I have selected these breads among the many thousands I could have picked because they were our family’s traditional breads, the ones my mother loved and also the ones I liked best after moving to California and starting to bake in my own kitchens. Some of my own favourites are from other countries, and I have worked with these recipes to make each one the best of its kind for our kitchens, but I know you will contribute your own personal touch and tradition to many.
This chapter could have been a book in itself if I had included all of my relatives’ and friends’ favourites. What family does not have a dozen special recipes that have been passed down from cook to cook, through word of mouth or scribbled on a recipe card or scrap of paper and then tucked in a cookbook, only to be found years later by a delighted offspring?
It was one of these finds somewhere in the 1970s in one of my mother’s regional cookbooks that inspired me to experiment with Boston Brown Bread. The only Boston bread I had ever eaten came in a dog-food-sized can and was extracted the same way: take off both ends and push the contents onto a plate; serve with canned baked beans. When I baked and tasted the homemade version, I could not believe the difference – akin to the difference between eating canned corn and kernels fresh off the cob and sautéed in butter. The same experience applied to English muffins, inspired by the ones my mother made for us on special mornings. Store boughten (as they used to be called in the South) products were one thing, but fragrant muffins hot off my own grill spoiled me for anything else. Just watching them rise gave a lift to my own heart and made me realize how lucky I had been to have had a mother who derived such pleasure from making good food for her children and who created so many of her own original recipes as she went.
When my mother died, I had no idea how much it would affect my life; the depth of my sadness was unfathomable to me. Grief is not something we know before the fact, and it took me more than a year to accept that she was really gone and that I could not just pick up the phone to say hello, wish you were nearer or to ask just how she got her jelly to set. We had had some stormy years, but the three years before her death I allowed all of my affection and admiration for her to surface and to embrace her amazingly strong spirit, difficult as it sometimes could be. I could not imagine life without a mother, my mother, the mother who had been, at times, my enemy and adversary but who had, at the same time, given me a love of laughter, music, art, reading, gardening, and especially, cooking and baking.
My mother made enduring friends through her life, and fed them all with pleasure. When she taught me that “a way to a man’s heart is through is stomach”, she was more than serious. It was a fact, something every Southern woman knew, just like when it was acceptable to wear white shoes (after Memorial Day), when to wear velvet (not after February) when to let a man win at cards (this she never did!). Everyone knew her to be a wizard in the kitchen, and she traded recipes throughout her life with everyone from housekeepers and gardeners to chefs at local restaurants. She was always sending me articles and clippings on food and wine (I have previously mentioned the vast collection of Gourmet Magazine, which is now mine), and in our chats every few days during the last years of her life, we gleefully argued the merits of buffalo as opposed to sirloin strips to make a true Texas chilli, or whether quick-rise yeast could really be trusted, with an occasional interjection from her on the danger of Democrats in government (she was an unmoveable Republican who loved Ronald Reagan), or on how all forms of department store courtesy had gone down the tubes since she was a girl. She took aerobics classes at age 72 and had a darling figure, despite a passion for chocolate and heavy cream in her coffee.
I cherish my inherited gift of her well-worn wooden recipe box, filled with the best picks of everything from A to Z, applesauce to Zwieback pie crust. It was in this treasure chest that I also found some of her favourite breads (see My Mother’s Cream Bread or Pain de Mie) and biscuits (see My Grandmother’s Beaten Biscuits). These recipes are not only the best of their kind, but are fun to make. I hope they also become part of the tradition you are creating for your future generations. When you balk at having to cook dinner for the umpteenth time or hesitate before making your own Skillet Corn Bread for the Thanksgiving turkey stuffing, remember the wondrous gifts you are giving your children by perfuming the house with the smells of the holidays, bread or simmering sauces. Remember, too, that what we share with others through traditions in our kitchens is not easily lost or diluted with time; it is a groundwork for a strong future. Your children will have memories to give their children and boxes of their own recipes to pass on to the next generation of cooks.
When, as a child, I was sick or discouraged or even just needing my usual goodnight kiss, I would close my eyes and feel the gentle touch on my forehead of my mother’s miraculous and gifted hand. It always smelled of bread.
This bread is sentimental for me, as it was the first really impressive bread I had ever made. I was 16 and already impatient for out of the ordinary bread, not just white loaves in square tins. For some reason, Texans just love anything using cornmeal, from catfish to hushpuppies, and this bread has a cornmeal base with a little flour added for body. You may vary the ingredients, using different kinds of cornmeal and flour, or by adding nuts or raisins, if you like.
Makes: 1 large or 2 small loaves
480 ml/2 cups water
10 ml/2 teaspoons salt
75g/½ cup stoneground yellow cornmeal
45 ml/3 tablespoons olive oil or melted unsalted butter
60ml/¼ cup honey or dark molasses
30 ml/2 tablespoons active dry yeast
120 m/½ cup lukewarm water (105 to 115°F)
650-780 g/5-6 cups unbleached bread flour
In a large pot, bring the water and salt to a boil over medium-high heat. With a wire whisk, slowly stir the cornmeal into the water, making sure it does not lump. When it has thickened, remove it from the heat and stir in oil or butter and honey or molasses. Transfer to a large mixing bowl and let cool completely.
Dissolve the yeast in the lukewarm water. Stir into the cornmeal. Stir in the flour, 150 g/1 cup or so at a time, mixing well as you go to incorporate it. This will form a firm dough that should not be too dry. When the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl, stir well a few more times, rub oil on your hands and transfer the dough to a clean oiled bowl.
SAME DAY METHOD: Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the dough rise in a warm place until doubled in volume, about 1 hour. Proceed with the shaping instructions.
OVERNIGHT METHOD: Cover the bowl and refrigerate overnight. The dough will rise in the refrigerator and acquire flavour from the slower yeast action. Remove the dough 3 hours before shaping and let stand, covered, in a warm place. Proceed with shaping instructions.
TO SHAPE INTO LOAVES: Preheat the oven to 260°C/500°F/gas 10. Oil 1 seasoned non-stick, oven-proof 23 cm/9-inch tin or two 13 cm/5-inch tins. Shape the dough into 1 large or 2 round loaves. Place the loaf in the oiled tin (or tins) and let rise for about 40 minutes or until doubled. Brush the tops of the loaves with olive oil.
TO BAKE LOAVES: Place the bread in the oven and reduce the oven temperature to 200°C/400°F/gas 6. Bake for about 40 minutes or until nicely browned and the loaf sounds hollow when tapped with your finger. Remove the loaf from the tin and cool on a wire rack.
Pain de Mie
My mother had a cylindrical metal bread mould with indentations that indicated where to cut the slices from the baked bread. Although outwardly I scoff at soft, spongy white breads, inwardly I adore the cucumber and salmon salad tea sandwiches made in England, and the heavenly triangular tramezzini, filled with tomato, mozzarella, artichokes and tuna served at all bars in Italy. Both are made with the lowest form of soft white bread (crusts removed).
When I was a kid, my cousins and I loved cream bread to make little round grilled cheese sandwiches, cinnamon toast, or fried egg sandwiches which squirted yolk when you bit them. Cream bread does not really have cream in it, only milk and butter, which I suppose could be construed to be cream when mixed together. At any rate, this is easy white bread at its best, the kind to be toasted and spread with caviar. You can always munch a few carrots along with it to make up for your decadence.
Makes: 2 loaves
30 ml/2 tablespoons active dry yeast
60 ml/¼ cup lukewarm water (30-35°C/85-95°F)
55 g/¼ cup sugar
625-750 g/5-6 cups plain (all-purpose) flour
480 ml/2 cups warm milk
60 ml/¼ cup melted unsalted butter
1 large egg, beaten (optional)
15 ml/1 tablespoon salt
In a 240 ml/1 cup measure, stir together the water, yeast, and 5 ml/1 teaspoon of the sugar and let the mixture foam to the top of the container. Pour into a large mixing bowl, add 310-375 g/2½-3 cups of flour, the milk, remaining sugar, butter, egg, and salt. Beat well until thoroughly mixed. Add the remaining 310-375 g/2½-3 cups of flour and stir until the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl and the dough is shiny and smooth. Cover the bowl and let the dough rise until doubled in volume, 30 to 40 minutes.
Turn the dough out on a floured board and beat on the dough with your fists for a few minutes. Give it a good punching to achieve a fine texture.
Return to the bowl, cover and let the dough rise again, until doubled.
Butter two 22 cm x 10 cm x 10 cm/8 ½ x 4 x 4-inch loaf tins. Divide the dough in two and form each into a loaf, pressing each flat on top. Place the bread in the tins. Butter the underside of a baking sheet, place it over the bread tins and set aside for about 30 minutes until the dough touches the baking sheet. You may weight the tin down with a brick so that the dough will stay square when it bakes.
Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F/gas 6. Place the tins in the oven, covered with the baking sheet weighted with a brick to keep the dough from pushing up the tin. Reduce the oven heat to 190°C/375°F/gas 5 and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the baking sheet and brush with oil. Invert the tins on the baking sheet and bake for another 15 to 20 minutes until the loaves sound hollow and feel solid when tapped. Turn right side up and cool on a wire rack.
MY MOTHER’S SOURDOUGH BISCUITS
My mother, Evelyn, made her own rules. She kept her own version of sourdough starter in the refrigerator at all times, ready for breads, biscuits, and pancakes, but her starter was very different in texture and taste from those on the market now. Perhaps it was the addition of a little sugar and salt that separated hers from the rest, but it had a wonderfully sour and nutty flavour all at once, and with care and feeding, remained active for many years. In the 1950s, she even took it down to our local baker and insisted he start making sourdough bread for Houston – which he did and, as far as I know, still does. I do not put salt or sugar in my starter, but it’s nice to have my mother’s recipe on hand for experiments, and just to have her near. Try them both and see which one you like best. In time, you will certainly come up with one of your own.
Makes: 18 biscuits
Evelyn’s sourdough starter:
240 ml/1 cup lukewarm water (30-35°C/85-95°F), plus 120 ml/½ cup to refresh starter
7 ml/½ tablespoon active dry yeast
130 g/1 cup unbleached bread flour, plus 65 g/½ cup to refresh starter
5 ml/1 teaspoon sugar
Pinch of salt
My biga (starter):
120 ml/½ cup lukewarm water (30-35°C/85-95°F)
65 g/½ cup unbleached bread flour
10 ml/2 teaspoons rye flour
TO MAKE EVELYN’S STARTER: In a crock or glass jar with lid, mix 240 ml/1 cup of the water and the yeast until foamy. Add 150 g/1 cup of flour, then sugar, and salt and stir well. Cover and let stand for 1 day at room temperature. Stir down the mixture, cover, and store in the refrigerator until ready to use.
TO MAKE MY BIGA: Mix the water and flours and stir well to aerate the mixture and form a wet dough. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let ferment overnight at room temperature. In the morning, it will be bubbly and fragrant.
TO MAKE THE BISCUIT DOUGH: Combine the flour, baking powder, salt, baking soda, chilled butter, and shortening in a food processor fitted with the metal blade and pulse 2 or 3 times until the mixture is the size of small peas. (Or, cut in the butter and shortening with a pastry blender or 2 knives using a criss-cross motion.) Add the biga or 240 ml/1 cup of Evelyn’s sourdough starter and process just until the dough is moistened, much like a pie crust. If you need more liquid, add a few teaspoons of milk or cream. Turn the dough onto a floured board.
Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F/gas 6. Butter two 20 or 23 cm/8 or 9-inch cake tins or 1 rectangular cake tin/baking pan. Roll the dough, without pressing too hard, into a flat circle about 1 cm/½-inch thick. Cut out biscuits with a biscuit cutter or a 6 cm/2½-inch diameter water glass. Place biscuits side by side in the tins and brush them with melted butter. Bake for 15 to 18 minutes, or until browned. The biscuits will be about 2.5 cm/1 inch high. Serve hot with butter and slices of fresh fruit or homemade fresh fruit purée.
Biscuit dough:
260 g/2 cups unbleached bread flour
15 ml/1 tablespoon baking powder
5 ml/1 teaspoon salt
Pinch of baking soda
30g/¼ cup (½ stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces
30 ml/2 tablespoons chilled vegetable shortening, see Flour, Water and Yeast, Down to Basics
Additional flour, as needed
30 ml/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
If you used my mother’s starter, reconstitute it with 240 ml/1 cup water and 130 g/1 cup flour and keep it refrigerated.
During my childhood, there was always buttermilk in the refrigerator. Everyone drank it on hot afternoons in Texas; my grandfather made his own from Bessie’s milk. (Bessie was the cow named affectionately, I think – but I’m not quite sure – after my headstrong grandmother, Elizabeth, the one who stole the pickle recipe.) It was the milk of choice for biscuits, bread, chicken gravies, ham gravies…whatever called for milk. I thought the buttermilk was horribly rich and because of the little flecks of golden butter that floated in it, and only learned later that it was not only low in calories but contained all those good things for your tummy that are also in yogurt and other milk products with acidophilus. But as a child, buttermilk made me gag; as an adult, I learned to love it along with most cultured milks and to rely on its magic to make my own crème fraîche, unbeatable biscuits, and this marvellous bread.
Makes: 1 large loaf
Biga:
120 ml/½ cup lukewarm water (30-35°C/85-95°F)
30 ml/2 tablespoons active dry yeast
480 ml/2 cups warmed buttermilk
260 g/2 cups unbleached bread flour
Bread:
30 ml/2 tablespoons melted butter
15 ml/1 tablespoon honey
10 ml/2 teaspoons salt
375-440 g/3-3½ cups unbleached white flour
TO MAKE THE BIGA: Mix the yeast with the water and stir well. In a glass bowl, mix the buttermilk and flour with the yeast mixture, stirring well to aerate the mixture and form a wet dough. Cover tightly with plastic warp and let ferment overnight at room temperature. In the morning, it will be bubbly and fragrant.
TO MAKE THE BREAD: Add the butter, honey, and salt to the biga and mix well. Stir in the flour until the dough is smooth and pulls away from the sides of the bowl. Add up to an additional 75 g/½ cup of flour, if necessary.
Rub your hands with oil and lift the dough from the bowl to a floured board. Push it with the heels of your hands and flip it over, folding it on itself 2 or 3 times.
Put the dough in an oiled bowl, covered, and let rise until the dough is doubled in volume, about 1 hour.
Oil two 22 x 10 cm x 10 cm loaf tins/8½ x 4 x 4-inch loaf tins. Divide the dough in half and form each into a loaf. Place the bread in the tins. Brush the dough with olive oil, cover, and let rise until the dough reaches the rim of the tins, 30 to 40 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 230°C/450°F/gas 8. Place the tins in the oven and bake for 30 to 40 minutes until the loaves sound hollow when tapped. Cool on a wire rack.
FRESH FRUIT PURÉE
I love the freshness of fruit purées. There are those with a sweet tooth and those with a sour one – and I am among the latter. For me, dessert is a fresh peach in one hand and a piece of warm buttered bread in the other, a kind of poor man’s shortcake. It is low, low in calories and does not make you feel the way lots of sugar does – a sudden high and then a crash about half an hour later. At any rate, this is a nice alternative to sweet jams or preserves, great spread on biscuits or fresh bread. Serve with pound cake or over pancakes, too. These purées are also useful for making sorbet or ice cream or lining a tarte shell before adding fresh fruit.
Makes: About 480 ml/2 cups
250 g/2 cups fresh raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, peeled and cubed apricots or peaches, or whatever fruit you like
75-100 g/½-¾ cup sugar, according to taste
A few drops of fresh lemon juice
In a heavy saucepan, heat the fruit and sugar over medium-high heat until boiling. Reduce the heat and simmer for 2 to 3 minutes. Cool.
Transfer the fruit to a food processor and process for a few seconds or until jam-like. Add lemon juice to taste. Add more sugar to make a thicker consistency, but I prefer the taste and texture of a thinner purée.
NOTE: A teaspoon of vanilla give this a little flair.
MY GRANDMOTHER’S BEATEN BISCUITS
“ Kitchen Sink Therapy” might well be my next book title. Nowhere else, except perhaps the garden, do I find such auspicious outlets for aggressions, occasional sadness, or simply the peacefulness to think creatively about grand things (grandiose, most likely). This theory applies well to recipes that require bashing around, such as brioche or veal scallopine, but when making beaten biscuits, you can really wail. Any covert emotions you might have buried will be aired and purged as you bash the bloody hell out of this dough. Have ready one of those nice wooden French rolling pins (a long cylinder without handles) or at least a good heavy mallet.
The bottom of a frying pan works well, too, but be careful not to crack marble or granite counters.
A picture of my formidably plump grandmother punching this dough around the kitchen still lingers in my memory, especially when I remember that this same ferocity could be unleashed just as easily when the grandchildren got too rowdy. She even made us cut our own switches – but of course we cut tiny little things that only stung our pride. A few minutes later, we would all be nestled in her large bosom, eating biscuits and jam.
Makes: Twenty-four 5 cm/2-inch biscuits
Biga:
120 ml/½ cup water
Tiny pinch of yeast
65 g/½ cup flour
TO MAKE THE BIGA: Mix the water and yeast and stir well. In a glass bowl, mix the flour with the yeast mixture, stirring well to aerate the mixture and form a wet dough. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let ferment overnight at room temperature. In the morning, it will be bubbly and fragrant.
TO MAKE THE BISCUITS: Sift together the flour, sugar, and salt and place in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the metal blade. Add the butter and shortening and pulse 2 or 3 times until the mixture is the size of small peas. (Or, cut in the butter and shortening with a pastry blender or 2 knives using a criss-cross motion.) Add the biga and ice water and process just to blend. Turn the dough out onto a floured board or other hard surface (not tile).
Biscuits:
260 g/2 cups unbleached bread flour
10 ml/2 teaspoons sugar
5 ml/1 teaspoon salt
100 g/½ cup (1 stick) chilled unsalted butter, diced into medium-sized cubes
30 ml/2 tablespoons chilled vegetable shortening
120 ml/½ cup ice water
Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F/gas 6.
Start hammering the dough with the rolling pin or mallet. If necessary, add just enough flour to keep the dough workable but not sticky. Beat the dough well for about 5 minutes until it is glossy and has little air bubbles in it. Roll the dough out very thin into a long rectangle about 5 mm/¼ inch thick. Take the ends and fold them towards the middle and then over on themselves to form 3 layers. Roll out the dough again and repeat. Prick the dough all over with a fork. This is the fun part – make any design you wish. Cut out biscuits with a biscuit cutter or a 6 cm/2½-inch diameter water glass. Lay on an unbuttered baking sheet and bake for about 20 minutes, but do not let them get too much colour or they will harden. If you are out in your garden gathering even more lofty thoughts than you did at the sink, and the biscuits bake longer than planned, they will have metamorphosed into exotic crackers, great with cheese or spreads.
At our house, the idea of making a big pot of black-eyed peas without corn bread is unthinkable. Where I grew up in Texas corn bread was first cousin to ham, greens, Thanksgiving stuffing, or, as it is called where I come from, dressing. Corn bread hush puppies with maple syrup were given to my brother and me for a special breakfast. The idea that anyone would throw such a delectable treat to the dogs and say “Hush, puppies!” was unimaginable to me, but that was the story my mother told of their origins. As for the corn bread, it had to be made in a skillet or a corn pone mould, called a johnny cake pan, a wonderful black cast-iron pan that has indentations that look like ears of corn. The seasoned ones are found at the Salvation Army or thrift shops, if you’re lucky, but new ones are still made by Ware. To season a new pan, oil it well and put it in a hot, hot oven (240°C/475°F/gas 9)for about an hour. Just be sure to make enough corn bread for the next day because, split and toasted for breakfast, it’s almost as good as hush puppies.
Makes: 8 servings
360 g/2 cups stoneground yellow cornmeal
10 ml/2 teaspoons salt
10 ml/2 teaspoons sugar
100 g/½ cup unsalted butter or vegetable shortening or a mixture of both, melted
480 ml/2 cups boiling water
2 large eggs, beaten
160 ml/⅔ cup sour milk or buttermilk (plain milk will do but sour is better)
130 g/1 cup unbleached bread flour
15 ml/1 tablespoon baking powder
5 ml/1 teaspoon baking soda
75 g/½ cup cooked fresh corn kernels
30 ml/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Preheat the oven to 220°C/425°F/gas 7.
In a large mixing bowl, combine the cornmeal, salt, sugar, and butter and pour the boiling water over them, stirring well. In another bowl, stir the eggs into the milk and beat well.
Mix the flour, baking powder, and baking soda together. With a wooden spoon stir the milk and flour mixtures alternately into cornmeal mixture just until moistened. Do not overmix. Stir in the corn kernels.
Heat a 25 to 30 cm/10 to 12-inch iron pan on the stove until smoking. Add the butter. When melted and bubbling, pour the batter into the skillet. Cook on top of the stove for about 1 minute and then transfer to the oven and bake for 20 minutes, or until the corn bread is golden brown.
NOTE: If you are making corn bread for stuffing, add 30 ml/2 tablespoons of chilli powder to the skillet when the butter is melted and cook it for about 2 minutes. Stir this into the batter, pour the batter back into the skillet and bake as directed. This will give your stuffing zip without overpowering the onion, celery, and sage. My mother used chilli powder in all kinds of places to improve the taste of whatever it was, and no one could guess her secret.
This is a Southern dish that seems to be dying out. I remember eating this at school in Virginia – I will not mention the school’s name, because I was desperately trying to escape from it and go to Berkeley – but the occasional treat of spoon bread made some days tolerable. Not even the ethereal lightness of a rich cornmeal soufflé could change my despair at being where I was rather than sitting in the Cock and Bull coffee house in New York’s Greenwich Village in a black turtleneck sweater, smoking pink cigarettes, and looking sultry. Fortunately I soon found myself in Berkeley, California, the antithesis of where I had been, and succumbed to making spoon bread as a nostalgic remnant from my anguished youth – or is that description redundant?
Makes: 6 servings
840 ml/3½ cups milk
225 g/1½ cups yellow stoneground cornmeal
60 ml/¼ cup butter, melted
5 ml/1 teaspoon salt
4 large eggs, separated
75 g/½ cup cooked corn, optional but definitely a plus
Pinch of ground red pepper
Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/gas 4. Generously butter a 23 cm/9-inch baking dish.
Bring 480 ml/2 cups of the milk to a boil over medium-high heat. With a wire whisk, stir the cornmeal into the milk. Continue stirring over very low heat until the mixture is smooth. Add the butter, salt, remaining 360 ml/1½ cups of milk, stirring slowly to mix well. Stir in the egg yolks, mixing well. Transfer the mixture to a large bowl to cool completely.
Beat the egg whites until stiff but not dry; they will be glossy and hold small peaks easily. Carefully fold them into the cornmeal mixture, cutting them into the cornmeal with a spatula and then lifting the mixture up and over itself to trap air. (This is the classic technique for soufflés.) Fold in the corn, if using, and hot pepper. Carefully scrape the mixture into the dish and bake for about 35 minutes, or until risen and well-browned on top. Naturally, you must dish this out with a spoon.
My grandfather called them flapjacks and flapjacks are what he made, never pancakes. He was a travelling oil man, and having had adventures all over the world in his youth, retired at a young age to a farmhouse outside Houston with Bess, my grandmother, Bessie, the cow, Inky, the stallion, and a pig or two for bacon. Every now and then some old bow-legged cowboys would show up, ostensibly to break a horse or help out with the butchering – or maybe just to sit on the porch with Poppie and eat flapjacks.
Makes: 4 servings
Starter:
240 ml/1 cup lukewarm water (30-35°C/85-95°F)
130 g/1 cup unbleached bread flour, (see Note)
30 ml/2 tablespoons sugar
Flapjacks:
45 ml/3 tablespoons butter, melted, plus more for the griddle
15 ml/1 tablespoon honey or molasses
5 ml/1 teaspoon baking soda
5 ml/1 teaspoon salt
1 large egg, beaten
TO MAKE THE STARTER: Measure the water into a bowl. Add the flour and salt to the water and stir to aerate the mixture and form a wet dough. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let ferment overnight at room temperature. In the morning, it will be bubbly and fragrant.
TO MAKE THE FLAPJACKS: Stir the butter, honey, baking soda, salt, and egg into the starter. Do not overmix.
Brush a hot griddle with melted butter and ladle the batter onto the griddle to form 7 cm/3-inch circles (or Mickey Mouse ears or pigs). When little bubbles appear on the surface and the edges firm up, turn the flapjacks, as in “flap” them over, and cook the other side for about another minute. Serve with maple syrup or molasses.
NOTE: For a richer flavour, make these with 65 g/½ cup of bread flour and 75 g/½ cup of buckwheat flour.
One of my weaknesses is for caviar. Anytime, anyplace. I even have a connection in Los Angeles who finds exquisite caviar at very good prices. I, in turn, keep him well-supplied with bread. He is leaning on me to make blini for him which he can freeze and sell along with his black jewels. Try these blini the way they should be eaten: with caviar. If you are a purist, try the caviar on toasted Rustico or My Mother’s Cream Bread. These freeze very well, wrapped in foil to keep out the air. Just bring them to room temperature before using and heat for 5 minutes in a medium oven (180°C/350°F/gas 4).
Makes: About 16 pancakes
15 ml/1 tablespoon active dry yeast
60 ml/¼ cup lukewarm water (30-35°C/85-95°F)
480 ml/2 cups warm milk
150 g/1 cup buckwheat flour
125 g/1 cup plain (all-purpose) flour, sifted
5 ml/1 teaspoon salt
3 large eggs, separated
30 ml/2 tablespoons butter, melted
5 ml/1 teaspoon sugar
In a medium bowl, mix the flours and salt together.
In a large bowl, stir the yeast into the water. Add 240 ml/1 cup of the milk and half the flour mixture and mix well. Cover the bowl and let the dough rise for 2 hours.
Beat the egg yolks with the remaining cup of milk. Add the butter and sugar and mix well. Stir into the batter with the remaining flour. The batter will not be very thick. Add a little more milk, if necessary. Stir well and let stand, covered, for 30 minutes.
Whip the egg whites until stiff but not dry; they will be glossy and hold small peaks easily. Fold them into the batter. Brush a hot griddle with melted butter and ladle the batter onto the griddle to form 7.5cm/3-inch circles. When little bubbles appear on the surface and the edges firm up, turn the pancakes over and cook the other side for about another minute.
I can’t tell you why I love this bread. It probably is served in Boston, although when I lived there one summer, I headed straight for oyster bars and seafood restaurants, forgetting to research classic Boston Baked Beans that must accompany it. You may want to serve it with your own version of beans; I find most baked beans too sweet and cloying and prefer the pintos my mother used to make, or even Italian cannellini. With beans or without, this is a great bread for teatime or anytime spread with butter or without any adornment.
Makes: 2 large or 4 small loaves
55 g/¼ cup unsalted butter, softened, for buttering moulds
130 g/1 cup unbleached bread flour
150 g/1 cup yellow stone-ground cornmeal
65 g/½ cup rye flour
65 g/½ cup whole-wheat or graham flour
10 ml/2 teaspoons baking soda
5 ml/1 teaspoon salt
5 ml/1 teaspoon baking powder
360 to 480 ml/1½ to 2 cups buttermilk
120 ml/½ cup dark molasses
150 g/1 cup chopped raisins or dates
Prepare two 480 ml/1-pound coffee cans or four 7.5 cm/3-inch round heatproof glass bowls, each about 7.5 cm/3 inches deep, by buttering them generously with the softened butter. Have ready a large pot with a tight-fitting lid and a steaming rack large enough to hold the moulds for steaming (you may need two pots).
In a large mixing bowl, combine the bread flour, cornmeal, rye flour, and whole-wheat flour, baking soda, salt, and baking powder and stir well. Add the buttermilk and molasses and stir until well mixed, but do not overmix. Stir in the raisins or dates.
Spoon the batter into the moulds, filling each to about 5 cm/2 inches from the top, about two-thirds full. Cover tightly with foil and secure with kitchen twine. Pour enough water into the pot to come about 5 cm/2 inches up the sides and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Carefully place the moulds on the rack, reduce the heat to a simmer, cover the pot, and steam the bread for about 2 hours, adding more hot water as needed to maintain the level.
Lift the moulds from the pot, remove the foil, and set them on wire racks to cool completely in the moulds. Remove from the moulds by running a knife around the sides; the bread will slide or lift out easily. Serve sliced thin.
NOTE: Glass bread steamers are available at kitchen shops or from the Baker’s Catalogue, www.kingarthurflour.com.
SUZANNE’S VERSION OF BOSTON BAKED BEANS
This recipe is similar to the one my mother made in Texas – about as far from Boston as you can get, in a culinary sense. But they taste great with Boston Brown Bread. Beans are infamous for their repercussions. My sister-in-law taught me first to bring them to a boil, then let them cool, then pour off the water and refill the pot with fresh cold water. Some of the culprit goes out with the water, supposedly. It seems to work.
Makes: 8 servings
450 g/1 pound dried pinto beans
1 small sweet onion, chopped fine
240 ml/1 cup dark beer
30 ml/2 tablespoons olive oil
15 ml/1 tablespoon dark molasses
15 ml/1 tablespoon honey
15 ml/1 tablespoon dark brown sugar
10 ml/2 teaspoons salt
5 ml/1 level teaspoon dry mustard
225 g/½ pound salt pork or pancetta, cut into thin 1 cm/½-inch slices
In a large pot, cover the beans with water and bring to a boil over high heat. Remove from heat and let cool. Pour off water and cover the beans with fresh cold water. Add the onion and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat again and simmer for about 45 minutes until the beans are soft but firm enough to hold their shape.
Drain the beans and transfer to a casserole with a tight-fitting cover. Stir the beer, olive oil, molasses, honey, sugar, salt, and mustard into the beans. Add enough boiling water to cover. Lay the salt pork slices on top of the beans to cover. Cover the casserole and bake for 4 to 5 hours, keeping the liquid covering the beans during cooking (I use water, dry white wine, more beer, or whatever liquid I choose). Remove the cover during the final 30 minutes to get a nice crust on the beans.
My stepdaughter, Nicole, who lived in Rome, requested that I bring English muffins in my luggage every time I visited (as well as chocolate chips, fresh tortillas, and Cheddar cheese, which made for an interesting suitcase aroma). I have yet to whip these right up on the spot in my Roman kitchen since Babbington’s Tea Room is just up the street in the Piazza di Spagna and their muffins are very good. Nevertheless, homemade English muffins, with bitter marmalade and unsalted butter, will undoubtedly spoil you forever for store-bought.
Makes: 2 dozen
Biga:
120 ml/½ cup milk
65 g/½ cup unbleached bread flour
Pinch of yeast
Muffins:
15 ml/1 tablespoon active dry yeast
TO MAKE THE BIGA: Mix the milk, flour, and yeast and stir well to aerate the mixture and form a wet dough. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let ferment overnight at room temperature. In the morning, it will be bubbly and fragrant.
TO MAKE THE MUFFINS: Measure the water into a large bowl. Sprinkle the yeast over the water and stir until dissolved. Stir together the milk, butter, sugar, and salt. Add the biga and mix well. Stir in the flour and stir briskly until the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl. If necessary, stir in an additional 35-75 g/¼-½ cup of flour. Turn the dough out and press with the palms of your hands 2 or 3 times, turning it over on itself. It will be smooth and shiny. Return the dough to the bowl.
60 ml/¼ cup lukewarm water (30-35°C/85-95°F)
240 ml/1 cup milk, warmed
55 g/¼ cup unsalted butter, melted
15 ml/1 tablespoon sugar
5 ml/1 teaspoon salt
585 g/4¼ cups sifted unbleached bread flour
1 large egg, beaten
75 g/½ cup yellow or white stoneground cornmeal
SAME DAY METHOD: Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the dough rise in a warm place until doubled in volume, 30 to 40 minutes. Proceed with the shaping instructions.
OVERNIGHT METHOD: Cover the bowl and refrigerate overnight. The dough will rise in the refrigerator and acquire flavour from the slower yeast action. Remove the dough 2 hours before shaping and let it stand, covered, in a warm place. Proceed with shaping instructions.
TO SHAPE THE MUFFINS: Sprinkle the cornmeal on a board or flat surface. Put the dough on the cornmeal and roll it out to a thickness of 3 mm/⅛ inch. With a cookie cutter or 7.5 cm/3-inch glass, cut the dough into rounds and sprinkle with cornmeal. Cover the rounds with a dry towel and let rise until doubled, about 30 minutes.
TO COOK THE MUFFINS: Heat a large, heavy griddle on the top of the stove. The griddle should be very hot. Carefully slide a spatula under each muffin and slide it onto the hot griddle and cook for 3 or 4 minutes. Lower heat and continue cooking until well browned on bottom. Turn and cook on the other side for 3 or 4 minutes longer until browned. Cool completely on wire racks. Split the muffins with your fingers or a fork only. Remember the old Thomas Brothers slogan, “Never knife an English muffin!”
NOTE: English muffin moulds that you place on the griddle may be found in kitchen stores, but I prefer the free-form kind.