Boston Brown Bread

Week Forty-Four: Multi-Grain Breads

brown-bread

Having grown up in the South, it’s no wonder I was a stranger to Boston brown bread.  In fact, until I made this recipe, I don’t think I’ve ever knowingly eaten it before.  This is one of those situations where I’m not sure if that condition is a help or a hindrance.  Having no prior knowledge of it, how am I to truly judge?  How am I to know if this is too dark, too fluffy, too grainy?  And yet, never having tasted it, my palate is unclouded by ghosts of Breads Past, and I may sample with a clear mind.

Fortunately, I have faith in my tasting abilities, and I believe I can objectively ascertain which are good breads, and which are not-so-good.  This bread falls into the former category, despite the fact that this version of Boston brown bread is baked.  Horrors, I know.

Traditionally, this bread is steamed, as Americans of the era this bread was created in didn’t have ovens, using fireplaces instead for all their cooking.  This recipe comes from the Hi-Rise Bakery in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where the chef apparently prefers his brown bread baked.  Though that might cause a small scandal in some circles, it’s fine by me, as I have no preconceived notions of what this bread should be like.

All I know is that this bread is delicious.  Composed largely of cornmeal, whole-wheat, and rye flours, it speaks to its origins in a time when white flour was a more precious thing.  This combination of grains gives the loaf a very complex sweetness, which is heightened with the use of rich molasses as a sweetener.  It may seem like a lot when measuring out ingredients, but the finished bread is perfectly sweetened, neither too much, nor to little.

Molasses is all well and good, but it can be a bit heavy for my tastes, so I’ve lightened it here by substituting part of it for honey or maple syrup, whatever happens to be in your pantry at the time.  Or use both.  I hesitate to mention pancake syrup (such as Mrs. Butterworth’s), as the lot of them tend to make my skin crawl a bit, and my inclination is to recommend avoidance; but if you’ve got nothing else, at least they have more flavor than plain corn syrup.  There are worse things you could do.

Even though this bread is baked instead of steamed, it’s still made in the standard round tins.  Recipes will generally direct you to use coffee cans, but I haven’t a clue where you find coffee in a can anymore.  (It’s certainly not around my neighborhood.)  Twenty-eight ounce tomato cans, however, are plentiful, and you can always use up a can of tomatoes.  Beans also come in the same size can, but as I discovered to my chagrin, they often have a pop-top lid, which leaves a thin band of metal around the top edge.  (This might not seem significant, but it’s just enough of a lip to keep your bread from sliding out after it’s baked.  Ten points if you can guess how I know this.)  You could certainly also use any size can, larger or smaller, to bake these breads; in that case, be sure to adjust the cooking time.

The resultant bread is rich, hearty, robust, and absolutely ideal to serve alongside all the soups and stews that I’ve started turning out of my Autumn kitchen.  Yes, I was a stranger to Boston brown bread; but now that I know it, I have a feeling it’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

 

Boston Brown Bread
Adapted from Artisan Baking, by Maggie Glezer
Makes 2 round loaves

8 ounces (about 1 1/2 cups) unbleached all-purpose flour
8 ounces (about 2 cups) rye flour
4 1/2 ounces (about 1 cup) whole wheat flour
4 ounces (about 2/3 cup) cornmeal (see note 1 below)
1 tablespoon baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
1/4 cup molasses
1/4 cup honey, or maple syrup, or a mixture
2 cups milk
1 cup dried currants

1.  Preheat the oven to 300º F.  Butter the inside of two 28-ounce cans, or any other similar metal container about 5 inches high and 4 inches across.

2.  In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, cornmeal, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.  Add the molasses, honey or syrup, and milk.  Mix together by hand, adding additional milk by spoonfuls if the batter is crumbly and dry.  Add currants, folding in quickly and gently.

3.  Divide the batter evenly between the prepared cans, or fill 3/4 full.  Bake at 300º F for 1½ hours, rotating the cans halfway through the baking process to brown evenly.  The loaves should be well domed, browned, and crusty when done.  Remove from the cans while still warm, and transfer to a wire rack to cool thoroughly.

 

Notes:
1.  Stone-ground white cornmeal is suggested; I used regular yellow cornmeal seemingly with no adverse reactions.

2.  Do not use an electric mixer to make this bread, as it will end up tough and too dry.

Posted in Quick Breads, Savory, Sweet | 3 Comments

Oat and Spelt Muffins

Week Forty-Four: Multi-Grain Breads

oat-spelt-muffins

I didn’t know what exactly to expect from these muffins.  I was intrigued originally by the relative lack of flour included, all of it whole grain.  Most of the body comes from the use of rolled oats, leaving only one total cup of flour to pick up any slack.  And slack there is a-plenty; the batter is so thin that the word “watery” would not be inappropriate.

You might be tempted to add more flour than is called for to this liquid batter, but you’d be well advised to resist.  The oats do a lovely job soaking up all the moisture, and the muffins would be dry and crumbly with any extra flour added.  Having said that, the oats don’t cook through totally, which means they remain as toothsome bits throughout each bite.  If this sounds good to you, then you’ll be pleased with the rustic texture.  If you prefer your muffins more refined, you may prefer to grind the oats first in a food processor, making for smaller, more easily cooked pieces that will give a softer result.

Generally, these muffins were flat but fairly pleasant things, with the standard golden-brown coloring.  The flavor was decidedly oaty, as might be expected, with nutty backnotes of spelt and whole wheat, mild and inoffensive.  Texturally, they had the aforementioned chew of oats, but were otherwise very tender.

There is one adjective that sticks in my mind to describe the overall taste: “healthy”.  Not great, not bad, somewhere close to fair or middling, but mostly they tasted healthy.  Whether they are or not is perhaps best left to the dietitians; but any recipe I choose to hang on to had darn well better inspire more colorful language than these did.

 

Oat and Spelt Muffins
Adapted from Cooking Light
Makes 12 muffins

1 large egg
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup milk
1/2 cup buttermilk, well-shaken
1 cup regular oats
2 ounces (about 1/2 cup) spelt flour
2 1/2 ounces (about 1/2 cup) whole wheat flour
1/3 cup packed brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt

1.  Preheat the oven to 350° F.  Lightly grease 12 cups of a standard muffin tin.

2.  In a large bowl, whisk the egg until blended.  Add the olive oil, vanilla, milk, and buttermilk, and combine.

3.  In a second bowl, sift or whisk together the flours, sugar, baking soda, and salt.  Add to the wet ingredients, and stir together just until all dry ingredients are moistened.

4.  Divide the batter evenly among the 12 muffin cups.  Bake at 350º F for 20 to 30 minutes, or until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean.  Remove from the pans as soon as possible, and transfer to a wire rack to cool slightly before serving.

 

Notes:
1.  Instead of spelt, feel free to use any other unusual flour you might have sitting around.  Buckwheat, teff, or sorghum flours would all be excellent choices here.

2.  If possible, try to have all ingredients at room temperature before mixing.

Posted in Quick Breads, Savory | Leave a comment

Rye and Millet Dinner Rolls

Week Forty-Four: Multi-Grain Breads

rye-roll-3

This month, they’re doing some housecleaning over at the Kitchn.  It’s smack in the middle of their four-week Kitchen Cure, which I signed up for, but have sadly been far too busy to participate in (could you tell, what with the lack of posting and all?).  It seems appropriate to give the home a little freshening before settling in for the cold of the fast-approaching Winter.

So in the spirit of cleaning house, this week I’ll be featuring multi-grain breads; that is, breads that help me use up all those random bags of uncommon flours that have accumulated over the year.  I’m not just talking about throwing a handful of whole-wheat flour into your dough, I’m referring to truly multi-grain breads that use at least two different grains, and hopefully more.  If you’ve got a sack of spelt flour languishing in your cupboard, and you just don’t know what to do with the poor thing, this is the week for you.

The first recipe this week is one for rye and millet dinner rolls.  Normally, I shy away from recipes for so-called “dinner rolls”, as they generally produce over-soft, over-sweet, aenemic, and doughy things.  But the moment I saw these darlings in our Dearly Departed Gourmet Magazine, I knew I had to make them.  I mean, look at their little hats!  *squeal!*

rye-roll-1

Lucky for me, they turned out gorgeously.  Not only were they pretty as a picture, but they had a pleasantly chewy crust.  The crackery hats on top also brought a delightful crunch, especially in conjunction with the pop of the millet in the rolls themselves.  Grainy and rustic, they’re exactly what I want to see on my table these chilly Autumn nights.

And don’t worry about shaping the “hats”, like I did.  No matter how thinly you roll them, they firm up enough to hold their shape when you place them on top of the rolls.  Easy and cute?  It doesn’t get any better.

rye-roll-2

 

Rye and Millet Dinner Rolls
Adapted from Gourmet Magazine
Makes 16 rolls

For rolls:
10 ounces (about 2¼ cups) unbleached all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting as needed
1/3 cup rye flour (light or dark)
1¼ teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon instant yeast
1 cup minus 2 tablespoons water, at room temperature
1 teaspoon honey
2 tablespoons millet (optional, but delightful)

For tops:
1 ounce (1/4 cup) unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons rye flour (light or dark)
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large egg white

1.  In the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk together the flours, salt, and yeast.  Add the water and honey.  Using the dough hook, mix at low speed until a rough dough forms.  Increase the speed to medium-low, and knead for 5 minutes, or until smooth and elastic.

2.  Transfer the dough to a large, lightly-oiled bowl and turn to coat.  Cover with plastic wrap, and let sit at room temperature until doubled in size, 1 to 1½ hours.

3.  Lightly grease a large baking sheet, or line with parchment paper.  Using a nonstick spatula, fold the dough over itself in thirds, like a letter, deflating it gently.  Turn the dough out onto a lightly-floured surface.  Divide into 16 even pieces, and roll each piece into a round ball.  Transfer each to the prepared baking sheet and cover loosely with lightly-oiled plastic wrap.  Let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 hour.

4.  While rolls rise, make the tops.  Stir together the flours and salt, then stir in water and oil until a dough forms.  Turn out dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead a few times, until smooth.  Divide into 16 even and very small pieces.  Roll out each piece on a lightly floured surface to a thin round (about 2 inches; shape need not be perfectly round), and arrange in 1 layer on a sheet of parchment.

5.  Beat the egg white with a pinch of salt to make an egg wash.  Lightly brush egg wash onto rounds.  Refrigerate any remaining egg wash.  Let stand, uncovered, to dry slightly while rolls rise.  Preheat oven to 425º F, and position a rack in the middle.

6.  When fully risen, lightly brush each roll with egg wash, being careful not to deflate.  Gently lay one of the tops, egg-wash-side up, atop each roll.

7.  Bake rolls at 425º F until golden-brown, about 20 to 25 minutes.  Transfer to a wire rack to cool slightly before serving.

 

Notes:
1.  Rolls may be frozen, tightly wrapped, and reheated in a 350º F oven for 5 to 10 minutes, or until heated through.

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Ciabatta

Week Forty-Three: Whatever I Feel Like Week

Ah, ciabatta.  Who doesn’t love that modest bread, with those gaping holes, that dusty crust shedding flour with each bite, that perfect pull and chewy texture, that creamy flavor?  Nobody, that’s who.

Though I have made ciabatta before, that recipe and the one below are different enough that I feel secure in repeating this particular item.  One similarity between the two – indeed, between all good recipes for ciabatta – is the use of a poolish, a.k.a. a very wet starter.  The use of a starter here isn’t just for improved flavor (though it does provide that as well), but it also helps the dough form a stronger gluten network, so crucial for achieving those monster holes in the crumb.

ciabatta-2

I’m at a bit of a loss to explain this recipe further.  It’s not because it’s a mediocre or less-than-great recipe; in fact, it’s an excellent recipe, one that makes enviable bread, with relatively little effort.  I feel like I should gush about it and the loaves it produces, but really, it’s just doing its job.

Good ciabatta is fairly specific in nature (certain crust, certain crumb, certain texture, certain shape), and this recipe absolutely delivers.  But ciabatta is also by nature very rustic, very unaffected, even a bit homely.  To use further fancy prose here would be to give it fussy airs, when it’s really a simple thing.  To me, this recipe requires little more description than this: it makes very good bread.

Now go bake some.

ciabatta-with-cheese

 

Ciabatta
Adapted from The Bread Baker’s Apprentice, by Peter Reinhart
Makes 2 to 3 loaves

For the poolish:
11 1/4 ounces (about 2 1/2 cups) unbleached bread flour
1 1/2 cups water, at room temperature
1/4 teaspoon instant yeast

For the dough:
13 1/2 ounces (about 3 cups) unbleached bread flour, plus extra for dusting
1 3/4 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons instant yeast
6 to 8 tablespoons water, at warm room temperature

1.  To make the poolish, whisk together the flour, water, and yeast until smooth.  The consistency should resemble pancake batter.  Cover with plastic wrap, and let sit at room temperature for 3 to 4 hours, or until bubbly and foamy.  Refrigerate at least overnight and up to 3 days.

2.  To make the final dough, remove the poolish from the refrigerator and let stand 1 hour at room temperature before proceeding.

3.  In the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk together the flour, salt, and yeast.  Add the poolish and 6 tablespoons of water.  Using the paddle attachment, mix at low speed until a rough dough forms.  If any dry pockets of flour remain, add the remaining water by tablespoons until all flour is moistened.

4.  Switch to the dough hook, and increase the speed to medium.  Knead for 5 to 7 minutes, or until smooth and supple. The dough should clear the sides of the bowl, but stick to the bottom, and be quite sticky and slack.  Add additional flour or water as needed to correct the consistency.

5.  Sprinkle a work surface liberally with flour.  Turn the dough out onto the work surface, and dust the top with flour.  With floured hands, lift the dough from opposite ends, stretching it to about twice its size.  Fold the ends over the top of the dough so they meet in the middle, and the dough is roughly rectangular in shape.  Dust the top again with flour, and cover loosely with lightly oiled plastic wrap.  Let rest for 30 minutes.

6.  Again, lift the opposite ends of the dough, stretching it to about twice the size, fold the ends over the top, and dust with flour.  Cover loosely with oiled plastic wrap, and let rise on the counter for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, until puffy but not necessarily doubled in size.

7.  Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper, and dust liberally with flour.  Uncover the dough, and divide the dough with a bench scraper into 2 or 3 pieces, taking care not to deflate.  Dust each piece well with flour, and transfer to the prepared baking sheet.  Pull up the parchment between each piece, making a couche for the slack dough to rise in, using folded kitchen towels to prop up the outer edges of parchment around the outside pieces of dough.  Cover loosely with lightly oiled plastic wrap, and let rise for 45 to 60 minutes, or until noticeably larger in size.  Preheat the oven to 500º F, and place a rimmed pan in the oven to heat along with it.  Heat a baking stone in the lower part of the oven, if you have one.

8.  Uncover the dough, and slide the parchment flat again, removing the kitchen towels.  Immediately transfer the loaves to the oven (sliding the parchment onto the hot baking stone, if using).  Pour 1 cup of hot water into the preheated pan in the oven, and bake at 500º F for 2 minutes.  Every 30 seconds, quickly open the door to mist the inside of the oven with water.

9.  After 2 minutes, reduce the heat to 450º F, and bake for 15 to 20 minutes more, rotating the bread halfway through to ensure even browning, if necessary.  The bread should register 205º F in the center when fully baked.  Transfer the loaves to a wire rack to cool at least 45 minutes before slicing.

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Sourdough Crumpet Fail

Week Forty-Three: Whatever I Feel Like Week

“Sourdough Crumpets; or, How To Resurrect A Neglected Starter”, read the title, like a treatise for ye olde moderne Housewyfe.  Why, I had a neglected starter, and am fond of crumpets.  Both addressed in one recipe?  Count me in!

The first part of the recipe was a fairly standard sourdough refreshment: whisk together, remove some, feed with flour and water.  Easy.  But the neat thing about this recipe was that the bit of starter that usually gets thrown out gets used instead to make crumpets.  Since I cry a little every time I have to throw food away, this seemed right up my alley.

You can see the result.  Yes, that was intended to be only one single crumpet.

*cry*

To be fair, it may be that my starter was not just neglected, but thoroughly and totally kaput.  The refreshment didn’t seem to work at all.  (You know, for someone who bakes bread six days a week, I do a terrible job at keeping starters alive.)  And I would leave it at that, fault squarely on my shoulders, except that the resultant “crumpets” were extremely salty.  The doughy, somehow uncooked texture (though they were indeed cooked) was one thing, but I just couldn’t get over the salt.  And I’m one who loves salty and doughy things, but I threw these away.

I not only consider this a waste of food, but also a sort of personal affront to my culinary skills (of which I feel I may be justly proud).  See, if I have to throw food away, food that I cooked, it means that I must admit failure, that it was wholly inedible.  If it were simply not up to par, I might chop it up and scramble it with eggs, add it to a stir fry, or mix it into a soup.  But to throw something away, immediately after cooking it… quelle horreur.  It must be absolutely unsalvageable.

Might this have worked with a different starter?  Perhaps, but I’ll never know; this recipe has met the same fate as the monstrosities it produced.  I know how to refresh a starter (see step 2 here), and if I want crumpets, I already have a fine recipe.  If I find myself desperate, they sell them in stores, too.  They might not be quite as good as homemade, but anything’s better than these crude beasts.

 

Sourdough Crumpets
Recipe/method may be found here.

I’m sorry, but I just don’t have the heart to post it after such a scathing review.  This recipe may work quite well for you; it seemed to for a few people.  Me, I don’t think I have the knack for this one.

Posted in Quick Breads, Savory, Yeast Breads | Leave a comment

Orange and Mint Bread

Week Forty-Three: Whatever I Feel Like Week

orange-mint-1

Today’s recipe produces a delicious, if fairly standard, rich dough (flavorings aside).  It’s something like a slightly leaner brioche, and all the usual suspects are there: milk, butter, egg.  There is one main difference here, though, and it lies in the unusual kneading method.

This dough is kneaded with an unfamiliar progression of lifting, slapping, stretching, and folding that turns a gloopy, shaggy mess into a silken and elastic thing of beauty.  It’s low-tech, needing only hands and a work table, simple once you’ve been shown how to do it, and produces excellent results.  It’s everything good bread-making should be.

And I would love to show you the results of such a method.  But… um… I can’t.

I didn’t use it.

No, I don’t know why, either.  It makes absolutely no sense, I know.  I mean, the method itself was half of what appealed to me in the first place (the other half being the combination of orange and mint in such a rich bread, yum).  Was it laziness?  Was it willful stubbornness?  Was it me thinking that I didn’t have to fool with deciphering the necessarily awkward wording of the method when I had a perfectly good stand mixer right there and could just make the darn bread dough and sit down to dinner and Episode One of the new season of Venture Brothers and have a glass of wine already?  I’ll let you decide which is the truth.

Of course, on reading closer, I discovered there was a video of the method on Gourmet’s website.  (Yes, this was after I finished baking the bread.)  It’s a very informative video, and I urge you to watch it (before the whole site is gone, so sad!) if you’ve any interest in trying the proper method.  What I saw in the video was a finished dough with a much better look and texture than the one I pulled from my stand mixer; in retrospect, I wish I’d taken the time to figure it out instead of automatically reverting to mixers tried and true.

orange-mint-3

But the bread that I did end up with certainly wasn’t bad.  On the contrary, it was fluffy and light and just rich enough.  It had the properly buttery and eggy smell that such a bread ought, and the tender crust turned a stunning shade of mahogany.

My one complaint is that the finished loaves didn’t really taste of orange and mint.  As one might assume.  From the title.  It certainly smelled like orange and mint, while both mixing and baking, but somehow all the flavor evaporated, or was too subtle for me to notice.  I should’ve called it “Orange and Mint Scented Bread”, and left it at that.  I did only use the zest from half an orange; I would certainly use the whole orange next time, and increase the amount of orange liqueur as well.  As for the mint, I guess just double that as well; why not?

Otherwise, this was a very respectable recipe, airy and tender as a rich dough should be.  Just undersweet enough, it didn’t taste dry as some of these breads can.  It’s fantastic toasted, and as the recipe headnote suggests, would make incredibly special bread pudding or french toast.  I can’t wait to try it after I make it properly.

orange-mint-2

  

Orange and Mint Bread
Adapted from Richard Bertinet, via Gourmet Magazine
Makes 2 loaves

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons milk
1 bunch mint, leaves only (about 1 cup, loosely packed)
18 ounces (about 3 3/4 cups) unbleached bread flour
2 teaspoons instant yeast
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 teaspoons salt
1 tablespoon grated orange zest
1/2 stick unsalted butter, softened
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon Cointreau or other orange-flavored liqueur
1 large egg, beaten with a pinch of salt to make an eggwash

1.  To make mint-infused milk, bring milk and mint just to a simmer in a small saucepan over medium heat.  Remove from heat and let stand, covered, 1 hour.  Strain through a sieve and discard mint.  Milk can be chilled for up to a few days at this point; reheat as needed before using per recipe.

2.  Heat milk to 120 to 130° F.  In the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk together the flour, yeast, sugar, salt, and zest.  Add milk, eggs, and liqueur.  Using the dough hook, mix at low speed until a wet, sticky dough forms. Increase speed to medium, and knead until smooth, 4 to 5 minutes.

3.  Scrape dough out onto a lightly floured surface.  Form into a ball by folding each edge, in turn, into center of dough and pressing down well with your thumb, rotating ball as you go.  Turn the ball over and transfer to a lightly floured bowl.  Cover with a kitchen towel or plastic wrap.  Let sit at warm room temperature until doubled in size, 45 to 60 minutes.

4.  Remove towel or plastic wrap and, using a broad nonstick spatula, fold the dough over itself, as though you were folding a letter: 1/3 over the center, then the opposite 1/3 over that.  Lastly, fold dough in half again, perpendicular to the first folds (like you’re folding the letter in half).  Dough should end up being roughly a square.  Replace towel or plastic wrap, let dough rise until doubled again, 45 to 60 minutes.

5.  Lightly grease a large baking sheet, or line with parchment paper.  Gently turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface, taking care not to punch down or deflate too much, and divide into 2 equal pieces.  Flatten each piece with heel of your hand into a rectangle, about 8 x 6 inches in size.  Fold a long edge into center and press seam down to seal.  Fold opposite edge over to meet in center, pressing seam to seal.  Fold in half along seam, pressing edges to seal. Transfer to the prepared baking sheet, seam side down, and cover loosely.  Repeat shaping with remaining dough.

6.  Brush tops of loaves with some of the egg wash, chilling remainder.  Let stand a few minutes until egg feels dry.  Cover with a kitchen towel (not terry cloth) and let rise at warm room temperature until almost doubled, and feeling springy when gently prodded with a fingertip, about 1½ hours.  Thirty minutes before baking, preheat oven to 425º F, and position a rack in the middle of the oven.

7.  When fully risen, brush top of each loaf again with the egg wash.  Holding a pair of scissors at a 45-degree angle, make a series of decorative snips along the top in a line lengthwise down the center of each loaf.   Transfer to the oven and immediately reduce temperature to 400º F.

8.  Bake until loaves are dark golden brown, 20 to 30 minutes.  An instant-read thermometer should register about 200º F when fully baked.  Transfer to a rack to cool completely before slicing.

 

Notes:
1.  After heating the milk and mint, and straining, remeasure to make sure you still have enough.  I found my milk had lost about 1 tablespoon of volume in the heating process.  Add milk as necessary.

Posted in Sweet, Yeast Breads | Leave a comment

Sesame and Poppy Seed Citrus Biscuit Crackers

Week Forty-Three: Whatever I Feel Like Week

orange-sesame-3

I wasn’t sure what to expect with this recipe.  The title described them as crackers, the headnote referred to them as Scottish biscuits (more akin to an undersweet cookie), and the recipe itself looked like one for a proper Southern (American) biscuit.  But the flavors intrigued me, citrus and sesame, and no matter what sort of thing I ended up with, I would surely be happy, being a fan of all three possibilites.

The golden things I pulled from my oven less than an hour later were not exactly cracker, biscuit, or (ahem) biscuit, but had characteristics of all three.  If I’m honest, they were most like tiny and flaky American biscuits in both method and appearance.  But they had a cracker’s crunch, and the half-sweet half-savory nature of a British biscuit.  Had I rolled the dough more thinly, the crunch would’ve been more pronounced; either way would produce just as delectable an item.

orange-sesame-1

As excellent as the light texture was, the real glory of these treats was the fantastic balance of flavoring.  A good part of the liquid in the dough are orange and lemon juices, which are amplified by the incorporation of the zest of both fruits.  The original recipe called only for sesame seeds, but I couldn’t help adding poppy seeds, as I’m such a sucker for the way their seductive and earthy flavor complements the nutty taste of sesame.  The overall effect was extremely delicious, brightly flavored and complex without being rich.  Flaky, crunchy, miniature, and pretty as a picture, this is definitely one for the permanent file.

These little biscuits, or crackers, or what-have-yous make a fetching array of sunshiny little bites, ideal for dunking in a hot cup of coffee or tea, or simply as a special snack whenever.  Rolled more thinly and baked to a less-fragile state, I can see them wrapped in a clear cellphane bag, tied with a pretty ribbon, as a most charming gift.  Not quite sweet, not quite savory, not quite biscuit or cracker, they’re the best of all worlds in one tiny package.

orange-sesame-2

 

Sesame and Poppy Seed Citrus Biscuit Crackers
Adapted from Bon Appétit Magazine
Makes 30 to 40 1½-inch biscuits

1/2 cup (1 stick) chilled unsalted butter
6 3/4 ounces (1½ cups) unbleached all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon (packed) finely grated orange peel
1/2 teaspoon (packed) finely grated lemon peel
1 tablespoon sesame seeds
2 teaspoons poppy seeds
1 large egg, beaten
1 tablespoon orange juice
1/2 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup cold buttermilk (or cream, half-and-half, or milk), as needed

1.  Preheat oven to 350º F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

2.  Cut butter into as small pieces as possible, and pile loosely on a plate or in a bowl.  Put in freezer while preparing remaining ingredients.

3.  In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder.  Add the orange and lemon peel, and whisk to blend.  Add the partly-frozen butter, and quickly toss and pinch with fingertips to blend in, or cut in with a pastry blender.  The mixture should look like coarse meal; pea-sized lumps are okay.  Mix in the sesame seeds and poppy seeds.

4.  Add the egg, orange juice, and lemon juice.  Using a nonstick spatula, gently and quickly toss until moist clumps form, adding buttermilk (or other dairy) by tablespoonfuls if dough is dry.  Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface, and knead gently a few times, just until the dough comes together.

5.  Using additional flour as needed to prevent sticking, roll the dough out to 1/4 inch thickness.  Using a 1½ inch round cutter, cut out as many rounds as possible.  Transfer to the prepared baking sheets.  Carefully gather dough scraps together, pressing cut sides together to reform into a roughly flat shape.  Reroll, cutting out additional rounds as before.  Arrange on prepared sheets.  Bake until firm to touch and cooked through but pale, about 15 to 23 minutes, depending on thickness.  Let cool briefly on baking sheet before serving warm or at room temperature.

 

Notes:
1.  I rolled my dough to about 1/3 inch thickness, as I was a little scared of toughening them.  The biscuits took about 21 to 22 minutes to cook, and the ones around the outside of the baking sheet were just barely golden.  They were all crunchy and fully cooked, and were very flaky.  If you want a more crackerly item, roll them thinner and bake until just done.

Posted in Quick Breads, Savory, Sweet | 3 Comments

Pesto Potato Rolls

Week Forty-Three: Whatever I Feel Like Week

pesto-potato-2

Most potato bread recipes call for the potatoes to be added in the form of leftover mashed potatoes, or in the form of dried flakes.  Today’s recipe originally intrigued me because it uses neither of those.  Here, the potato is added by dicing it and boiling it very nearly to death (well, until it falls apart), smashing potato and water together, and using the resultant slurry to provide most of the liquid.  It’s a method I personally haven’t seen before, and it works beautifully.

You may notice that I said “most of the liquid”.  The remaining liquid comes from a fairly scandalous amount of melted butter — an entire stick.  But as this recipe makes about 30 rolls (so it claims, but I actually got closer to 40 or 45), it works out to not much butter per roll.  What the butter does provide is a wonderfully tender crumb, and a rich taste worthy of a special occasion.

There’s a relatively large amount of yeast in this dough, which means that it rises very quickly.  This is good if you need rolls fast, but it leaves things a little lacking in the dough-flavor-development department.  If you insist on a more complex flavor, feel free to reduce the amount of yeast (by up to half), and increase the rising times accordingly (half the yeast would equal twice the rising time, and so on).  But with the copious amount of pesto and butter in this bread, I wasn’t troubled by any perceived blandness.

pesto-potato-3

Speaking of the pesto, it is of course best to make your own; the ephemeral flavor of fresh basil is so fleeting that it can rarely be captured in a jar.  Besides being endlessly customizable, if you have a small food processor it is hardly any trouble at all.  But I understand if you just can’t be bothered, as I’m rarely a fan of sub-recipes.  Just make sure to find a good one if you do purchase it pre-made; the flavor will really shine in these rolls.

I found the given method a little fiddly with this one.  The idea (as I understood it) is to make tiny Parker House rolls, and stand them on their folded edges in a cake pan so that they touch each other as they rise and bake.  The slippery little things didn’t want to stay closed shut, nor did they want to stand up on their own.  Once all in the pan, it was fine, but it was a little tricky getting them to cooperate at first.

Additionally, I had some leftover scraps and a few cut-out rolls that didn’t fit into the pans as the recipe dictates.  These, I cut into evenly-sized pieces, rolled them into balls, brushed them with the butter, and made a monkey bread in a tiny loaf pan.  It worked perfectly, and might be a preferred way to bake the entire batch of dough.

Other than that, these rolls ended up flavorful and incredibly soft, full of bright pesto flavor.  I can just see these as part of an Autumn feast (have you started thinking about Thanksgiving menus? and can you tell I have?), celebrating the last of the summer basil, encouraging the literal breaking of bread together as you pull each roll from its snuggled-in place.

pesto-potato-1

 

Pesto Potato Rolls
Adapted from Bon Appétit Magazine
Makes about 28 rolls

3 1/2 cups water
1 (11 to 12 ounce) russet potato, peeled, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
2 teaspoons salt, divided
1/2 cup plus 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly, divided
2 large eggs
6 tablespoons purchased pesto
1 tablespoon sugar
1 three-fingered pinch of ground black pepper
1 tablespoon instant yeast (see note 1 below)
23 ounces (about 4 3/4 cups) unbleached bread flour, plus extra as needed

1.  In a saucepan, bring 3½ cups water to a boil.  Add the potato and 1 teaspoon salt.  Cover and boil until the potato is very tender and falling apart, 20 to 25 minutes.  Mash the potato with the cooking water until smooth; alternatively, you can carefully puree this mixture in a blender or food processor (taking due precautions with the hot liquid, which will expand rapidly when blended).  Transfer 2 cups of the potato-water slurry to the bowl of a stand mixer; discard any remaining mixture.  If there isn’t quite enough, add water as needed to measure 2 cups.  Let cool to 105º F to 115º F.

2.  Whisk 1/2 cup melted butter into the potato slurry, then add the eggs.  Whisk until smooth.  Add the pesto, sugar, pepper, and remaining 1 teaspoon salt, and whisk to combine.  Add about half the flour to the mixture, and sprinkle the yeast over.  Using the dough hook, mix at low speed until combined.  Add enough of the remaining flour, about 1/2 cup at a time, to form a sticky dough.  Increase the speed to medium-low, and knead for 4 to 5 minutes, or until smooth.

3.  Transfer the dough to a large lightly-oiled bowl.  Cover with plastic wrap, and let stand at room temperature until doubled in size, about 45 minutes.  Alternatively, the dough may be refrigerated overnight at this point, tightly wrapped.  If refrigerated, allow dough to come to room temperature for 30 minutes before proceeding.

4.  Butter two 9 inch round cake pans.  Turn the dough out onto a lightly-floured surface, and press gently to deflate.  Roll out the dough to a round about 1/3 inch thick, using only enough flour to prevent sticking.

5.  Using a floured 2½ inch round cutter, cut out as many pieces of dough as possible.  Gather dough scraps, dusting off as much flour as possible, and knead together.  Cover with plastic wrap, and let rest while shaping the pre-cut rolls.

6.  Using the remaining 4 tablespoons of melted butter, brush the top of each round lightly with butter.  Fold each piece into a half-circle, pressing the buttered surface together.  Arrange the folded dough rounds side by side in the prepared pans, each resting on the folded edge, and the rolls touching each other.  Do not pack them in tightly; they need a little room to rise.  Repeat rolling and folding procedure for the remaining dough.  (If there is too much dough to fit in the cake pans, you can roll the remaining dough into small rounds, brush them with butter, and toss them haphazardly into another suitably-sized baking tin to make a small monkey bread as a special “cook’s reward”.)

7.  Cover the pans loosely with plastic wrap, and let sit at room temperature until almost doubled in volume, about 20 to 30 minutes.  Meanwhile, position a rack in the center of oven, and preheat to 400º F.

8.  Bake at 400º F until golden brown, about 25 minutes.  Cool rolls in the pans at least 20 minutes before turning out.  Serve warm or at room temperature.

 

Notes:
1.  If you’re making the overnight refrigeration version, you should decrease the amount of yeast to about 2 teaspoons (or even 1 foil packet, about 2¼ teaspoons).

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Buckwheat Anchovy Straws

Week Forty-Three: Whatever I Feel Like Week

anchovy-2

This week, the theme is a little different: there isn’t one.  See, I’ve picked out themes for the rest of the year (mostly), and there have been a few recipes that don’t fit neatly into any of them, but still sound interesting enough to make.  So this week, I’m featuring these rogue stragglers in what I call “Whatever I Feel Like Week”.

First up is an idea that came to me after seeing these buckwheat-cheddar straws on 101 Cookbooks.  I loved the idea of using buckwheat flour (and using up the bag of it in my pantry), but wanted something a little more adventurous than simply cheese.  I was reminded of the black olive grissini I made, and thought a similarly strong, pungent flavor was just the thing to match up to the singular and robust taste of buckwheat.

Hidden in the back of my fridge is a little yellow tube that I try to keep out of sight, lest guests think I’m some sort of crazy person.  It’s a tube of anchovy paste, and it’s saved my life on more than one occasion.  It’s the fastest, easiest way I know to add that incredible umami flavor of anchovies to anything that needs it.  You certainly don’t have to fool with a shallow can full of oil, or worse, figure out how to store the remainder when you only needed one or two of the little guys.  I can just squeeze out the amount I need, cap it, and stick it back in the fridge to wait for the next time.  And this is from someone who used to gag slightly at even the mention of the word “anchovy”.  (My problem was I had never tried them.  Turns out they’re actually quite delicious when cooked into something.)

Knowing that seafood and buckwheat are best friends (think buckwheat blini and smoked salmon), I decided this secret weapon was the exact ingredient I needed.  And, well, I was mostly right.  Perhaps I didn’t use enough, but the anchovy flavor was fairly muted.  This may be a selling point for you.  Me, I was expecting a more punchy flavor.  Otherwise, the sticks turned out pretty well; hearty and grainy, but thin and charmingly crisp, with a bit of airiness from the use of chemical leaveners.

Immediately after baking, they were good.  But a day later, they were even better.  Buckwheat flour has that amazing characteristic of mellowing slowly in a baked good, letting its flavor mature and ripen in its own time.  Such is the case here, which makes these ideal treats if you’re hosting a cocktail party, when do-ahead snacks are like manna from heaven.  These are starchy, mildly salty, and uniquely flavored straws, and are just the thing I want to nibble on with one hand while holding a neat Bourbon or glass of wine with the other.

anchovy

 

Buckwheat Anchovy Straws
Adapted from Gourmet Magazine
Makes 32

1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup buckwheat flour
2/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 heavy pinch cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 to 2 tablespoons anchovy paste, to taste
1/2 cup well-shaken buttermilk
1 large egg beaten with 1 tablespoon water to make egg wash

1.  Put oven racks in upper and lower thirds of oven and preheat oven to 350°F. Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment.

2.  Whisk together flours, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, salt, and peppers in a large bowl.  In a second bowl, whisk together the anchovy paste and the olive oil, until smooth.  Add to the dry ingredients, along with the buttermilk, and stir just until a rough dough forms. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead 5 or 6 times.

3.  Halve dough and form each half into a 12-inch log. Cut each log into 16 pieces. Roll each piece into a 10-inch-long rope and arrange 1/2 inch apart on lined baking sheets.

4.  Brush breadsticks lightly with some of egg wash.  Bake, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until golden and crisp, 20 to 30 minutes total. Cool on sheets on a rack 30 minutes.

 

Notes:
1.  As these are quite thin, they will burn quickly, so keep an eye on them while baking.

2.  If you prefer, you can use real anchovies (from a tin) instead of the paste, which might produce a better result.  I suggest either smashing them in a mortar and pestle with the olive oil until they form a paste, or cooking them with the olive oil until they just melt into a paste (cool before adding to the dough).

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Blueberry Orange Muffins

Week Forty-Two: Muffin Week

blueberry-oatmeal

I might have heeded the warning signs.

The first: one tablespoon of baking powder.  For twelve muffins.

The second: the origin of this recipe was a promotional pamphlet of recipes that my mom had held onto since the early 80s.  I remember it being a permanent fixture in her disaster zone of clipped recipes, more display now than any actual source of information.  I cannot recall her ever having made one recipe included in this pamphlet.

The third: the feeling of dread that took hold of me.

Okay, maybe the last was an exaggeration.  But I can’t help feeling that I should’ve known better.  It was a free marketing booklet!  Nobody makes those recipes!  All the recipe developers had to do was make it look halfway legitimate on paper, the cut out for an early happy hour.  (It’s what I would’ve done.)

But my head was turned by the promise of oat, blueberry, and orange, blending gracefully in a rustic and bright muffin. Surely somebody had tested and proofread it before publication.  One tablespoon of baking powder?

*shrug*

I guess they know what they’re talking about, thought I.

I thought wrong.  The batter, tasting strongly of fizzy soap from all the chemical leavening, was a ghoulish purple color from the blueberries.  In the oven, they didn’t dome cheerfully as you might reasonably expect of a muffin, but rather heaved their tops out flatly over the edge of the muffin pan, in a compulsory and begrudging manner.

After coaxing the stubborn things from the pan, I took a taste, hoping the flavor would make up for their lifeless appearance.  Again, a disappointment; the flavor was overwhelmingly bland, the occasional bite of blueberry the only acknowledgement that any flavorings had been added at all.  The coarse texture of oatmeal, usually pleasing, felt more like an intrusion here, bringing a spiteful chew where there ought to have been a rustic characteristic.

I’m giving the recipe below against my better judgement; I certainly don’t advise anyone to make them as written.  I’m sure something could be done to improve this recipe; I’m not sure what, just yet.  Lessons were learned today: don’t trust free marketing brochures, listen to your instinct, and one tablespoon is far too much baking powder.  So new knowledge in hand, I go on bravely, to better and grander things.  I certainly couldn’t do much worse than these.

Blueberry Orange Muffins
Adapted from some free marketing thing from the 80s
Makes 12 muffins

6 ounces (1 1/3 cups) unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
1/4 cup brown sugar, packed
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup blueberries (fresh or frozen)
2/3 cup milk
1/3 cup orange juice (from 1 orange)
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 egg, beaten
2 teaspoons finely grated orange zest (from 1 orange)

1.  Preheat oven to 400º F.  Grease 12 standard muffin cups, or line with paper muffin liners.

2.  In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, oats, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.  Gently stir in the blueberries.  Add the remaining ingredients, and stir gently until just combined.

3.  Divide mixture evenly between prepared muffin cups.  Bake at 400º F for 18 to 20 minutes, or until golden brown.  Remove from pan, and transfer to a wire rack to cool slightly before serving.

Notes:
1.  Don’t make this recipe, unless you heavily modify it.

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