less bread that seems to demand a lot of waiting, a warmer-than-usual area to rest and no steam.
One of the interesting techniques described in these recipes is an alternate way of degassing the dough. Instead of punching it down, it suggests pulling up one side of the dough (the "stretch") until it forms a large flap, then folding it over the rest of the dough. By doing this in all four directions, it should be enough manipulation to degas the dough, but does so gently, and in a way that smooths out the surface.
Pain de Mie ("bread of crumb", or white sandwich bread)
Makes 2 loaves
Combine the bread flour, salt, sugar, yeast and milk and mix on "low speed for about 4 minutes." I took this as "hand mix for about 10". Add the softened butter, half at a time, and incorporate into the dough. I had difficulty doing this by hand, and eventually hand-kneaded the dough in the bowl for about 10 minutes until the butter seemed properly worked in.
Let the dough rise for about 45 minutes. Stretch and fold (see above) and allow to rise for another 45 minutes.
Divide the dough into halves, preshape into logs and proof for 45 minutes in greased bread pans. (Here I found the dough didn't rise properly unless it was warmer than usual. After an hour with no perceptible change in size, I proofed it for another 45 minutes or so in a warm oven.) The dough should rise to just about 1 cm below the rim.
Bake at 375° for 30-40 minutes, then remove from the pans and return to the oven for another 3-5 minutes, to get even browning on all sides. Let cool on a wire rack before cutting.
Whether it was because it's just an obscene amount of butter, or because I wasn't able to incorporate it into the dough properly by hand, the result was very, very buttery and frankly a little bizarre:
The crust was a vaguely croissant-like finish, flakey, crumbly and buttery, while the crumb was tight and rich, almost like brioche. In fact, I would think that the crumb may have ended up more like what I imagined brioche to be than the actual brioche recipe I tried a year ago. Obviously with no eggs it's not quite the same but it still struck me as bizarre, as all the pictures in the cookbook show a nice, clean white loaf with an almost leathery crust, the way store-bought sandwich bread has.
I'm frankly not sure what to do to improve on the loaf. While it was a wonderful breakfast bread, I wasn't quite what I was hoping for in terms of making simple things like BLTs and grilled cheese. Perhaps I'll look up some other sandwich bread recipes and compare. Regardless, I think 11 oz of butter is too much, and I'll likely go with a lot less next time.
This is another recipe taken from Hintz's book (the same one as the whole wheat loaf). As such, it is again super unfriendly for mixing by hand. The basic dough is quite stiff, as it counts on the addition of a stick of softened butter, but then there is the challenge of integrating that butter into the dough. Otherwise, it is a starter-less bread that seems to demand a lot of waiting, a warmer-than-usual area to rest and no steam.
One of the interesting techniques described in these recipes is an alternate way of degassing the dough. Instead of punching it down, it suggests pulling up one side of the dough (the "stretch") until it forms a large flap, then folding it over the rest of the dough. By doing this in all four directions, it should be enough manipulation to degas the dough, but does so gently, and in a way that smooths out the surface.
Pain de Mie ("bread of crumb", or white sandwich bread)
Makes 2 loaves
- 666g or 4¾ c. bread flour
1¼ tsp. salt
1¾ tsp. sugar
2 tsp. instant yeast
1¾ c. milk (400g)
120g or 11 tbsp. butter, softened
Combine the bread flour, salt, sugar, yeast and milk and mix on "low speed for about 4 minutes." I took this as "hand mix for about 10". Add the softened butter, half at a time, and incorporate into the dough. I had difficulty doing this by hand, and eventually hand-kneaded the dough in the bowl for about 10 minutes until the butter seemed properly worked in.
Let the dough rise for about 45 minutes. Stretch and fold (see above) and allow to rise for another 45 minutes.
Divide the dough into halves, preshape into logs and proof for 45 minutes in greased bread pans. (Here I found the dough didn't rise properly unless it was warmer than usual. After an hour with no perceptible change in size, I proofed it for another 45 minutes or so in a warm oven.) The dough should rise to just about 1 cm below the rim.
Bake at 375° for 30-40 minutes, then remove from the pans and return to the oven for another 3-5 minutes, to get even browning on all sides. Let cool on a wire rack before cutting.
Whether it was because it's just an obscene amount of butter, or because I wasn't able to incorporate it into the dough properly by hand, the result was very, very buttery and frankly a little bizarre:
The crust was a vaguely croissant-like finish, flakey, crumbly and buttery, while the crumb was tight and rich, almost like brioche. In fact, I would think that the crumb may have ended up more like what I imagined brioche to be than the actual brioche recipe I tried a year ago. Obviously with no eggs it's not quite the same but it still struck me as bizarre, as all the pictures in the cookbook show a nice, clean white loaf with an almost leathery crust, the way store-bought sandwich bread has.
I'm frankly not sure what to do to improve on the loaf. While it was a wonderful breakfast bread, I wasn't quite what I was hoping for in terms of making simple things like BLTs and grilled cheese. Perhaps I'll look up some other sandwich bread recipes and compare. Regardless, I think 11 oz of butter is too much, and I'll likely go with a lot less next time.
A kitchen supply store near my house is closing down and on a recent visit there, we noticed a pasta machine on liquidation for about $20. Not knowing much about pasta machine quality but wanting to try it out, we picked it up but it was only recently that I got to try it out.
I happened to have some extra spinach kicking around last week, thanks largely to the beet greens occupying the usual "leafy side dish" role in my meals. To be honest, I was a little hesitant, though; Frozen spinach seems so much more convenient, being that it practically disintegrates into mush when exposed to air. That quality alone would probably make it a lot easier to mix into pasta dough.
Despite my misgivings, I was inspired by a blog post I found that seemed confident that fresh spinach, "rinsed dry then chopped finely" would mix into the pasta dough just fine. With that in mind, I set out to make spinach tagliatelle, the traditional accompaniment to ragu bolognese.
Buoyed largely by its success last time, I used the "middle-class pasta" I made for the bolognese as a baseline: 2 cups of AP flour, 7 oz. of liquid. In this case, I went with 2 whole eggs and trusted the generous handful of fresh spinach I was chopping would retain about 2 fluid ounces of water no matter what I did. The result was this:
While my freckled pasta looks great, the problem is that there are hard flecks of spinach in that pasta. After it was allowed to rest and I ran it through the pasta machine, the harder bits of spinach actually tore the pasta sheets when they got too thin. In the end, I had to settle for a thicker noodle, about the same thickness as when I rolled it out by hand, in fact.
As long as the noodle was holding together before cooking, it seemed to survive two minutes of boiling and the finished dish turned out just fine. Instead of tossing the pasta with the bolognese sauce, I actually found I preferred this "nest-style" presentation, as the sauce is thick enough to hold its shape, but mixes really easily once you run your fork through the pasta: (and yes, I realize that's a ton of sauce)
As for the pasta machine, a little research on the company name revealed that it's a Changzho Shule Pasta Machine (their web site is elusive). Visually, it's actually a dead ringer for any one of dozens of different varieties of pasta machine and 95% of the hand-cranked pasta machines have the same general look. Amusingly, the one problem I've had with it so far (the crank is loose and likes to fall out if I so much as look at it funny) seems to also happen with its higher priced twins (like the Atlas 150). We'll see how it does in the long run.
I happened to have some extra spinach kicking around last week, thanks largely to the beet greens occupying the usual "leafy side dish" role in my meals. To be honest, I was a little hesitant, though; Frozen spinach seems so much more convenient, being that it practically disintegrates into mush when exposed to air. That quality alone would probably make it a lot easier to mix into pasta dough.
Despite my misgivings, I was inspired by a blog post I found that seemed confident that fresh spinach, "rinsed dry then chopped finely" would mix into the pasta dough just fine. With that in mind, I set out to make spinach tagliatelle, the traditional accompaniment to ragu bolognese.
Buoyed largely by its success last time, I used the "middle-class pasta" I made for the bolognese as a baseline: 2 cups of AP flour, 7 oz. of liquid. In this case, I went with 2 whole eggs and trusted the generous handful of fresh spinach I was chopping would retain about 2 fluid ounces of water no matter what I did. The result was this:
While my freckled pasta looks great, the problem is that there are hard flecks of spinach in that pasta. After it was allowed to rest and I ran it through the pasta machine, the harder bits of spinach actually tore the pasta sheets when they got too thin. In the end, I had to settle for a thicker noodle, about the same thickness as when I rolled it out by hand, in fact.
As long as the noodle was holding together before cooking, it seemed to survive two minutes of boiling and the finished dish turned out just fine. Instead of tossing the pasta with the bolognese sauce, I actually found I preferred this "nest-style" presentation, as the sauce is thick enough to hold its shape, but mixes really easily once you run your fork through the pasta: (and yes, I realize that's a ton of sauce)
As for the pasta machine, a little research on the company name revealed that it's a Changzho Shule Pasta Machine (their web site is elusive). Visually, it's actually a dead ringer for any one of dozens of different varieties of pasta machine and 95% of the hand-cranked pasta machines have the same general look. Amusingly, the one problem I've had with it so far (the crank is loose and likes to fall out if I so much as look at it funny) seems to also happen with its higher priced twins (like the Atlas 150). We'll see how it does in the long run.
Recently, I was swayed by a reading of Michael Pollan's latest book, In Defense Of Food (Amazon, though we just borrowed it from the library). The more time goes by, the more I've been trying to eat more simply, with less junk, less processed foods, etc etc etc. One of the ideas in the book was to avoid foods with "more than 5 ingredients" at the supermarket, as well as ingredients you can't pronounce. This is all good and well in principle, as the idea is to cut out a lot of preservatives, extra nutrients that are otherwise just stapled onto whatever you're eating, and try to get back to a simpler, more direct way of eating. The minus side is that even some of the simplest things we eat have gone through fairly complicated processes. Enter the great mental debate about flour.
White flour (even unbleached), is stacked with ingredients and, for some reason, this piqued my curiousity. Apparently, some of these ingredients will help the flour to age (a necessary process, if it isn't bleached)... some enrich the flour with extra nutrients to make up for all that was lost in milling (since the bran & germ are discarded for white flour). The only saving grace is that white flour rarely needs any preservatives, since it's the oils in the discarded germ that usually makes flour go rancid.
Whole wheat flour, by comparison, rarely has more than one ingredient, even if it won't keep for a year on your shelf. Despite the fact that I adore delicious white bread, this was my little effort to try a mostly-whole-wheat-flour recipe because while white flour isn't bad for you, it's kind of a poor cousin to whole wheat, nutritionally speaking. This particular recipe is largely lifted from Baking Artisan Bread: 10 Expert Formulas for Baking Better Bread at Home by Ciril Hitz (Amazon but, again, from the library).
Whole Wheat Dough
yields 2 loaves
Biga
Dough
Mix the biga, cover and let rise for 1-2 hours (until doubled).
Add the biga to all the dough ingredients and mix. Since the only instructions included were to "mix on low for 4 minutes, then medium for 2 minutes", I simply kneaded for a while. I am horribly unfamiliar with the "feel" of whole wheat dough and am nearly positive that I underkneaded it.
(The honey, which worked out to around 50g, I poured directly into the dough while it was on the scale, rather than fight with any sort of measuring cup/spoon. I think I'll always try to do it this way in the future.)
Cover and rest for about 45 minutes. Degas and re-rest for 45 minutes.
Cut the dough in half, shape into ovals and place into oiled bread pans. Proof for 1 to 1½ hours, until the dough recovers from a poke but leaves a partial indent.
Bake (ideally with steam) for 20 minutes at 450°F, then 20-30 minutes at 375°F.
The most challenging part of this recipe is that, clearly, the dough was made to be done in a mixer. The biga (25 bread flour - 15 water, to the dough's 100 whole wheat flour - 70 water) was fine, but the dough was incredibly stiff to mix by hand, then incredibly wet for kneading by hand. The result was that I lost patience with both... which amusingly meant I had a finished brown dough that was partially marbled with the white biga.
After baking, the loaf turned out just fine, in that it wasn't a dense brick, but it was still a little heavy. I think that has largely to do with its high proportion of whole wheat flour, though perhaps I'll try to find a recipe (or maybe lighter whole wheat flour) that will allow me to knead it without wanting to throw a hissyfit.
White flour (even unbleached), is stacked with ingredients and, for some reason, this piqued my curiousity. Apparently, some of these ingredients will help the flour to age (a necessary process, if it isn't bleached)... some enrich the flour with extra nutrients to make up for all that was lost in milling (since the bran & germ are discarded for white flour). The only saving grace is that white flour rarely needs any preservatives, since it's the oils in the discarded germ that usually makes flour go rancid.
Whole wheat flour, by comparison, rarely has more than one ingredient, even if it won't keep for a year on your shelf. Despite the fact that I adore delicious white bread, this was my little effort to try a mostly-whole-wheat-flour recipe because while white flour isn't bad for you, it's kind of a poor cousin to whole wheat, nutritionally speaking. This particular recipe is largely lifted from Baking Artisan Bread: 10 Expert Formulas for Baking Better Bread at Home by Ciril Hitz (Amazon but, again, from the library).
Whole Wheat Dough
yields 2 loaves
Biga
- 180g bread flour
107g or ½ c. water
1 tsp. instant yeast
Dough
- 650g whole wheat flour
462g or 2 c. water
2½ tbsp. honey (see note)
1 tsp. instant yeast
1 tbsp. salt
Mix the biga, cover and let rise for 1-2 hours (until doubled).
Add the biga to all the dough ingredients and mix. Since the only instructions included were to "mix on low for 4 minutes, then medium for 2 minutes", I simply kneaded for a while. I am horribly unfamiliar with the "feel" of whole wheat dough and am nearly positive that I underkneaded it.
(The honey, which worked out to around 50g, I poured directly into the dough while it was on the scale, rather than fight with any sort of measuring cup/spoon. I think I'll always try to do it this way in the future.)
Cover and rest for about 45 minutes. Degas and re-rest for 45 minutes.
Cut the dough in half, shape into ovals and place into oiled bread pans. Proof for 1 to 1½ hours, until the dough recovers from a poke but leaves a partial indent.
Bake (ideally with steam) for 20 minutes at 450°F, then 20-30 minutes at 375°F.
The most challenging part of this recipe is that, clearly, the dough was made to be done in a mixer. The biga (25 bread flour - 15 water, to the dough's 100 whole wheat flour - 70 water) was fine, but the dough was incredibly stiff to mix by hand, then incredibly wet for kneading by hand. The result was that I lost patience with both... which amusingly meant I had a finished brown dough that was partially marbled with the white biga.
After baking, the loaf turned out just fine, in that it wasn't a dense brick, but it was still a little heavy. I think that has largely to do with its high proportion of whole wheat flour, though perhaps I'll try to find a recipe (or maybe lighter whole wheat flour) that will allow me to knead it without wanting to throw a hissyfit.
Earlier this week, I took a trip to the market on Granville Island. I had one particular goal in mind, and that was to get some sablefish (also known as butterfish or blackcod). I went to what's quickly becoming my fish shop of choice, Seafood City... though maybe I just like them because they're Japanese. :)
When I arrived, though, they hadn't prepped it for sale yet so I had about an hour to kill walking around the market, so I picked up a few goodies:
All from Oyama Sausage, cave-aged raw milk gruyère cheese (that little block cost $11), a hunk of pancetta (that's about a half-pound), and some of their spicy italian sausage.
... and some local veg: no-spray beets and a yellow zucchini. The beets were particularly interesting, as the greens are edible, even if they're not often used.
... plus of course, the sablefish I came for.
For that night, I wanted to try the sablefish two ways: fried in touch of butter, and in a clear broth soup (sumashi-jiru). For the fried fish, I figured I'd try frying up the beet greens as a bedding, and cram the zucchini in there as well. For the soup, I had some spinach waiting at home, which I figured would be a fine complement. Finally, I wanted to try the beets themselves plus the kohlrabi I had already in my stock potato salad. Here's what it all looked like:
As it happens, the beet greens are mild-flavoured but are surprisingly robust, holding up well to sautéeing much better than spinach does. The stems, however, are tough and fibrous. I simply fried them for a little longer, but I heard steaming them for a while before was a better solution. I may also cut further up into the leaf to remove more of the stem, as it is a very different consistency than the green around it.
The sablefish, while very flakey, actually held together in the soup. That said, I found its buttery goodness didn't really add anything to the soup and I'll probably just broil the whole darn thing next time with sweet miso (I've already started marinating them in a sake, mirin, miso and sugar mixture).
Finally, since it would be a shame to not have at least one recipe:
Mixed-root salad
made about 6 servings
½ lb. of nugget potatoes, cubed
½ lb. kohlrabi, peeled and cubed
½ lb. beets, trimmed, cleaned and cubed
2 hard-boiled eggs
¼ c. red onion, minced
3 celery stalks, peeled and chopped
1 tbsp. whole grain mustard
4 tbsp. mayonnaise
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 tbsp. red wine vinegar
salt & pepper
Start the hard-boiled eggs first.
Set the beets to steam for 20 minutes. Boil the potatoes for about 10-12 minutes. The kohlrabi can remain raw.
While your tubers cook, mix the dressing: the mustard, mayo, red onion, garlic and vinegar. Season with salt & pepper to taste.
In a big bowl, toss the potatoes, kohlrabi, beets and celery. Add the dressing. Shred the hard-boiled eggs on a grater and mix. Serve immediately. It should keep in the fridge for a few days as well.
When I arrived, though, they hadn't prepped it for sale yet so I had about an hour to kill walking around the market, so I picked up a few goodies:
All from Oyama Sausage, cave-aged raw milk gruyère cheese (that little block cost $11), a hunk of pancetta (that's about a half-pound), and some of their spicy italian sausage.
... and some local veg: no-spray beets and a yellow zucchini. The beets were particularly interesting, as the greens are edible, even if they're not often used.
... plus of course, the sablefish I came for.
For that night, I wanted to try the sablefish two ways: fried in touch of butter, and in a clear broth soup (sumashi-jiru). For the fried fish, I figured I'd try frying up the beet greens as a bedding, and cram the zucchini in there as well. For the soup, I had some spinach waiting at home, which I figured would be a fine complement. Finally, I wanted to try the beets themselves plus the kohlrabi I had already in my stock potato salad. Here's what it all looked like:
As it happens, the beet greens are mild-flavoured but are surprisingly robust, holding up well to sautéeing much better than spinach does. The stems, however, are tough and fibrous. I simply fried them for a little longer, but I heard steaming them for a while before was a better solution. I may also cut further up into the leaf to remove more of the stem, as it is a very different consistency than the green around it.
The sablefish, while very flakey, actually held together in the soup. That said, I found its buttery goodness didn't really add anything to the soup and I'll probably just broil the whole darn thing next time with sweet miso (I've already started marinating them in a sake, mirin, miso and sugar mixture).
Finally, since it would be a shame to not have at least one recipe:
Mixed-root salad
made about 6 servings
½ lb. of nugget potatoes, cubed
½ lb. kohlrabi, peeled and cubed
½ lb. beets, trimmed, cleaned and cubed
2 hard-boiled eggs
¼ c. red onion, minced
3 celery stalks, peeled and chopped
1 tbsp. whole grain mustard
4 tbsp. mayonnaise
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 tbsp. red wine vinegar
salt & pepper
Start the hard-boiled eggs first.
Set the beets to steam for 20 minutes. Boil the potatoes for about 10-12 minutes. The kohlrabi can remain raw.
While your tubers cook, mix the dressing: the mustard, mayo, red onion, garlic and vinegar. Season with salt & pepper to taste.
In a big bowl, toss the potatoes, kohlrabi, beets and celery. Add the dressing. Shred the hard-boiled eggs on a grater and mix. Serve immediately. It should keep in the fridge for a few days as well.
I've been on a bit of a mushroom kick lately. After learning how good regular ol' white mushrooms were when sautéed in butter, I pushed a little further to try it as a pasta sauce (with a lil garlic and onions). Not long after, inspired by this success we picked up a basket of assorted mushrooms from a local farmer's market and at the bottom was a giant portobello mushroom. When subjected to the same butter + sauté, the result was (as anyone who's eaten these regularly knows) absolutely delicious: an incredibly meaty and earthy taste.
Stuffed mushrooms are apparently a fairly stock Italian dish, but usually they involve cremini mushrooms, which are substantially smaller. I was hoping more for one big stuffed mushroom, which could be served as the main dish and sliced almost like a hamburger steak. As with most bizarre desires, I found myself in good company on the internet but wanted to use a classic stuffed mushroom recipe as a starting point.
This was my trial-sized first attempt.
Stuffed Portobello à la Jon
Serves 1
Preheat the oven to 425°F.
Remove the stem from the mushroom and finely chop, setting aside the cap.
Heat about 1 tbsp. of olive oil in a pan over medium heat. Just before it gets to smoking, add the shallot and toss until barely translucent. Add bell pepper and chopped mushroom stem, and cook for about 3 minutes. Allow to cool.
In a bowl, mix the sauteed vegetables with the bread, cheese and parsley. (I found it didn't bind well, see below) Season with salt & pepper. Stuff this mixture into the mushroom caps.
Place the stuffed mushroom into a shallow baking pan, then dot the top with butter. Add the stock and wine to the baking pan and bake for about 20 minutes, until the mushroom is cooked through and the bread crumbs are lightly browned.
Spoon the juices from the pan over the mushroom and serve immediately.
On the surface, it seems simple enough: bread crumbs, cheese, aromatic veggies and herbs, stuffed into a mushroom cap, then braised in the oven.
The problem I ran into was that the portobello I had simply wasn't all that concave, so the fact that the stuffing was very crumbly meant it had to be packed in rather tightly if I expected it to stay. I initially added olive oil, then a little water to try and bind the stuffing together, which ended up holding it together long enough to go into the oven, but when it was done, the stuffing crumbled all over the place. I am tempted to see what sort of binding ideas I can steal from other stuffings in order to make it hold together. In the end, the goal is to have a giant stuffed mushroom that can be sliced, almost like a pizza.
Before:
After:
Stuffed mushrooms are apparently a fairly stock Italian dish, but usually they involve cremini mushrooms, which are substantially smaller. I was hoping more for one big stuffed mushroom, which could be served as the main dish and sliced almost like a hamburger steak. As with most bizarre desires, I found myself in good company on the internet but wanted to use a classic stuffed mushroom recipe as a starting point.
This was my trial-sized first attempt.
Stuffed Portobello à la Jon
Serves 1
- 1 large Portobello mushroom, whole
1 tbsp. shallot, minced
1 tbsp. yellow bell pepper, chopped
2 tbsp. bread crumbs
1 tbsp. Parmigiano-Reggiano, grated
½ tbsp. italian parsley, chopped
1 tbsp. butter
olive oil
salt & pepper
½ c. chicken stock
1 tbsp. vermouth
Preheat the oven to 425°F.
Remove the stem from the mushroom and finely chop, setting aside the cap.
Heat about 1 tbsp. of olive oil in a pan over medium heat. Just before it gets to smoking, add the shallot and toss until barely translucent. Add bell pepper and chopped mushroom stem, and cook for about 3 minutes. Allow to cool.
In a bowl, mix the sauteed vegetables with the bread, cheese and parsley. (I found it didn't bind well, see below) Season with salt & pepper. Stuff this mixture into the mushroom caps.
Place the stuffed mushroom into a shallow baking pan, then dot the top with butter. Add the stock and wine to the baking pan and bake for about 20 minutes, until the mushroom is cooked through and the bread crumbs are lightly browned.
Spoon the juices from the pan over the mushroom and serve immediately.
On the surface, it seems simple enough: bread crumbs, cheese, aromatic veggies and herbs, stuffed into a mushroom cap, then braised in the oven.
The problem I ran into was that the portobello I had simply wasn't all that concave, so the fact that the stuffing was very crumbly meant it had to be packed in rather tightly if I expected it to stay. I initially added olive oil, then a little water to try and bind the stuffing together, which ended up holding it together long enough to go into the oven, but when it was done, the stuffing crumbled all over the place. I am tempted to see what sort of binding ideas I can steal from other stuffings in order to make it hold together. In the end, the goal is to have a giant stuffed mushroom that can be sliced, almost like a pizza.
Before:
After:
I accidentally made a flat bread earlier this year. I was aiming for "rustic Italian" and ended up with a dough so soft that it oozed outwards until it was flat. Of course, even this failed to work out because it rose to new heights in the oven and ended up being a good four inches thick in its highest spot and incredibly large.
I figured it was about time I tried a real focaccia and, although I don't have big stack of childhood memories to draw off, I had one very important element already: Potato. I had the vaguest memory of reading a Cook's Illustrated article where they explained at great depth why one large potato, boiled and mashed, would magically make your focaccia turn out perfectly. I'm a little embarrassed to say I don't remember why it does, but I set out to find a focaccia recipe on-line with potato and stumbled on this page.
So using that as a guideline, off I went.
Focaccia
Makes one 9½x13" loaf
Starter:
Dough:
Mix the yeast, half-cup of flour and half-cup of water in a bowl, cover and set aside for at least 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, peel one large potato, then cut it into half-inch cubes and cover with cold water. Set on high heat until boiling, then cook until tender (how long will depend on what kind of potato you're using), then drain. The potato should be of the same kind consistency you would like from a potato you were going to mash. If you have a vegetable ricer, this is a great way to break it up. If not, pushing the potato through a wire mesh strainer with a rubber spatula is an excellent substitute. Set aside around a cup to a cup and a half of your mashed potato.
Now wait until your potato cools off. This should, by the way, assure that your starter has long enough to sit.
Mix the starter with the other half-cup of water, salt and olive oil until it is well combined, then add the potato. Now add the flour about half a cup at a time, mixing throughout. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic. I was surprised how much flour it took to take the dough from pulling away from the bowl to smooth, without being too sticky to handle. Now set aside to rise in an oiled, covered bowl until it has doubled in size.
Grease a cookie sheet with olive oil (preferably one with a rim so the bread doesn't escape off the edges). Once the dough has doubled, spread it out on the sheet, brush it with olive oil and sprinkle kosher salt and rosemary over the top. Leave to proof for another 30-60 minutes. (I was a little unsure of this timing, as the recipe says, "as long as you want".)
Preheat the oven to 425°F. When the oven is ready, bake the focaccia for about 25 minutes, until the top is golden brown.
25 minutes ended up being just right in our oven, as you can see:
You might be able to make out a slight "rim" on the edges, where the focaccia had creeped over the edge of the baking sheet. I was initially worried about it, but in the end, it didn't interfere with cutting at all. Obviously, this lends itself to all sorts of sandwiches, but we chose to go straight for tuna melts, since we were craving them:
Happy baking!
I figured it was about time I tried a real focaccia and, although I don't have big stack of childhood memories to draw off, I had one very important element already: Potato. I had the vaguest memory of reading a Cook's Illustrated article where they explained at great depth why one large potato, boiled and mashed, would magically make your focaccia turn out perfectly. I'm a little embarrassed to say I don't remember why it does, but I set out to find a focaccia recipe on-line with potato and stumbled on this page.
So using that as a guideline, off I went.
Focaccia
Makes one 9½x13" loaf
Starter:
- 1 tsp. yeast
½ c. bread flour
½ c. warm water
Dough:
- 1 large potato
½ c. warm water
2 tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. salt
3 c. (or so) bread flour
Mix the yeast, half-cup of flour and half-cup of water in a bowl, cover and set aside for at least 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, peel one large potato, then cut it into half-inch cubes and cover with cold water. Set on high heat until boiling, then cook until tender (how long will depend on what kind of potato you're using), then drain. The potato should be of the same kind consistency you would like from a potato you were going to mash. If you have a vegetable ricer, this is a great way to break it up. If not, pushing the potato through a wire mesh strainer with a rubber spatula is an excellent substitute. Set aside around a cup to a cup and a half of your mashed potato.
Now wait until your potato cools off. This should, by the way, assure that your starter has long enough to sit.
Mix the starter with the other half-cup of water, salt and olive oil until it is well combined, then add the potato. Now add the flour about half a cup at a time, mixing throughout. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic. I was surprised how much flour it took to take the dough from pulling away from the bowl to smooth, without being too sticky to handle. Now set aside to rise in an oiled, covered bowl until it has doubled in size.
Grease a cookie sheet with olive oil (preferably one with a rim so the bread doesn't escape off the edges). Once the dough has doubled, spread it out on the sheet, brush it with olive oil and sprinkle kosher salt and rosemary over the top. Leave to proof for another 30-60 minutes. (I was a little unsure of this timing, as the recipe says, "as long as you want".)
Preheat the oven to 425°F. When the oven is ready, bake the focaccia for about 25 minutes, until the top is golden brown.
25 minutes ended up being just right in our oven, as you can see:
You might be able to make out a slight "rim" on the edges, where the focaccia had creeped over the edge of the baking sheet. I was initially worried about it, but in the end, it didn't interfere with cutting at all. Obviously, this lends itself to all sorts of sandwiches, but we chose to go straight for tuna melts, since we were craving them:
Happy baking!
I'm not sure there's much to say about calzones that I haven't said already about pizza; As far as I'm concerned, it's pretty much the same damn thing, only folded over into a pocket. The fact that it's a pocket, however, does allow you to be adventurous with your fillings. Toppings too runny or saucy might actually be viable in a calzone, so I went ahead and tried something I would never do with regular pizza: a ricotta-spinach filling, with marinara sauce.
For the dough, I used the same recipe as for the pizza chena. Something about these particular proportions struck a cord with me that I really liked:
The filling was a simple mixture of ricotta (which I drained with cheesecloth) and spinach, barely wilted in a hot pan with olive oil for less than a minute.
Finally, the marinara sauce is lifted straight from Lidia Bastianich:
Simple Marinara Sauce
Carefully slide tomatoes and their liquid into the oil. Bring to a boil, and season lightly with salt and crushed red pepper. Lower the heat so sauce is at a lively simmer, and cook, breaking up tomatoes with a whisk or spoon, until sauce is chunky and thick, about 20 minutes.
Stir in the basil about 5 minutes before sauce is finished. Taste sauce, and season with salt and red pepper if necessary.
After a light egg wash, the calzones went into a 500°F oven (on the pizza stone) for about 20 minutes, until nicely browned. When they came out of the oven, they certainly looked great:
I purposely opted not to vent them, figuring it would just result in a giant gooey ricotta mess all over the stone, so they ended up a little puffy, but mmmm, was it ever good:
For the dough, I used the same recipe as for the pizza chena. Something about these particular proportions struck a cord with me that I really liked:
- 1 tbsp. active dry yeast
1 tbsp. sugar
1 tbsp. salt
6 c. all-purpose flour
2 c. warm water
2 tbsp. olive oil
The filling was a simple mixture of ricotta (which I drained with cheesecloth) and spinach, barely wilted in a hot pan with olive oil for less than a minute.
Finally, the marinara sauce is lifted straight from Lidia Bastianich:
Simple Marinara Sauce
- ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
8 garlic cloves, peeled
1 35-oz can Italian plum tomatoes (preferably San Marzano) or 3 lbs. fresh tomatoes
Salt
Crushed red pepper
10 fresh basil leaves, torn into small pieces
Carefully slide tomatoes and their liquid into the oil. Bring to a boil, and season lightly with salt and crushed red pepper. Lower the heat so sauce is at a lively simmer, and cook, breaking up tomatoes with a whisk or spoon, until sauce is chunky and thick, about 20 minutes.
Stir in the basil about 5 minutes before sauce is finished. Taste sauce, and season with salt and red pepper if necessary.
After a light egg wash, the calzones went into a 500°F oven (on the pizza stone) for about 20 minutes, until nicely browned. When they came out of the oven, they certainly looked great:
I purposely opted not to vent them, figuring it would just result in a giant gooey ricotta mess all over the stone, so they ended up a little puffy, but mmmm, was it ever good:
Read this entry for the story so far.
Considering the great lack of agreement on "perfect" proportions for roux, béchamel and Mornay, I imagined it would take a great deal of experimentation to get it right. Roux produced with equal parts butter and flour has always been satisfying to me, so I see no reason to change that. Last time, I felt my 5/5 roux, 3 c. milk and 2 c. cheese was "too greasy", so I was committed to trying with far less cheese this time.
To begin with, I experimented with the base roux. I used the 5/5 roux, as before, but tried to pay much more attention to how long it cooked. Apparently, as it is cooked, it will gradually go from a floury mixture to white to blond to brown. For a white roux, as we need for a béchamel, you need about 3 minutes over low head, just long enough that it no longer smells like raw flour but not enough that it changes colour. Another 3 minutes will give it a golden tan colour and bring out a faint nutty smell, which is what you would want for a velouté sauce (which is just like a béchamel, only with stock instead of milk). Finally, another 3-9 minutes will brown it and it will smell like toast, which you would use for an espagnole or cajun-style sauce.
Next, instead of adding 3 cups of cold milk, I simmered the milk with a bay leaf, as suggested in a Julia Child cookbook I'm reading, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Their Béchamel recipe suggested adding all the milk at once and using a whisk to work out the lumps. I chose to do it the old way, ladling in a quarter cup at a time and stirring until smooth for the first half of the milk, which made it incredibly easy to smooth out the sauce without using a whisk. When seasoning with salt and pepper, I also added a bit of nutmeg at the end, an accent I've been seeing in a lot of versions. Finally, the sauce apparently needs to simmer at least 20 minutes, which is rarely an issue since I usually make it beforehand to save a little time. The result was immediately thick, so I think I'll be dialing down the amount of roux I use if I continue to work with hot milk.
As for the Mornay sauce, I opted with a much smaller proportion of cheese. Last time, I used 2 cups of cheese for 3 cups of béchamel, so I halved it this time. The blend I used this time around was Swiss Emmental (the holey kind that people usually just call "Swiss cheese") and an aged Canadian cheddar, figuring if I was going to use less, it should at least be cheeses with a robust flavour to make up for it.
Finally, I concede that a crunchy (or at least crusty) topping is a nice texture contrast. This time around, I tried blending up some spare slices of bread I had from a half-rye I made earlier this week. It only took about a quarter cup, which I mixed with about the same amount of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and spread all over the top.
Macaroni and Cheese 2.0
6 to 8 portions
Meanwhile, melt the butter in a saucepan over low to medium heat. Add the flour and mix until it makes a paste. Allow the roux to cook for about 2-3 minutes, enough time that the uncooked flour smell goes away, but remove it from the heat if it starts to colour.
Preheat your oven to 375°F.
Set your pasta water on to boil (at least 3-4 quarts). Add 1 tbsp salt, but no oil.
Add the warm milk to the roux one ladle at a time and stir to work out the lumps. The mixture will go from clumpy to cement-like to smooth paste to thick liquid as you add more milk. Once the mixture becomes the consistency of thick gravy, add the rest of the milk and stir. Simmer until it you can draw a clear line through the sauce across the back of a spoon, then lower the heat. Season with salt, pepper and a dash of nutmeg, then taste. When you are satisfied, add your cheese blend (in this case the Swiss and cheddar).
Your pasta water should be boiling by now, yes?... Add the elbow macaroni and stir frequently to keep it from sticking. When the the pasta is al dente, drain but do not rinse. Add the macaroni directly to the casserole dish you'll be using. Pour the Mornay sauce over top of the macaroni and mix to combine.
Mix your bread crumbs and Parmagiano-Reggiano together, then sprinkle all over the top of your macaroni.
Bake in the oven for about 20 minutes on a middle rack.
To crisp up the top, turn the oven up to broil but watch it very, very carefully. It rarely takes longer than a minute to get a nice browning, after which you should pull your casserole out immediately.
No photos this time because I left it to broil too long, it burnt the top and I'm embarrassed to show it. :)
The crust was a lot better this time. I think two things in particular helped a lot: skipping the butter made it a little less greasy, so the cheese could really bust out... and I liked the thicker, heartier bread crumbs. I'm finding more and more that panko, while it gives an awesome texture for deep frying, doesn't have much in the way of pure taste.
The Mornay sauce was silky smooth and still cheesy enough. In fact, when I tasted it on its own, I just made me want to eat whole spoonfuls of it. I'd like to experiment with different blends to see what works out best taste-wise, though I wonder if certain cheeses will make the sauce chunky as a side effect.
Considering the great lack of agreement on "perfect" proportions for roux, béchamel and Mornay, I imagined it would take a great deal of experimentation to get it right. Roux produced with equal parts butter and flour has always been satisfying to me, so I see no reason to change that. Last time, I felt my 5/5 roux, 3 c. milk and 2 c. cheese was "too greasy", so I was committed to trying with far less cheese this time.
To begin with, I experimented with the base roux. I used the 5/5 roux, as before, but tried to pay much more attention to how long it cooked. Apparently, as it is cooked, it will gradually go from a floury mixture to white to blond to brown. For a white roux, as we need for a béchamel, you need about 3 minutes over low head, just long enough that it no longer smells like raw flour but not enough that it changes colour. Another 3 minutes will give it a golden tan colour and bring out a faint nutty smell, which is what you would want for a velouté sauce (which is just like a béchamel, only with stock instead of milk). Finally, another 3-9 minutes will brown it and it will smell like toast, which you would use for an espagnole or cajun-style sauce.
Next, instead of adding 3 cups of cold milk, I simmered the milk with a bay leaf, as suggested in a Julia Child cookbook I'm reading, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Their Béchamel recipe suggested adding all the milk at once and using a whisk to work out the lumps. I chose to do it the old way, ladling in a quarter cup at a time and stirring until smooth for the first half of the milk, which made it incredibly easy to smooth out the sauce without using a whisk. When seasoning with salt and pepper, I also added a bit of nutmeg at the end, an accent I've been seeing in a lot of versions. Finally, the sauce apparently needs to simmer at least 20 minutes, which is rarely an issue since I usually make it beforehand to save a little time. The result was immediately thick, so I think I'll be dialing down the amount of roux I use if I continue to work with hot milk.
As for the Mornay sauce, I opted with a much smaller proportion of cheese. Last time, I used 2 cups of cheese for 3 cups of béchamel, so I halved it this time. The blend I used this time around was Swiss Emmental (the holey kind that people usually just call "Swiss cheese") and an aged Canadian cheddar, figuring if I was going to use less, it should at least be cheeses with a robust flavour to make up for it.
Finally, I concede that a crunchy (or at least crusty) topping is a nice texture contrast. This time around, I tried blending up some spare slices of bread I had from a half-rye I made earlier this week. It only took about a quarter cup, which I mixed with about the same amount of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and spread all over the top.
Macaroni and Cheese 2.0
6 to 8 portions
- 3 c. whole milk
1 bay leaf
5 tbsp butter
5 tbsp flour
salt & pepper
a dash of nutmeg
½ c. Swiss Emmental cheese, grated
½ c. aged white cheedar cheese, grated
¾ lb. elbow macaroni
¼ c. bread crumbs
¼ c. Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, grated
Meanwhile, melt the butter in a saucepan over low to medium heat. Add the flour and mix until it makes a paste. Allow the roux to cook for about 2-3 minutes, enough time that the uncooked flour smell goes away, but remove it from the heat if it starts to colour.
Preheat your oven to 375°F.
Set your pasta water on to boil (at least 3-4 quarts). Add 1 tbsp salt, but no oil.
Add the warm milk to the roux one ladle at a time and stir to work out the lumps. The mixture will go from clumpy to cement-like to smooth paste to thick liquid as you add more milk. Once the mixture becomes the consistency of thick gravy, add the rest of the milk and stir. Simmer until it you can draw a clear line through the sauce across the back of a spoon, then lower the heat. Season with salt, pepper and a dash of nutmeg, then taste. When you are satisfied, add your cheese blend (in this case the Swiss and cheddar).
Your pasta water should be boiling by now, yes?... Add the elbow macaroni and stir frequently to keep it from sticking. When the the pasta is al dente, drain but do not rinse. Add the macaroni directly to the casserole dish you'll be using. Pour the Mornay sauce over top of the macaroni and mix to combine.
Mix your bread crumbs and Parmagiano-Reggiano together, then sprinkle all over the top of your macaroni.
Bake in the oven for about 20 minutes on a middle rack.
To crisp up the top, turn the oven up to broil but watch it very, very carefully. It rarely takes longer than a minute to get a nice browning, after which you should pull your casserole out immediately.
No photos this time because I left it to broil too long, it burnt the top and I'm embarrassed to show it. :)
The crust was a lot better this time. I think two things in particular helped a lot: skipping the butter made it a little less greasy, so the cheese could really bust out... and I liked the thicker, heartier bread crumbs. I'm finding more and more that panko, while it gives an awesome texture for deep frying, doesn't have much in the way of pure taste.
The Mornay sauce was silky smooth and still cheesy enough. In fact, when I tasted it on its own, I just made me want to eat whole spoonfuls of it. I'd like to experiment with different blends to see what works out best taste-wise, though I wonder if certain cheeses will make the sauce chunky as a side effect.
I'm not sure what exactly possessed me to make this. To be honest, I've never been a huge fan of pies in general, owing largely to the fact that I don't much like the taste of pie crust. I suppose what happened is that after feeling all heady about the roast chicken I made this weekend, I figured I could do no chicken-wrong. Whatever the motivation, this was sure to be an adventure, as I had never made pastry before in my life.
Short crust, while fairly simple, is still a little mystifying to me, even after having trying it once. There's no shortage of instructional articles on the web but I had a little trouble finding a truly descriptive (and/or illustrated) recipe that didn't use a food processor. In the end, it wasn't that hard, and there was surprising agreement as to the ratio of ingredients, even though it was a struggle to find a recipe with no shortening. (I was too lazy to make another trip to the store)
The filling struck me as the simpler of the two to do, frankly: Cube the leftover chicken, toss it into cream of chicken soup, add peas, carrots, etc. I decided to be daring and make the soup from scratch, which in the end may have confused the issue a little. This particular recipe came out surprisingly sweet and I'm not entirely sure where I went wrong.
Short Crust Pastry
makes enough for two 10" x 7" sheets (it's also a pretty standard recipe size)
Now "cut" the butter into the flour. This can be done literally, using a knife to hack the cubes of butter up. The other (much more effective) way is to very gently "crumble" the cubes of butter with your fingers, but with as little contact as possible so that your warm hands don't melt the butter. As you do so, lift it up high and let it fall back into the bowl to incorporate a little air into the mixture, until the mixture has a texture similar to bread crumbs (though the occasional lump of butter is not the end of the world). You want to work quickly, so that the mixture stays as cool as possible.
Add the very cold water one tablespoon at a time, combining it with the flour using a knife until all the flour clumps together and comes off the sides of the bowl. Turn the dough onto a very lightly floured surface and, with as little manipulation as possible, form the dough into a thick round. Wrap in plastic wrap (or place in a plastic bag) and chill in the fridge for about 10-15 minutes to rest.
After a rest, bring the dough back out onto a floured surface and roll out to the desired size with a rolling pin. This seemed very straightforward to me... if the dough "pulls" back and is too elastic, try covering it in plastic wrap and letting it rest for 10 minutes, as you would do with pasta dough.
Chicken Pot Pie
4 servings
Add the chicken stock, diced chicken pieces, thyme and parsley. Stir until it comes up to a boil, then reduce heat.
Add the cream, frozen peas, salt & pepper and flour and mix to work out any flour lumps. If the mixture is still too thin for your liking, add flour about a tablespoon at a time until you reach your desired consistency. Cover and set aside.
Roll out the pastry to just under a half-inch thickness and the size you need for your dish, pie pan or ramekins. I personally had an oval 9"x6"x1" dish, and had more than enough to make two layers. Whether you line the bottom with pastry or not seems to be largely a question of personal preference, though I did it mostly because I had exactly the right amount for two layers.
Place your bottom sheet of pastry (if you have one), assuring that it is flush with the bottom of your dish(es) and slightly too large, so that there is about half an inch extra drooping over the side of the dish. Fill the dish(es) with your chicken filling. Cover the dish(es) with a sheet of pastry, then fold the lower edge over the top, pressing the two edges together and removing any excess, if necessary. Crimp the edge, either by hand or with a fork, then cut a vent in the top layer to let the hot air escape.
Bake at 400°F for 20-25 minutes, or until the pastry is nicely browned. Let rest for at least 5 minutes before serving.
The result looked about as good as I could expect:
The taste, however, was still not spot on. I found that even before I added the cream, just the veggies and stock made for a very sweet mixture. The completed filling was even sweeter, all without a drop of sugar... even the stock was from scratch and isn't seasoned at all. Strange.
The pastry smelled incredible and had a lovely buttery texture. That said, I'm still not a huge fan of the stuff and I am not likely to become a rabid pie guy any time soon... unless there's a world of pie crusts that I've never seen before!
Short crust, while fairly simple, is still a little mystifying to me, even after having trying it once. There's no shortage of instructional articles on the web but I had a little trouble finding a truly descriptive (and/or illustrated) recipe that didn't use a food processor. In the end, it wasn't that hard, and there was surprising agreement as to the ratio of ingredients, even though it was a struggle to find a recipe with no shortening. (I was too lazy to make another trip to the store)
The filling struck me as the simpler of the two to do, frankly: Cube the leftover chicken, toss it into cream of chicken soup, add peas, carrots, etc. I decided to be daring and make the soup from scratch, which in the end may have confused the issue a little. This particular recipe came out surprisingly sweet and I'm not entirely sure where I went wrong.
Short Crust Pastry
makes enough for two 10" x 7" sheets (it's also a pretty standard recipe size)
- 250g all-purpose flour
½ tsp. salt
1 stick (=½ c. or 110g) of butter, cold
~3 tbsp. very cold water
Now "cut" the butter into the flour. This can be done literally, using a knife to hack the cubes of butter up. The other (much more effective) way is to very gently "crumble" the cubes of butter with your fingers, but with as little contact as possible so that your warm hands don't melt the butter. As you do so, lift it up high and let it fall back into the bowl to incorporate a little air into the mixture, until the mixture has a texture similar to bread crumbs (though the occasional lump of butter is not the end of the world). You want to work quickly, so that the mixture stays as cool as possible.
Add the very cold water one tablespoon at a time, combining it with the flour using a knife until all the flour clumps together and comes off the sides of the bowl. Turn the dough onto a very lightly floured surface and, with as little manipulation as possible, form the dough into a thick round. Wrap in plastic wrap (or place in a plastic bag) and chill in the fridge for about 10-15 minutes to rest.
After a rest, bring the dough back out onto a floured surface and roll out to the desired size with a rolling pin. This seemed very straightforward to me... if the dough "pulls" back and is too elastic, try covering it in plastic wrap and letting it rest for 10 minutes, as you would do with pasta dough.
Chicken Pot Pie
4 servings
- 2 tbsp. olive oil
½ medium onion, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
2 stalks of celery, finely chopped
~2 c. chicken stock
1 c. diced chicken pieces
½ tsp. dried thyme
2 tbsp. fresh parsley, finely chopped
¼ c. half and half cream
½ c. frozen peas
salt & pepper to taste
¼ c. all-purpose flour
Short Crust Pastry (as above)
Add the chicken stock, diced chicken pieces, thyme and parsley. Stir until it comes up to a boil, then reduce heat.
Add the cream, frozen peas, salt & pepper and flour and mix to work out any flour lumps. If the mixture is still too thin for your liking, add flour about a tablespoon at a time until you reach your desired consistency. Cover and set aside.
Roll out the pastry to just under a half-inch thickness and the size you need for your dish, pie pan or ramekins. I personally had an oval 9"x6"x1" dish, and had more than enough to make two layers. Whether you line the bottom with pastry or not seems to be largely a question of personal preference, though I did it mostly because I had exactly the right amount for two layers.
Place your bottom sheet of pastry (if you have one), assuring that it is flush with the bottom of your dish(es) and slightly too large, so that there is about half an inch extra drooping over the side of the dish. Fill the dish(es) with your chicken filling. Cover the dish(es) with a sheet of pastry, then fold the lower edge over the top, pressing the two edges together and removing any excess, if necessary. Crimp the edge, either by hand or with a fork, then cut a vent in the top layer to let the hot air escape.
Bake at 400°F for 20-25 minutes, or until the pastry is nicely browned. Let rest for at least 5 minutes before serving.
The result looked about as good as I could expect:
The taste, however, was still not spot on. I found that even before I added the cream, just the veggies and stock made for a very sweet mixture. The completed filling was even sweeter, all without a drop of sugar... even the stock was from scratch and isn't seasoned at all. Strange.
The pastry smelled incredible and had a lovely buttery texture. That said, I'm still not a huge fan of the stuff and I am not likely to become a rabid pie guy any time soon... unless there's a world of pie crusts that I've never seen before!
Months and months and months ago, we stumbled on a blog post for a this wonderful dish. Pizza Chena ("cena" means "full") is a tall, monstrous pie fulled with meat, cheese and egg. It's a traditional southern Italian dish for Easter and, if my googling is any indication, it evokes great feelings of homeyness among people who grew up with it. I, for my part, got the entire recipe from Susan Russo's food blog, Food Blogga. And since it was Easter not long ago, I took a crack at it.
Pizza Chena (courtesy of Food Blogga)
serves 12+
Dough:
The dough starts as a pretty normal pizza dough: Start with the yeast, sugar, salt and flour in a large bowl and mix up with a fork. Add the warm water and olive oil and mix up until most of the flour has joined the giant lump. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead for 10-15 minutes until "soft and silky". Set aside in an oiled bowl, covered, until it has doubled in size (about 2 hours).
Meanwhile, hard boil 4 of your eggs. My favorite way to do this is to put them in a pan with enough cold water to cover them, cover with a lid and bring to a boil. Once it's boiling, if you have an electric range, you can simply turn off the heat but leave the pan on; On a gas range, turn down to low for 1 minute, then turn off. Leave the pan covered on the heat for at least 12 minutes, but longer is usually just fine. You can shock the eggs in ice water while they're still hot to make them easier to peel. Peel and slice the eggs thinly and set aside.
The ricotta (plus two eggs) is actually a substitution as suggested in her recipe for "1 lb. basket cheese". Don't do what we did, and drain the ricotta... don't look at it and think, "Oh it looks plenty drained". Next time, I will be using cheese cloth. Beat in 2 eggs and set aside.
Once all your filling ingredients are ready, punch down your dough, turn out onto a floured surface and halve. Roll half out to almost as big a round as you can manage - figure at least 15". Oil a 10x3 springform pan and lay the dough in the pan, fitting as snugly as possible against the pan - there should be enough that it barely creeps over the edge.
Mix 8 eggs, about 15-20 "cranks" of ground black pepper and parsley in a bowl. Preheat your oven to 350°F.
Fill the pie with half of the each kind of filling, layer by layer. We tried to spread out the meats as evenly as possible. Once one layer of each filling has been put down, the pie should be about half full. Pour half of the egg mixture into the pan. Place layers of the other half of the fillings, then pour in the remaining egg mixture.
Take the second half of the dough and roll out into a 12" round. Lay the round over the pie and trim off any dough that hangs over the edge. Go around the pie pinching edges of the dough together and folding the bottom slightly over. Once done, flute the edge of the pie. Add about 1 tbsp of water to whatever is left stuck to the egg mixture bowl make an egg wash, and coat the pie.
Bake for 60-75 minutes, until the crust is golden brown. Let cool for about 20-25 minutes when it comes out of the oven.
The result coming out of the oven looked like this:
Clearly, there was a miscalculation, because it puffed up to about 150% of its original size. Once it was cut, though, the problem became clear:
I can only assume that the water in the ricotta evaporated and puffed the whole pie up, leaving that huge empty attic up at the top when the dough hardened. The individual slices looked fine, though, and certainly, it tastes like a million bucks. Next year, though, I'll be trying this again... and I'll get it right.
Pizza Chena (courtesy of Food Blogga)
serves 12+
Dough:
- 1 tbsp. active dry yeast
1 tbsp. sugar
1 tbsp. salt
6 c. all-purpose flour
2 c. warm water
2 tbsp. olive oil
- 1 tsp. olive oil
½ lb. hot Italian sausage
½ lb. capocollo, thinly sliced
⅓ lb. Genoa salami, thinly sliced
⅓ lb. pepperoni, thinly sliced
15 oz. ricotta cheese, drained
½ lb. mozzarella cheese, shredded
14 large eggs (yes, really)
⅓ c. minced fresh flat leaf parsley (aka Italian parsley)
ground black pepper
The dough starts as a pretty normal pizza dough: Start with the yeast, sugar, salt and flour in a large bowl and mix up with a fork. Add the warm water and olive oil and mix up until most of the flour has joined the giant lump. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead for 10-15 minutes until "soft and silky". Set aside in an oiled bowl, covered, until it has doubled in size (about 2 hours).
Meanwhile, hard boil 4 of your eggs. My favorite way to do this is to put them in a pan with enough cold water to cover them, cover with a lid and bring to a boil. Once it's boiling, if you have an electric range, you can simply turn off the heat but leave the pan on; On a gas range, turn down to low for 1 minute, then turn off. Leave the pan covered on the heat for at least 12 minutes, but longer is usually just fine. You can shock the eggs in ice water while they're still hot to make them easier to peel. Peel and slice the eggs thinly and set aside.
The ricotta (plus two eggs) is actually a substitution as suggested in her recipe for "1 lb. basket cheese". Don't do what we did, and drain the ricotta... don't look at it and think, "Oh it looks plenty drained". Next time, I will be using cheese cloth. Beat in 2 eggs and set aside.
Once all your filling ingredients are ready, punch down your dough, turn out onto a floured surface and halve. Roll half out to almost as big a round as you can manage - figure at least 15". Oil a 10x3 springform pan and lay the dough in the pan, fitting as snugly as possible against the pan - there should be enough that it barely creeps over the edge.
Mix 8 eggs, about 15-20 "cranks" of ground black pepper and parsley in a bowl. Preheat your oven to 350°F.
Fill the pie with half of the each kind of filling, layer by layer. We tried to spread out the meats as evenly as possible. Once one layer of each filling has been put down, the pie should be about half full. Pour half of the egg mixture into the pan. Place layers of the other half of the fillings, then pour in the remaining egg mixture.
Take the second half of the dough and roll out into a 12" round. Lay the round over the pie and trim off any dough that hangs over the edge. Go around the pie pinching edges of the dough together and folding the bottom slightly over. Once done, flute the edge of the pie. Add about 1 tbsp of water to whatever is left stuck to the egg mixture bowl make an egg wash, and coat the pie.
Bake for 60-75 minutes, until the crust is golden brown. Let cool for about 20-25 minutes when it comes out of the oven.
The result coming out of the oven looked like this:
Clearly, there was a miscalculation, because it puffed up to about 150% of its original size. Once it was cut, though, the problem became clear:
I can only assume that the water in the ricotta evaporated and puffed the whole pie up, leaving that huge empty attic up at the top when the dough hardened. The individual slices looked fine, though, and certainly, it tastes like a million bucks. Next year, though, I'll be trying this again... and I'll get it right.
Tonkatsu is the Japanese version of wiener schnitzel. Instead of veal chop, it is usually a pork chop, breaded then deep fried (though I personally shallow fry them). Frankly, it's not terribly complicated, but there are all sorts of tiny details that I think make the entire dish better in tiny little increments. Put them all together, though, and I think you'd be impressed how good a simple meal like this can be.
The first detail is the choice of cut. Since we're generally going for some kind of pork chop, our choices are: blade chop, loin chop, top loin chop, sirloin chop, butterfly chop and rib chop. My personal favorite is top loin, since it is a fairly solid piece of single meat (and thus will hold up well to tenderizing), is often sold boneless, and has a nice line of fat along the edge but not so much that it needs to be trimmed.
The second bit is breading. Anyone who deep fries knows that this is almost always the same: flour, then egg, then bread crumbs. Again, the trick is in the details. First, seasoning the flour with salt & pepper will save you a step. Next, keep the flour coating as light as possible... you want the chop to be "dry" afterwards, yet still have egg sticking to the chop itself, since too much flour will mean your egg & bread coating will just fall off. The egg coating should be similarly as thin as possible. For bread crumbs, I usually opt for panko, though more out of childhood nostalgia than because I feel they are superior.
The last neat trick I picked up this time around was that if the egg layer of the breaded chop is dry, it will fry up better and the breading is less likely to pull away from the meat while cooking. (Lord knows I've made enough puffy tonkatsu to last a lifetime.) If you have great foresight, you can use room temperature eggs, but if you're like me, you can put the breaded cutlets into the oven on the lowest heat until they dry off a little, as in the recipe below. Most recipes will suggest you let the cutlets rest in the fridge... this gives the breading time to solidify, but either won't dry out the egg properly (if you cover them) or might give the cutlets a chance to absorb odours (if you don't cover them).
Finally, I am incapable of eating tonkatsu without coleslaw. I blame my family for that. Even sadder is that I generally don't like cabbage. To try and make it nummier, I tried shredding the cabbage very thinly makes its bitterness less concentrated. Next, a very, very thin dressing with no sugar, and, since there's nothing to counterbalance it, very little acid as well. I liked the dressing I made last night.
Shallow-Fried Tonkatsu
six chops, enough for 3-4 people
6 top loin pork chops, boneless
¼ c. all-purpose flour
salt & pepper
1 egg
1 c. panko bread crumbs
enough canola oil for about 1-2 cm deep in whatever vessel you'll be using
Taking one chop at a time, cover with a sheet of plastic wrap and tenderize either with a meat mallet or the back of a heavy knife. Be sure to do both sides. There isn't necessarily a ideal thickness, so just a "once over" is fine to soften up the meat a little.
Add salt and pepper to the flour and mix, then spread into a plate or rimmed baking sheet. Drop each chop into the flour mixture one at a time, cover with flour and shake off the excess.
Beat one egg and pour into a bowl wide enough for the chops. Spread the panko in a large plate or rimmed baking sheet - in the interest of less dishes to clean, I often use the same pan as I used for the flour. Put a chop into the egg and mix around until it's covered. Hold the chop above the bowl until all the excess egg drips off, then roll around in the panko until covered. Repeat.
Arrange the breaded chops on a large baking sheet, set your oven to the lowest possible temperature and put the chops in the oven for 10 minutes. Turn off the oven, pull the pan out and flip the chops over and let rest for another 10 minutes. You'll want the chops to be at room temperature when you fry them, so if you're keeping them in the fridge, pull them out about 20-30 minutes before you cook.
Choose your frying vessel. Some people like a cast iron skillet, but I prefer a deep pot to cut down on splashing. Add about half a cup to a cup of canola oil, enough so that it's a little more than 1 cm deep. Heat on medium until the oil is ready. The ideal temperature is right around 350-375°F.
Lay one chop at a time outwards from you into the hot oil. Depending on the size of your vessel, you may want to fry as few as one at a time, as doing more will make the oil cool off too much at once. If the oil drops below 325°F, it will very likely make your cutlets very greasy. Allow the chops to cool on a wire rack with a generous amount of paper towels to soak up the oil.
Cut each chop into bite-sized pieces and serve with rice and coleslaw (see below).
Jon's Coleslaw
4 servings
6 leaves of cabbage, shredded as finely as possible
1 medium carrot, peeled
1 tbsp. mayonnaise
½ tsp. prepared mustard
¼ tsp. white vinegar
a squeeze of lemon juice
salt & pepper
Lay the cabbage leaves on top of each other on a cutting board and cut as finely as possible with a nice, sharp knife, discarding any "fat" slices. Peel the carrot, discarding the outermost layer, then continue peeling until the core is reached. Collect the inner peels of the carrot and slice finely.
In a small bowl, mix the mayonnaise, mustard, vinegar, lemon juice, salt & pepper until all the ingredients are well combined. Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary.
Toss the cabbage and carrot in a large bowl. Add a little dressing at a time and taste each time until it suits your fancy. Serve cold.
The first detail is the choice of cut. Since we're generally going for some kind of pork chop, our choices are: blade chop, loin chop, top loin chop, sirloin chop, butterfly chop and rib chop. My personal favorite is top loin, since it is a fairly solid piece of single meat (and thus will hold up well to tenderizing), is often sold boneless, and has a nice line of fat along the edge but not so much that it needs to be trimmed.
The second bit is breading. Anyone who deep fries knows that this is almost always the same: flour, then egg, then bread crumbs. Again, the trick is in the details. First, seasoning the flour with salt & pepper will save you a step. Next, keep the flour coating as light as possible... you want the chop to be "dry" afterwards, yet still have egg sticking to the chop itself, since too much flour will mean your egg & bread coating will just fall off. The egg coating should be similarly as thin as possible. For bread crumbs, I usually opt for panko, though more out of childhood nostalgia than because I feel they are superior.
The last neat trick I picked up this time around was that if the egg layer of the breaded chop is dry, it will fry up better and the breading is less likely to pull away from the meat while cooking. (Lord knows I've made enough puffy tonkatsu to last a lifetime.) If you have great foresight, you can use room temperature eggs, but if you're like me, you can put the breaded cutlets into the oven on the lowest heat until they dry off a little, as in the recipe below. Most recipes will suggest you let the cutlets rest in the fridge... this gives the breading time to solidify, but either won't dry out the egg properly (if you cover them) or might give the cutlets a chance to absorb odours (if you don't cover them).
Finally, I am incapable of eating tonkatsu without coleslaw. I blame my family for that. Even sadder is that I generally don't like cabbage. To try and make it nummier, I tried shredding the cabbage very thinly makes its bitterness less concentrated. Next, a very, very thin dressing with no sugar, and, since there's nothing to counterbalance it, very little acid as well. I liked the dressing I made last night.
Shallow-Fried Tonkatsu
six chops, enough for 3-4 people
6 top loin pork chops, boneless
¼ c. all-purpose flour
salt & pepper
1 egg
1 c. panko bread crumbs
enough canola oil for about 1-2 cm deep in whatever vessel you'll be using
Taking one chop at a time, cover with a sheet of plastic wrap and tenderize either with a meat mallet or the back of a heavy knife. Be sure to do both sides. There isn't necessarily a ideal thickness, so just a "once over" is fine to soften up the meat a little.
Add salt and pepper to the flour and mix, then spread into a plate or rimmed baking sheet. Drop each chop into the flour mixture one at a time, cover with flour and shake off the excess.
Beat one egg and pour into a bowl wide enough for the chops. Spread the panko in a large plate or rimmed baking sheet - in the interest of less dishes to clean, I often use the same pan as I used for the flour. Put a chop into the egg and mix around until it's covered. Hold the chop above the bowl until all the excess egg drips off, then roll around in the panko until covered. Repeat.
Arrange the breaded chops on a large baking sheet, set your oven to the lowest possible temperature and put the chops in the oven for 10 minutes. Turn off the oven, pull the pan out and flip the chops over and let rest for another 10 minutes. You'll want the chops to be at room temperature when you fry them, so if you're keeping them in the fridge, pull them out about 20-30 minutes before you cook.
Choose your frying vessel. Some people like a cast iron skillet, but I prefer a deep pot to cut down on splashing. Add about half a cup to a cup of canola oil, enough so that it's a little more than 1 cm deep. Heat on medium until the oil is ready. The ideal temperature is right around 350-375°F.
Lay one chop at a time outwards from you into the hot oil. Depending on the size of your vessel, you may want to fry as few as one at a time, as doing more will make the oil cool off too much at once. If the oil drops below 325°F, it will very likely make your cutlets very greasy. Allow the chops to cool on a wire rack with a generous amount of paper towels to soak up the oil.
Cut each chop into bite-sized pieces and serve with rice and coleslaw (see below).
Jon's Coleslaw
4 servings
6 leaves of cabbage, shredded as finely as possible
1 medium carrot, peeled
1 tbsp. mayonnaise
½ tsp. prepared mustard
¼ tsp. white vinegar
a squeeze of lemon juice
salt & pepper
Lay the cabbage leaves on top of each other on a cutting board and cut as finely as possible with a nice, sharp knife, discarding any "fat" slices. Peel the carrot, discarding the outermost layer, then continue peeling until the core is reached. Collect the inner peels of the carrot and slice finely.
In a small bowl, mix the mayonnaise, mustard, vinegar, lemon juice, salt & pepper until all the ingredients are well combined. Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary.
Toss the cabbage and carrot in a large bowl. Add a little dressing at a time and taste each time until it suits your fancy. Serve cold.
I remember hearing about carbonara sauce when I was a teenager; "Heart attack on a plate" is generally what I called it, figuring it was pretty much as bad as you could get. Alfredo seemed bad enough, being made of heavy cream, cheese and butter (the holy trinity of cardiac arrest). The idea of a sauce based in eggs (egg yolks, often), pancetta and cheese seemed even more ridiculous. The first time I actually tried pasta carbonara was in Montreal, when I worked in an Italian restaurant. The daytime chef, Roberto, made us an ultra-rich version one day - 3-4 egg yolks per serving, if I recall correctly - but what I remember most wasn't the cholesterol, but rather his great disdain for chefs that "cheated" and used cream to make the sauce thick and smooth. True carbonara, he insisted, was egg-based, had no cream, and thickened because it cooked gently on the still-warm pasta.
I remember taking a crack at it a few months ago and struggling. The eggs scrambled, rather than warming up into a sauce, leaving it lumpy and unpleasant. Clearly, temperature control was the most complicated part.
My second try was straight out of an America's Test Kitchen cookbook. They (of course) eschewed cream, opted for bacon instead of pancetta (gasp!), went with fewer eggs, and left them whole. The last trick was using a warm bowl (by putting it in a cooling oven) instead of the pot where the pasta was cooked for the final mix. This is a halved version of the recipe:
2 very generous servings
2 tbsp. olive oil
¼ lb. bacon (about 4 slices), cut once each way for ¼-inch strips
¼ c. dry white wine
2 medium eggs (Yes, medium... it's just what I had. I imagine large would be fine)
½ c. grated Parmegiano-Reggiano cheese
2 cloves garlic, minced
½ lb. spaghetti
salt & pepper
Start the pasta water heating... it should be salted to taste "like the sea." Around 4 quarts should be a reasonable amount.
Heat the olive oil in a large skillet until shimmering, then add the bacon. Cook for about 6-8 minutes, until lightly browned and crisp. Add the white wine and simmer until the alcohol cooks off and it reduces a bit, around 6-8 minutes. Set aside and cover to keep warm. I waited a moment then put a serving bowl on the element to warm it up for the mixing step, rather than warming it in the oven.
Beat the eggs, cheese and garlic together in a bowl. Set aside. (you'll probably have time to do this as the bacon mixture is cooking)
When the water comes to a boil, add the pasta and cook until al dente. Reserve some of the pasta water, then drain the pasta. Immediately transfer the pasta to the warmed bowl; If it seems too dry, add some of the reserved pasta water to keep it moist. Pour the egg mixture on top with a sprinkle of salt; Toss well to combine until the sauce becomes smooth and coats the pasta. Add the bacon mixture and toss well. Season with black pepper and serve.
My second try wasn't nearly as disastrous as the first... quite the contrary, the sauce was silky smooth and delicious. My third try, two weeks later, didn't fare so well. Like in the first try, I found that the sauce got lumpy and scrambled-egg-like, which probably means the bowl was too hot (doubtful) or I wasn't tossing the sauce well enough. The way I see it, once you add the egg mixture, you can't leave the sauce alone until it has cooled slightly and gets to that smooth consistency, or else you'll give it a moment to cook. Much like fancy scrambled eggs, you have to stir it the whole time.
I'm usually a big fan of removing the pasta from the water with a pasta fork or tongs, but I can see a bit of a problem with doing that here: the whole sauce mixing process is fairly time-sensitive and would probably benefit from having its steps simplified as much as possible. Dumping out the pasta water through a strainer is far simpler than picking through the water for every last strand of spaghetti.
Next time, I plan to use large eggs, then eventually I'd like to think about using only egg yolks. Much like the egg pasta, I'll probably try to go by comparable volume: since the original recipe suggests 3 eggs for a pound of pasta, I'll probably try 3 yolks for this half-recipe.
I remember taking a crack at it a few months ago and struggling. The eggs scrambled, rather than warming up into a sauce, leaving it lumpy and unpleasant. Clearly, temperature control was the most complicated part.
My second try was straight out of an America's Test Kitchen cookbook. They (of course) eschewed cream, opted for bacon instead of pancetta (gasp!), went with fewer eggs, and left them whole. The last trick was using a warm bowl (by putting it in a cooling oven) instead of the pot where the pasta was cooked for the final mix. This is a halved version of the recipe:
2 very generous servings
2 tbsp. olive oil
¼ lb. bacon (about 4 slices), cut once each way for ¼-inch strips
¼ c. dry white wine
2 medium eggs (Yes, medium... it's just what I had. I imagine large would be fine)
½ c. grated Parmegiano-Reggiano cheese
2 cloves garlic, minced
½ lb. spaghetti
salt & pepper
Start the pasta water heating... it should be salted to taste "like the sea." Around 4 quarts should be a reasonable amount.
Heat the olive oil in a large skillet until shimmering, then add the bacon. Cook for about 6-8 minutes, until lightly browned and crisp. Add the white wine and simmer until the alcohol cooks off and it reduces a bit, around 6-8 minutes. Set aside and cover to keep warm. I waited a moment then put a serving bowl on the element to warm it up for the mixing step, rather than warming it in the oven.
Beat the eggs, cheese and garlic together in a bowl. Set aside. (you'll probably have time to do this as the bacon mixture is cooking)
When the water comes to a boil, add the pasta and cook until al dente. Reserve some of the pasta water, then drain the pasta. Immediately transfer the pasta to the warmed bowl; If it seems too dry, add some of the reserved pasta water to keep it moist. Pour the egg mixture on top with a sprinkle of salt; Toss well to combine until the sauce becomes smooth and coats the pasta. Add the bacon mixture and toss well. Season with black pepper and serve.
My second try wasn't nearly as disastrous as the first... quite the contrary, the sauce was silky smooth and delicious. My third try, two weeks later, didn't fare so well. Like in the first try, I found that the sauce got lumpy and scrambled-egg-like, which probably means the bowl was too hot (doubtful) or I wasn't tossing the sauce well enough. The way I see it, once you add the egg mixture, you can't leave the sauce alone until it has cooled slightly and gets to that smooth consistency, or else you'll give it a moment to cook. Much like fancy scrambled eggs, you have to stir it the whole time.
I'm usually a big fan of removing the pasta from the water with a pasta fork or tongs, but I can see a bit of a problem with doing that here: the whole sauce mixing process is fairly time-sensitive and would probably benefit from having its steps simplified as much as possible. Dumping out the pasta water through a strainer is far simpler than picking through the water for every last strand of spaghetti.
Next time, I plan to use large eggs, then eventually I'd like to think about using only egg yolks. Much like the egg pasta, I'll probably try to go by comparable volume: since the original recipe suggests 3 eggs for a pound of pasta, I'll probably try 3 yolks for this half-recipe.
My sweetie recently brought home a 3-DVD set of America's Test Kitchen with about 10 shows worth of segments with a wide range of recipes. One of them was Pan-Seared Shrimp, which resembles the (badly named) Shrimp Scampi that I've been trying lately. Among the suggestions were to toss the shrimp in salt, pepper and sugar, then sear them at very high heat with just oil for 1 minute, then flip and take them off the heat for 30 seconds, so that they don't overcook and get rubbery. Then, they mixed butter, garlic and parsley, added it to the pan and covered to finish cooking.
For my part, I wanted a ton of buttery sauce so that I could dip my bread afterwards, and liked the wine-based sauce that the old recipe had. The simple solution was to mix the two recipes up, staying consistent with the reasons for using each method.
Two servings
2 tbsp. olive oil
1/2 lb. shrimp, thawed, peeled and deveined
salt & pepper
1 tsp. sugar
2 tbsp. butter
1 shallot, minced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 tsp. parsley, minced
1/4 c. dry white wine
Heat olive oil in a skillet over high heat until the oil barely starts smoking. Add the shrimp. If the skillet is not large enough to sear all of the shrimp in one layer, do them in batches. Sear for 1 minute, then flip and remove from heat for 30-45 seconds. Remove the shrimp from the pan and set them aside.
Add butter, shallots and garlic to the pan and sauté briefly. Before the garlic browns, add parsley and wine (1/4 c. is actually very, very generous for two portions). Reduce liquid down to about half, then add shrimp. Cover and remove from heat and let sit 2 minutes, then serve.
I really liked the result, as the shrimp got a lovely sear (due in part to the touch of sugar) and stayed very tender. The sauce was many times better than my original try, due perhaps in part to a slightly better quality of wine. It was, as intended, perfect for soaking up into pieces of crusty bread. Delicious!
For my part, I wanted a ton of buttery sauce so that I could dip my bread afterwards, and liked the wine-based sauce that the old recipe had. The simple solution was to mix the two recipes up, staying consistent with the reasons for using each method.
Two servings
2 tbsp. olive oil
1/2 lb. shrimp, thawed, peeled and deveined
salt & pepper
1 tsp. sugar
2 tbsp. butter
1 shallot, minced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 tsp. parsley, minced
1/4 c. dry white wine
Heat olive oil in a skillet over high heat until the oil barely starts smoking. Add the shrimp. If the skillet is not large enough to sear all of the shrimp in one layer, do them in batches. Sear for 1 minute, then flip and remove from heat for 30-45 seconds. Remove the shrimp from the pan and set them aside.
Add butter, shallots and garlic to the pan and sauté briefly. Before the garlic browns, add parsley and wine (1/4 c. is actually very, very generous for two portions). Reduce liquid down to about half, then add shrimp. Cover and remove from heat and let sit 2 minutes, then serve.
I really liked the result, as the shrimp got a lovely sear (due in part to the touch of sugar) and stayed very tender. The sauce was many times better than my original try, due perhaps in part to a slightly better quality of wine. It was, as intended, perfect for soaking up into pieces of crusty bread. Delicious!
Every so often, I'll try a recipe based on nothing more than the name of the dish. If you had asked me five years what beef bourguignon was, I would've probably shrugged and mumbled something about it "having meat." On the plus side, this is a great way of broadening your horizons since you won't always be lucky enough to have new foods served to you. On the other hand, since I've only had my own and perhaps a Chef Boyardee version, sometimes it's tough to know exactly what you're aiming for.
Pin the tail on the donkey?... Sure! Now what the hell is a "donkey"?
Looking over the recipe, though, I picture a thick, rich sauce (like beef stew with a velvety consistency) with big, soft cubes of well-braised beef and topped with (pearl) onions and mushrooms. To be fair, I've often just thrown the ingredients into a casserole dish and baked it (meat, onions, mushrooms and all) for "bourguignon casserole" but I thought for once I would follow a recipe as closely as possible. This one is from the 1961 (!!) edition of The New York Times Cook Book. Be warned, this is a long recipe... plan for 4-5 hours of lead time.
Makes 6 servings
2½ lbs. chuck beef, cut into large cubes
flour
7 tbsp. butter, at least 1 tsp. soft
2 tbsp. olive oil
salt & pepper
4 slices of bacon, diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 carrot, coarsely chopped
1 leek, coarsely chopped
1½ c. onion, coarsely chopped
1 tbsp. parsley, chopped
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. thyme
½ bottle red wine (Burgandy)
sugar
2 medium onions, sliced
lemon juice
1 lb. mushrooms, sliced
Roll the beef cubes in flour, then brown them on all sides in a skillet over a high heat, with 2 tbsp. (each) butter and olive oil. Sprinkle salt and pepper. Transfer to a casserole dish.
Preheat oven to 350°F.
In the same skillet, add bacon, garlic, carrot, leek, chopped onions and parsley. Keep stirring until the bacon is crisp and the veggies are lightly browned, then add them to the casserole dish. Add 1 c. water to the hot skillet and deglaze, scraping off all the nummy bits and add to the casserole dish.
Add the red wine, bay leaf, thyme and enough water to barely cover the meat and bake for one and a half hours.
Prepare a beurre manié: take about 1 tsp. flour into the palm of your hand and add 1 tsp. of softened butter. Using the other hand, knead the butter with your fingers to work the flour into butter. It will be a little slippery at first, but eventually you will get a soft doughy consistency. Pull out the casserole and add little bits of the beurre manié to it while stirring. Return the casserole to the oven for another 2-3 hours.
Brown the sliced onions in 2 tbsp. butter and a dash of sugar. Once browned, add a little water, cover and cook over low heat until the onions are almost tender.
Sauté the mushrooms in 2 tbsp. each of butter and olive oil until lightly browned on one side. Sprinkle with lemon juice, then turn to brown the other side.
To serve, add the onions to the casserole and garnish with the mushrooms and some parsley when serving.
Notes:
- This is a tremendously meaty dish and really benefits from being served with rice, bread or on pasta.
- I skipped only one step in the original recipe that I know is considered fairly important: Immediately after browning the beef, the meat is supposed to be flambéed with cognac. This obviously adds a distinct flavour to the dish, but to be honest, I don't trust my overhead fan and I'd really rather not take the chance of setting it on fire. Maybe once I have a nicer kitchen, I'll try it with the pyrotechnics.
- The second bit of sacrilege is the use of sliced onions instead of those cute little pearl onions. I imagine if I were to serve this to company, I would shell out the extra cash for them, but I'm not sure there is such an earthshatteringly different taste to them, especially considering how powerful a sauce the final dish has anyhow.
- I had a touch of difficulty finding a true Burgundy wine with a reasonable price tag. Though I suspect some other pinot noir wines would have a similar body, I really don't know wines enough to be adventurous, so I went with Pinossimo, a simple French pinot noir made "in the Burgundy style of winemaking." Good enough!
- I still struggle with a good final consistency for the dish, especially with that final 2-3 hours in the oven. The taste isn't quite right before it, but I found adding the beurre manié before that last baking thickened it a little too much and it ended up charring a little bit. The 1+1 tsp. of beurre manié I wrote above is actually less than the original recipe suggests, but I'm wondering if, instead, it wouldn't be better to simply wait until the last 10 minutes to add it. This will likely be what I try next time.
Pin the tail on the donkey?... Sure! Now what the hell is a "donkey"?
Looking over the recipe, though, I picture a thick, rich sauce (like beef stew with a velvety consistency) with big, soft cubes of well-braised beef and topped with (pearl) onions and mushrooms. To be fair, I've often just thrown the ingredients into a casserole dish and baked it (meat, onions, mushrooms and all) for "bourguignon casserole" but I thought for once I would follow a recipe as closely as possible. This one is from the 1961 (!!) edition of The New York Times Cook Book. Be warned, this is a long recipe... plan for 4-5 hours of lead time.
Makes 6 servings
2½ lbs. chuck beef, cut into large cubes
flour
7 tbsp. butter, at least 1 tsp. soft
2 tbsp. olive oil
salt & pepper
4 slices of bacon, diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 carrot, coarsely chopped
1 leek, coarsely chopped
1½ c. onion, coarsely chopped
1 tbsp. parsley, chopped
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. thyme
½ bottle red wine (Burgandy)
sugar
2 medium onions, sliced
lemon juice
1 lb. mushrooms, sliced
Roll the beef cubes in flour, then brown them on all sides in a skillet over a high heat, with 2 tbsp. (each) butter and olive oil. Sprinkle salt and pepper. Transfer to a casserole dish.
Preheat oven to 350°F.
In the same skillet, add bacon, garlic, carrot, leek, chopped onions and parsley. Keep stirring until the bacon is crisp and the veggies are lightly browned, then add them to the casserole dish. Add 1 c. water to the hot skillet and deglaze, scraping off all the nummy bits and add to the casserole dish.
Add the red wine, bay leaf, thyme and enough water to barely cover the meat and bake for one and a half hours.
Prepare a beurre manié: take about 1 tsp. flour into the palm of your hand and add 1 tsp. of softened butter. Using the other hand, knead the butter with your fingers to work the flour into butter. It will be a little slippery at first, but eventually you will get a soft doughy consistency. Pull out the casserole and add little bits of the beurre manié to it while stirring. Return the casserole to the oven for another 2-3 hours.
Brown the sliced onions in 2 tbsp. butter and a dash of sugar. Once browned, add a little water, cover and cook over low heat until the onions are almost tender.
Sauté the mushrooms in 2 tbsp. each of butter and olive oil until lightly browned on one side. Sprinkle with lemon juice, then turn to brown the other side.
To serve, add the onions to the casserole and garnish with the mushrooms and some parsley when serving.
Notes:
- This is a tremendously meaty dish and really benefits from being served with rice, bread or on pasta.
- I skipped only one step in the original recipe that I know is considered fairly important: Immediately after browning the beef, the meat is supposed to be flambéed with cognac. This obviously adds a distinct flavour to the dish, but to be honest, I don't trust my overhead fan and I'd really rather not take the chance of setting it on fire. Maybe once I have a nicer kitchen, I'll try it with the pyrotechnics.
- The second bit of sacrilege is the use of sliced onions instead of those cute little pearl onions. I imagine if I were to serve this to company, I would shell out the extra cash for them, but I'm not sure there is such an earthshatteringly different taste to them, especially considering how powerful a sauce the final dish has anyhow.
- I had a touch of difficulty finding a true Burgundy wine with a reasonable price tag. Though I suspect some other pinot noir wines would have a similar body, I really don't know wines enough to be adventurous, so I went with Pinossimo, a simple French pinot noir made "in the Burgundy style of winemaking." Good enough!
- I still struggle with a good final consistency for the dish, especially with that final 2-3 hours in the oven. The taste isn't quite right before it, but I found adding the beurre manié before that last baking thickened it a little too much and it ended up charring a little bit. The 1+1 tsp. of beurre manié I wrote above is actually less than the original recipe suggests, but I'm wondering if, instead, it wouldn't be better to simply wait until the last 10 minutes to add it. This will likely be what I try next time.
It's been a while since I've posted, not so much because I haven't been cooking, but because I haven't been writing! For the next little while, I'll revisit some of the new recipes I've tried over the past couple of months.
This is one that's been passable, but not especially successful so far. My two attempts at pizza (using the following recipe) have a little lackluster because I can't seem to get used to the exact timing. This is partly because I'm not sure exactly how hot my oven is and partly because I started using a baking stone just recently. My other struggle is coming up with a good tomato-based sauce though, frankly, if the dough is perfect, the rest will fall into place.
Makes 2 thin 15" pizzas, or 1 thick
1 tsp. active dry yeast
4 c. all-purpose flour
½ c. bread flour
¼ c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 tsp. salt
1½ c. lukewarm water
Put the yeast, flours, 2 tsp. of the olive oil and salt into a bowl. Mix up a bit, then add the water, mixing until the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl. The dough should be barely tacky, but not sticky to the touch (perhaps a little more floury than regular bread dough). Dip your fingers in a little olive oil, lift the dough out of the bowl and shape into a ball. Place the ball in an oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap and leave to ferment 1 hour, or 3 hours in the fridge.
Preheat the oven to 500°F. Split the ball if making 2 thin crusts, and flatten the dough ball with the palm of your hand onto an oiled baking sheet. Let rest for 15 minutes, then begin stretching the dough gently towards the edges. Aim for ¼" thick for a thin crust, and ½" for thick.
When using a tomato sauce, it's usually best to bake the pizza with just the sauce for about half of the time, then add toppings and cheese for the second half.
In my latest attempt, 10 minutes with sauce + 10 minutes with cheese & toppings proved to be a little too much time, as the cheese browned over (and became hard as it cooled) and the crust was dry and far too crunchy.
I'll get it right soon, though!
This is one that's been passable, but not especially successful so far. My two attempts at pizza (using the following recipe) have a little lackluster because I can't seem to get used to the exact timing. This is partly because I'm not sure exactly how hot my oven is and partly because I started using a baking stone just recently. My other struggle is coming up with a good tomato-based sauce though, frankly, if the dough is perfect, the rest will fall into place.
Makes 2 thin 15" pizzas, or 1 thick
1 tsp. active dry yeast
4 c. all-purpose flour
½ c. bread flour
¼ c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 tsp. salt
1½ c. lukewarm water
Put the yeast, flours, 2 tsp. of the olive oil and salt into a bowl. Mix up a bit, then add the water, mixing until the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl. The dough should be barely tacky, but not sticky to the touch (perhaps a little more floury than regular bread dough). Dip your fingers in a little olive oil, lift the dough out of the bowl and shape into a ball. Place the ball in an oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap and leave to ferment 1 hour, or 3 hours in the fridge.
Preheat the oven to 500°F. Split the ball if making 2 thin crusts, and flatten the dough ball with the palm of your hand onto an oiled baking sheet. Let rest for 15 minutes, then begin stretching the dough gently towards the edges. Aim for ¼" thick for a thin crust, and ½" for thick.
When using a tomato sauce, it's usually best to bake the pizza with just the sauce for about half of the time, then add toppings and cheese for the second half.
In my latest attempt, 10 minutes with sauce + 10 minutes with cheese & toppings proved to be a little too much time, as the cheese browned over (and became hard as it cooled) and the crust was dry and far too crunchy.
I'll get it right soon, though!
Ah, gyoza. One of my favorite things in the universe. Gyoza are a kind of dumpling, often with ground pork and minced veggies wrapped in a thin dough. Of course, every Asian culture has their own spin on dumplings and sometimes even different kinds. In the Japanese version, you can expect exclusively pork, garlic and sesame oil, though small variations exist.
I've been eating and making gyoza all my life but I must admit I never really gave the recipes much thought. In fact, while some of the ingredients remain consistent (like the pork, garlic, nappa, ginger) others have made only an occasional appearance (like mushrooms, sesame oil and bok choi). Had I really sat down to think about it, perhaps I would've come up with a firmer recipe, but for now I'll just write what I used last week and follow that with ideas I'd like to try next time.
Gyoza wrappers are available at any asian food store, usually in the freezer but occasionally thawed in the dairy case. They often come in double packets, each a half a pound (about 50 wrappers) though Murphy's Law means that you'll either have too many wrappers or not enough filling. The wrappers are often sold as "potsticker", "dumpling" or "siu mai" wrappers, which may be technically different but are all similar enough for the job. Just make sure they aren't wonton wrappers (which are too thin), eggroll wrappers (which are far too big) or square (which makes them hard to fold). The wrappers should be circular.
1/2 lb. ground pork
1 whole egg, beaten
3 nappa leaves
3 scallions
3 cloves of garlic
3 shiitake mushrooms, dried & reconstituted
1 thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and grated
salt & pepper to taste
1/2 lb. gyoza wrappers
Mix the ground pork in a bowl to break it up - This is usually easiest with your hands, provided the pork is not straight out of the refrigerator. Chop the nappa, mushrooms, scallions and garlic finely, and add them to the bowl along with the egg, ginger and salt & pepper. Mix well.
Wash your hands. Get a teaspoon and small bowl with a little lukewarm water, which will be used to moisten the edges of the wrappers to seal them. Though I'm sure egg wash or a cornstarch mixture might be better for the job, water works just fine.
Take one wrapper and lay it in the palm of your hand. Place about a teaspoon of mixture in the middle of the wrapper. Dip a finger into the water and moisten the edge of the wrapper. You only need to go about halfway around, and stopping there means one "finger" of water should be enough. Now fold the dry edge of the wrapper over and seal it into a half-moon shape - make sure there isn't too much air trapped inside and that it is properly sealed. Finally, crimp the sealed edges (this works best if you use your wet finger to help it stick). Some people to prefer to crimp the edge as you're folding it over... Either way is fine, but the crimping is important as it gives the gyoza a purse-shape with a bottom. Repeat all afternoon.
The gyoza can be frozen at this point with little to no loss of quality when thawed. The frozen gyoza even pan-fry exceptionally well. They can be boiled or deep-fried, but really, the best way to have them is pan-fried:
Heat oil (olive or peanut is fine) in a frying pan. Add the gyoza and fry at high heat until the bottoms turn brown. Add water to the pan (figure about half a cup to a full-sized skillet, less if the pan is smaller) and cover, though not tightly. Steam until the water has evaporated, then serve with dipping sauce. The dipping sauce is generally made from vinegar (usually rice vinegar, though I've often used white), soy sauce and, if available, rayu (a chili-infused vegetable oil).
For pan-frying gyoza, I am now convinced that the only thing that is important is that the surface be non-stick. Teflon isn't ideal since it's not particularly safe at high heat, but a heat-resistant non-stick coating, or a well-seasoned cast iron pan are both excellent options.
In researching gyoza (I often Google and surf all over the place while posting), I found that most recipes suggest nira, or garlic chives, which I've never used. I probably should have used sesame oil but I just didn't happen to have any around. I found I couldn't chop the shiitake quite small enough for my tastes and found it didn't add anything particularly lovely... in fact, I found they added an earthy taste which I didn't like so I'll skip them next time. Finally, I should really get some rayu... I haven't had any in the house in ages.
I've been eating and making gyoza all my life but I must admit I never really gave the recipes much thought. In fact, while some of the ingredients remain consistent (like the pork, garlic, nappa, ginger) others have made only an occasional appearance (like mushrooms, sesame oil and bok choi). Had I really sat down to think about it, perhaps I would've come up with a firmer recipe, but for now I'll just write what I used last week and follow that with ideas I'd like to try next time.
Gyoza wrappers are available at any asian food store, usually in the freezer but occasionally thawed in the dairy case. They often come in double packets, each a half a pound (about 50 wrappers) though Murphy's Law means that you'll either have too many wrappers or not enough filling. The wrappers are often sold as "potsticker", "dumpling" or "siu mai" wrappers, which may be technically different but are all similar enough for the job. Just make sure they aren't wonton wrappers (which are too thin), eggroll wrappers (which are far too big) or square (which makes them hard to fold). The wrappers should be circular.
1/2 lb. ground pork
1 whole egg, beaten
3 nappa leaves
3 scallions
3 cloves of garlic
3 shiitake mushrooms, dried & reconstituted
1 thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and grated
salt & pepper to taste
1/2 lb. gyoza wrappers
Mix the ground pork in a bowl to break it up - This is usually easiest with your hands, provided the pork is not straight out of the refrigerator. Chop the nappa, mushrooms, scallions and garlic finely, and add them to the bowl along with the egg, ginger and salt & pepper. Mix well.
Wash your hands. Get a teaspoon and small bowl with a little lukewarm water, which will be used to moisten the edges of the wrappers to seal them. Though I'm sure egg wash or a cornstarch mixture might be better for the job, water works just fine.
Take one wrapper and lay it in the palm of your hand. Place about a teaspoon of mixture in the middle of the wrapper. Dip a finger into the water and moisten the edge of the wrapper. You only need to go about halfway around, and stopping there means one "finger" of water should be enough. Now fold the dry edge of the wrapper over and seal it into a half-moon shape - make sure there isn't too much air trapped inside and that it is properly sealed. Finally, crimp the sealed edges (this works best if you use your wet finger to help it stick). Some people to prefer to crimp the edge as you're folding it over... Either way is fine, but the crimping is important as it gives the gyoza a purse-shape with a bottom. Repeat all afternoon.
The gyoza can be frozen at this point with little to no loss of quality when thawed. The frozen gyoza even pan-fry exceptionally well. They can be boiled or deep-fried, but really, the best way to have them is pan-fried:
Heat oil (olive or peanut is fine) in a frying pan. Add the gyoza and fry at high heat until the bottoms turn brown. Add water to the pan (figure about half a cup to a full-sized skillet, less if the pan is smaller) and cover, though not tightly. Steam until the water has evaporated, then serve with dipping sauce. The dipping sauce is generally made from vinegar (usually rice vinegar, though I've often used white), soy sauce and, if available, rayu (a chili-infused vegetable oil).
For pan-frying gyoza, I am now convinced that the only thing that is important is that the surface be non-stick. Teflon isn't ideal since it's not particularly safe at high heat, but a heat-resistant non-stick coating, or a well-seasoned cast iron pan are both excellent options.
In researching gyoza (I often Google and surf all over the place while posting), I found that most recipes suggest nira, or garlic chives, which I've never used. I probably should have used sesame oil but I just didn't happen to have any around. I found I couldn't chop the shiitake quite small enough for my tastes and found it didn't add anything particularly lovely... in fact, I found they added an earthy taste which I didn't like so I'll skip them next time. Finally, I should really get some rayu... I haven't had any in the house in ages.
"Italian bread" is a rather vague term. Considering the wide range of regional differences to even the simplest Italian dishes, this is not necessarily one specific form of bread, but rather the generic soft bread often labeled as "Italian" in grocery stores. This particular bread makes heavy use of a biga (a pre-ferment with a dough-like consistency).
Biga
Bread
To make the biga, mix the flour and yeast, then add a little more than 3/4 c. of tepid water. Stir the mixture until it collects into a coarse ball. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead for about 5 minutes until "soft and pliable, tacky but not sticky." Place in an oiled bowl and ferment at room temperature for about 2-4 hours (until doubled). Punch down, then store in the fridge overnight. The proportions above will make just about 18 ounces of biga.
In the morning, remove the biga from the fridge for about an hour, cut into about 10 equal pieces, then cover and let rest for one hour.
For the bread, stir together the flour, salt, sugar and yeast. Next, add the biga pieces, oil and water and stir the mixture until it collects into a ball. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead for about 10 minutes, aiming for the same consistency as the biga. Place in an oiled bowl and ferment at room temperature for about 2 hours (until doubled).
Shape the bread. This will make 2 1-pound loaves, or about 9 big (4 oz) rolls. Proof for about an hour (until about one and a half times its size). Slash.
Bake at 450°F for about 20 minutes, turning once. Having a pan in the oven with hot water to produce steam for the first 5-10 minutes of baking would be ideal.
Originally, I tried this recipe at work, where we have a commercial (albeit low-grade) kitchen. The gas stove was especially good to our loaves, giving them a lovely golden brown. When I tried duplicating the recipe at home, I muffed the shaping, resulting in a giant mutant tumour during baking, as well as some unpleasant blackening on the top. The taste was, however, excellent in both cases: Light, fluffy and probably a perfect accompaniment (with a little softened butter) to pasta.
Biga
| 2½ c. or 11.25 oz. | bread flour |
| 1/2 tsp. | instant yeast |
| ~3/4 c. | water (room temperature) |
Bread
| 18 oz. | biga |
| 2½ c. or 11.25 oz. | bread flour |
| 1 2/3 tsp. | salt |
| 1 tbsp. | sugar |
| 1 tsp. | instant yeast |
| 1 tbsp. | olive oil |
| ~3/4 c. | water |
To make the biga, mix the flour and yeast, then add a little more than 3/4 c. of tepid water. Stir the mixture until it collects into a coarse ball. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead for about 5 minutes until "soft and pliable, tacky but not sticky." Place in an oiled bowl and ferment at room temperature for about 2-4 hours (until doubled). Punch down, then store in the fridge overnight. The proportions above will make just about 18 ounces of biga.
In the morning, remove the biga from the fridge for about an hour, cut into about 10 equal pieces, then cover and let rest for one hour.
For the bread, stir together the flour, salt, sugar and yeast. Next, add the biga pieces, oil and water and stir the mixture until it collects into a ball. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead for about 10 minutes, aiming for the same consistency as the biga. Place in an oiled bowl and ferment at room temperature for about 2 hours (until doubled).
Shape the bread. This will make 2 1-pound loaves, or about 9 big (4 oz) rolls. Proof for about an hour (until about one and a half times its size). Slash.
Bake at 450°F for about 20 minutes, turning once. Having a pan in the oven with hot water to produce steam for the first 5-10 minutes of baking would be ideal.
Originally, I tried this recipe at work, where we have a commercial (albeit low-grade) kitchen. The gas stove was especially good to our loaves, giving them a lovely golden brown. When I tried duplicating the recipe at home, I muffed the shaping, resulting in a giant mutant tumour during baking, as well as some unpleasant blackening on the top. The taste was, however, excellent in both cases: Light, fluffy and probably a perfect accompaniment (with a little softened butter) to pasta.
In truth, we actually tried this nearly a month ago, but since there have only been 2 new breads in the house, I figured they were both worth writing up.
The idea with this bread is to simmer milk with crushed almonds in order to infuse it with almond flavour. The result is a rich, heavy bread that stayed in excellent condition for about 3-4 days.
As to the whole "isn't 'proofing' just fancy pants talk for waiting?" issue, I've been reading an excellent book for aspiring bread maniacs called The Bread Baker's Apprentice by Peter Reinhart. In it, the author chooses to distinguish fermentation as the first main rise of dough once all the ingredients have been kneaded together, and proofing as the rise that comes after shaping the dough into its final form.
For those who are interested in this sort of thing, it's called "proofing" because it 'proves' the viability of the yeast (no yeast, no rise), so any stage where the dough rises could be named as such, but it does simplify things to have conventions.
1 c. almonds (ground to a powder)
2¼ c. whole milk
1 tsp. saffron threads
2 tsp. active dry yeast
4 tbsp. unsalted butter
4-5 c. all-purpose flour
2 large eggs
1/4 c. sugar
scant 1½ tsp. salt
~2 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
Grind the almonds into a powder, then place in a pot with 2 c. milk and simmer until thickened (~15 minutes). Set aside until lukewarm.
Heat the last 1/4 c. milk to lukewarm, add saffron threads and yeast. Add to the almond milk and set aside.
Cut 4 tbsp. butter into small pieces, then mix in a bowl with 1 c. flour. Add 2 c. flour to the almond/saffron milk mixture and stir until smooth. Add the floured butter, eggs, sugar, salt, 1 c. flour and mix. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead for 6-7 minutes, until smooth but somewhat sticky.
Leave to ferment in a clean, dry bowl for about 1½ to 2 hours.
Lightly butter 2 bread pans. Cut the dough into quarters and shape 2 pairs of boules, placing each pair into a bread pan. Cover with plastic and proof for 1½ hours.
Brush the tops of the loaves with melted butter and bake at 375°F for 25 minutes.
The one big problem we ran into with this bread was actually confusion over the recipe. In the introduction, it said that in the traditional way of making this bread with boiling water & almond, "the mixture is strained to remove the granular bits of almond", but there was no sign of straining in the instructions for our modern version. We assumed (perhaps mistakenly) that the almond could stay, but frankly I have no idea what it was supposed to be like.
The idea with this bread is to simmer milk with crushed almonds in order to infuse it with almond flavour. The result is a rich, heavy bread that stayed in excellent condition for about 3-4 days.
As to the whole "isn't 'proofing' just fancy pants talk for waiting?" issue, I've been reading an excellent book for aspiring bread maniacs called The Bread Baker's Apprentice by Peter Reinhart. In it, the author chooses to distinguish fermentation as the first main rise of dough once all the ingredients have been kneaded together, and proofing as the rise that comes after shaping the dough into its final form.
For those who are interested in this sort of thing, it's called "proofing" because it 'proves' the viability of the yeast (no yeast, no rise), so any stage where the dough rises could be named as such, but it does simplify things to have conventions.
1 c. almonds (ground to a powder)
2¼ c. whole milk
1 tsp. saffron threads
2 tsp. active dry yeast
4 tbsp. unsalted butter
4-5 c. all-purpose flour
2 large eggs
1/4 c. sugar
scant 1½ tsp. salt
~2 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
Grind the almonds into a powder, then place in a pot with 2 c. milk and simmer until thickened (~15 minutes). Set aside until lukewarm.
Heat the last 1/4 c. milk to lukewarm, add saffron threads and yeast. Add to the almond milk and set aside.
Cut 4 tbsp. butter into small pieces, then mix in a bowl with 1 c. flour. Add 2 c. flour to the almond/saffron milk mixture and stir until smooth. Add the floured butter, eggs, sugar, salt, 1 c. flour and mix. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead for 6-7 minutes, until smooth but somewhat sticky.
Leave to ferment in a clean, dry bowl for about 1½ to 2 hours.
Lightly butter 2 bread pans. Cut the dough into quarters and shape 2 pairs of boules, placing each pair into a bread pan. Cover with plastic and proof for 1½ hours.
Brush the tops of the loaves with melted butter and bake at 375°F for 25 minutes.
The one big problem we ran into with this bread was actually confusion over the recipe. In the introduction, it said that in the traditional way of making this bread with boiling water & almond, "the mixture is strained to remove the granular bits of almond", but there was no sign of straining in the instructions for our modern version. We assumed (perhaps mistakenly) that the almond could stay, but frankly I have no idea what it was supposed to be like.
With 3 dangerously ripe bananas waiting patiently on the shelf, it was only a matter of time before I finally made the banana bread I was planning on. This is the last recipe I'll be stealing from an older book called The Great Book of Bread, the only recipe book I currently have handy that still uses compressed yeast.
1/2 c. unsalted butter (cold)
1/2 c. sugar
1 large egg (beaten)
1 tsp. vanilla extract
2 c. all-purpose flour
1 tbsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1 lb. ripe bananas
1/2 c. pecans (chopped)
1/3 c. raisins
Cream the butter and sugar together, then beat in the egg and vanilla extract in a bowl. Add flour, baking powder, salt and nutmeg in a separate bowl. Peel and mash the bananas in a third bowl.
Fold the flour and banana alternately into the creamed mixture. Finally, add the chopped pecans and raisins and give it a quick mix. Bake in a loaf pan for about an hour at 350°F.
The result was nummy, though there was a strange bitter taste & smell as it came out of the oven (presumably from the pecans). I actually ended up freezing half of it and have thawed it since; It survived extremely well.
The loaf was not overpoweringly sweet... perhaps not even sweet enough, actually. I was short about a banana or two, so that might make a bit of difference. Next time, I'd be interested to see what jamming in three or four more bananas would do. The cookbook also had a nice picture of a loaf sprinkled with a touch of granulated sugar on top... A nice finish, I'd say.
1/2 c. unsalted butter (cold)
1/2 c. sugar
1 large egg (beaten)
1 tsp. vanilla extract
2 c. all-purpose flour
1 tbsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1 lb. ripe bananas
1/2 c. pecans (chopped)
1/3 c. raisins
Cream the butter and sugar together, then beat in the egg and vanilla extract in a bowl. Add flour, baking powder, salt and nutmeg in a separate bowl. Peel and mash the bananas in a third bowl.
Fold the flour and banana alternately into the creamed mixture. Finally, add the chopped pecans and raisins and give it a quick mix. Bake in a loaf pan for about an hour at 350°F.
The result was nummy, though there was a strange bitter taste & smell as it came out of the oven (presumably from the pecans). I actually ended up freezing half of it and have thawed it since; It survived extremely well.
The loaf was not overpoweringly sweet... perhaps not even sweet enough, actually. I was short about a banana or two, so that might make a bit of difference. Next time, I'd be interested to see what jamming in three or four more bananas would do. The cookbook also had a nice picture of a loaf sprinkled with a touch of granulated sugar on top... A nice finish, I'd say.
