Almost no-Knead Bread

Last night, D and I hosted a most enjoyable dinner party. The company was terrific, and the menu was as follows:

Appetizer: homemade flaky pastry rounds topped with membrillo (Spanish quince paste) and melted Camembert.

Main: sundried tomato and harissa paella (a slight modification of Elisa’s recipe – it was so good; thanks, Elisa!); arugula, blood orange, chevré and pine nut salad; homemade bread (see above).

Dessert: raspberry sachertorte (a dense and rich Viennese chocolate cake soaked in raspberry – rather than the traditional apricot – syrup, and coated with a shiny dark chocolate glaze).

I was quite pleased with how most of it turned out. But the highlight for me, by far, was the bread. I’ve never attempted to make bread at home before. I think I was worried that it would be a lot of effort for a mediocre result, since it is hard to make good bread in an ordinary oven. But, honestly, this was some of the best bread I’ve ever tasted. The crust was crackly but light, the crumb pleasantly chewy yet delicate, and the flavour was complex and tangy. Topped merely with some good unsalted butter, a slice of this bread was an absolute treat.

But this was no ordinary bread recipe. Ever since Mark Bittman published Jim Lahey’s recipe for no-knead bread in the NYT in November 2006, home cooks have been raving about Lahey’s invention of a “a truly minimalist breadmaking technique that allows people to make excellent bread at home with very little effort.” (Full article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/08/dining/08mini.html?_r=1&oref=slogin)

The idea is to take some ordinary flour, a tiny amount of instant (also known as rapid rise yeast) and some water. The dough is left to hang about for 18 hours, to get the gluten going (thus taking the place of a traditional kneading). Then the dough is shaped, and left to rise for another 2 hours. After that, you bake it in a dutch oven, so that steam will help a good crust develop (also, my understanding is that the dough would be too wet to shape, so the dutch oven prevents the dough from spreading out all over the place).

Apparently, though, this recipe produced a bread with a fantastic crust and crumb, but not quite enough flavour. A recent issue of Cook’s Illustrated promised to improve matters by introducing vinegar and light ale into the batter. Also, so as to improve the bread’s shape, this recipe calls for a decrease in the amount of liquid in the dough, and compensates for this by introducing a tiny bit of kneading (you knead the dough 10 – 15 times before the second rising). Whatever the case, it’s still incredibly easy to do, and the results are better than this clumsy, novice baker ever would have thought possible.

Since I made zero modifications, I will simply give you the link to the recipe http://www.cooksillustrated.com/recipe.asp?recipeids=4748&bdc=56976#topOfPage, together with an entreaty to try this if you love good bread but didn’t think you could make a good loaf at home.

(Almost) Rotten cantaloupe granita

A couple of weeks ago I was looking at cantaloupes in the store. I had never before bought cantaloupes (really), so I went for it and bought two.

Of course, yesterday afternoon I realized I had completely forgotten about the cantaloupes. There they were, hiding somewhere between our plants. The smell was there: eat me or I'll die. Or maybe: eat me, I'm almost dead.

I cut one up, ate some, got bored and put the rest back in the fridge, all nicely cut up and properly tupperwared. (K. opted for bread and mushrooms to get her daily amount of fruit.) I was proud of myself, for rescuing at least one of them. But I had no idea what to do with the other one: cutting it up would surely mean having it morph into some strange thing in the fridge instead. I thought of cryonics and the urban legend surrounding the late Walt Disney and looked at the freezer instead. But the thought of defrosted cantaloupe made me want to cry.

Fortunately, I have a nice blender, courtesy of my former roommates. Plus, again to my friends' credit, I have a fantastic bottle of grappa di nebbiolo (one of the most wonderful grappas I've ever tried). And there was room in the freezer. So I put the other canteloupe in the blender with some sugar (about 1/4 cup), a splash of grappa (anything more than a splash and I'd end up in the bottom of the Charles with cement shoes, I know), the juice of half a lemon, and a couple of ice cubes (optional, I'd say).

The whole thing has been in the freezer for a while in a plastic container. We just shaved some off the top and put it in a bowl after dinner. The result is icy and yet creamy (probably because of the alcohol). It hits you with a punch of fresh fruit, followed by a hint of grappa that leaves your mouth tingly (a true two-part taste experience). It's pretty good, if I may say so. But I blame it on the (almost?) rotten fruit.

(The inspiration came from a post by David Lebovitz. I adapted a recipe from Gourmet, August 2005, that didn't seem right to me.)

Thai-style scallops-in-a-packet

Like the recipe below, this is from "Moosewood Restaurant New Classics", a predominantly veggie book which is just super. Feeling poor, I made it with Tilapia. It goes perfectly with the vegetables below.

Serves 4; preparation 35 mins; baking 20 mins

1/4 cup veg oil
1/2 cup lime juice
1 to 2 tsp chinese chili paste
3 tbsp brown sugar
1/2 tsp salt
2 cups thinl sliced zuchhini / yellow squash
2 cups peeled & thinly sliced carrots
1 1/2 lbs sea scallops or tilapia
2 cups thinly sliced red bell peppers
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
1/4 cup chopped fresh mint
1 cup mung bean sprouts (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 450. For each fillet, fold a 12 x 24 inch sheet of aluminum foil in half to make a double thick 12 inch square. If you can find banana skins, this would be even better for the packets.
2. Mix together oil, lime juice, chili paste, brown sugar and salt.
3. Place 1/4 of the zucchini and carrots in the center of each foil square and drizzle a little sauce.
4. Lay 1/4 of the scallops / tilapia, top with bell peppers, and pour remaining sauce over.
5. Mix together herbs and sprinkle half of it over the packets, and reserve the rest.
6. Fold each foil square into an airtight packet, crimp the edges shut, and place on an unoiled baking sheet with sides to catch any drips.
7. Bake for 20 minutes, or until the scallops are opaque and tender. Careful opening the packets, as steam will be released.
8. Serve with the rest of the herbs, and serve mung sprouts on top if you like. ( I don't.)

Asian greens & spring vegetables

This is a smashing side dish to serve with the fish parcels above

Serves 4 to 6. Total time: about 20 mins.

6 oz snow peas or asparagus spears
4 cups sliced bok choi or 6 cups rinsed spinach leaves
1 cup carrot matchsticks
1/2 cup daikon matchsticks
1 tbsp toasted sesame seeds
lemon wedges

dressing

3 tbsp dark sesame oil
3 tbsp soy sauce
1 1/2 tsp sugar
2 tsp grated ginger root
1/3 cup scallions, sliced on the diagonal

1. Blanch the peas for 1 to 2 minutes (or aspargus for 7 inutes)
2. Blanch the bok choi for 2 to 3 minutes (or spinach for 1)
3. Mix the bok choi with half the dressing, and carrots and daikon with the other half.
4. Lay carrots / daikon on top of the bok choi, garnish with the scallions and sesame seeds, and serve with lemon wedges.

Vegetarian Paella

Alex's mother recently gave me goulash paste and fresh, fragrant sweet paprika from Hungary. These are wonderful in this dish, but you can make it with regular tomato paste and any old sweet paprika and it will still be very good. This is a modification of the paella recipe that Mark Bittman published last year in the NYT. I have reduced the quantity—just look to his recipe if you want to make more. This recipe does require that you have a pan with a metal handle, because you have to put it in the oven and a wooden or plastic handle will not handle the heat well (sorry, I couldn't resist). If you're making the amount I suggest below, a big frying pan works well; if you're making more, then you'll need a deeper pan. It makes a beautiful, hearty and homey vegetarian main dish. You could vary the filling—the plain tomato version is quite good, and I've tried it with chickpeas, zucchini, even asparagus—but this is a great, traditionally Hungarian combination.

Serves 2 generously

1 c. arborio rice
2 c. water (or 1 c. water and 1 c. stock)
1 tomato, cut into wedges
1 yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 green pepper, diced
1 vegetarian sausage (try Boca's Italian ones), chopped
1 tsp. sweet paprika (the fresher the better)
1/4 tsp. hot pepper (I like aleppo pepper), optional
pinch saffron (again, the fresher the better)
1 tbsp. tomato paste or goulash paste
salt and fresh black pepper
1 tbsp. vegetable oil
1 tsp. olive oil
fresh parsley, optional (but pretty)

Preheat oven to 450 degrees, and heat the water and/or stock. In a bowl, drizzle the tomato wedges with the olive oil, and sprinkle with a pinch of salt and a grinding of pepper. Toss to coat. In an all-metal pan, sauté onion, green pepper and sausage with the vegetable oil over medium-high heat, until they are softened and lightly browned (about 7-10 minutes). Add garlic, spices and paste, and sauté one more minute. Add rice and cook 1-2 minutes more, while mixing and stirring. Add liquid, 1/2 tsp. salt, and a little pepper; stir to combine and bring to a boil. When it is just starting to boil, turn off the heat and arrange the tomato wedges on top in an attractive circle. Drizzle the tomato juices at the bottom of the bowl over the top. Grind a little extra pepper over the top of the tomatoes, and carefully place the pan in the oven. After 20 minutes, check it: if the rice is not yet done, cook it a few more minutes (if the rice is not yet done, but is dry, add a little more liquid). Remember to use a thick oven mitt: the pan will be very hot! When it's done—that is, when the rice and vegetables are fully cooked and enough liquid has cooked off to make it a nice texture—return it to the oven, turn off the heat, and let it sit there for 10-15 minutes. Cool for a few minutes, sprinkle with parsley if you're using it, and serve right away.

It takes about 20 minutes of active cooking and 30-40 minutes of roasting and cooling.

My parents' rice

My mother and my father both have very particular ways in which they make fluffy rice. The results, while both fluffy, are quite different from one another. My mother says that her method is Persian in origin, and my father says that his is Vietnamese. I will have to take their word for it...they, not I, lived in those places. My mother's method yields soft, separated grains, the kind of rice you find in India and (not surprisingly) goes extremely well with Indian food. My father's method yields grains that aren't exactly separated, but aren't sticky or heavy either. His rice is very dry and light--you've probably never had rice with this texture. (I haven't aside from his.) Both of these recipes work best with long grain white rice. If you have a different sort of rice, I would suggest my mother's method, although the result won't be the same.

I've written detailed instructions here, but once you get the hang of it both recipes are quick and easy--you can make them in about 30 minutes, while you cook whatever it is you're going to have with the rice. Basically, they involve boiling, draining and steaming.

My mother's rice

Heat plenty of water in a pot. Make sure you have enough water to let the rice swim freely around. While it is heating, rinse the rice: in a bowl, add cold water, let sit, stir, drain, and repeat. When the water is boiling, add the rice, bring back to a boil, and then turn the heat down so that the rice is just simmering. Let it simmer, stirring occasionally, until the grains are *almost* done (they should have just a little bite left to them). Turn off the heat and drain the rice in a colander. Add a little butter to the bottom of the pot, put the rice back in the pot, mix in a little bit of salt (and a pinch of saffron, if you want), cover the pot completely with a clean kitchen cloth, and return it to the stove. Turn the heat on very, very, very low and let it steam for about five minutes without lifting the cloth. At that point, fluff it with a fork and see what it's like. If it's not quite dry enough, steam it for a few more minutes. If you want a golden crust on the bottom—a Persian, not an Indian feature—heat it on medium-low heat for a few minutes more, and make sure you have put a nice little bit of butter in the bottom.

My father's rice

This requires precision, just like baking: the directions are not hard, but they must be followed exactly. Heat plenty of water and rinse the rice, as before. Make sure you rinse the rice very thoroughly (maybe 3 or 4 times). Add the rice to the boiling water and boil for exactly 2 minutes. Drain and return the rice to the pot. Add new cold water until the grains of rice form "islands": some grains of rice should stick out above the surface of the water, forming little islands, but no grains should be fully out of the water. Imagine arctic waters with lots of little chunks of ice floating on it, and you'll get the picture. (Whew, now you're done with the crucial step!) Turn the heat up until the rice comes to a boil again, about 1-2 minutes. Then turn the heat down to very low, cover the pot with a tight-fitting lid (you don't want any air escaping), and leave it alone for about twenty to thirty minutes. It's done when the rice is dry, soft and fluffy.

Easy raita

I like Indian curries best when accompanied by fluffy rice and raita. Here is a recipe for the latter, to go with the recipe for a basic curry that I posted a while back. I don't know whether this is how Indian cooks would make it, but it's an incredibly simple way to make a delicious raita that will do the trick every time. This makes enough for two people.

1 small container plain yogurt, or around 1 cup
1/2 medium cucumber
1 tbs. water
1/8 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. ground cumin
fresh cilantro, chopped

Optional additions: ground coriander, black mustard seeds, chopped fresh mint

Peel the cucumber, cut it in half lengthwise, and scoop the seeds out with a small spoon. Dice the cucumber: cut the two pieces into long strips, line the strips up, and cut them crosswise to make small even pieces. In a bowl, combine the yogurt, salt and cumin. Add enough water to achieve a desirable consistency (it shouldn't be too gloppy or too runny - with non-fat yogurt, that usually means about 1 tbs.). Add the diced cucumber, mix well, and sprinkle with cilantro.

That's it! Now that was five minutes well spent.

Leftover risotto, anyone?

There's one thing I'm not willing to compromise on: leftover risotto. Don't get me wrong: I don't like throwing away food. But really, what could be worse than a bowl of reheated risotto?

OK, maybe I'm exaggerating. I can think of a few things worse than that. But really, when you think of what that gooey thing in a tupperware in your fridge used to be, it feels like blasphemy to reheat it and eat it as if it were actually any good. I'd rather eat a sandwich, or just bread with butter, or even cereal with cold milk. (Somehow, I can't think of few things more depressing than having cereal with milk for dinner. But that's just me.)

So, what do you do with leftover risotto? For a while, I would just make sure there wasn't such a thing. This means I was constantly terrified of making too much risotto, unless I knew someone would volunteer to eat and eat until the end. (I won't name names.)

Until we finally thought of The Obvious.

Risotto balls

What you need:

-Leftover risotto. (Basil risotto is our favorite for this.)

-Bread crumbs.

-Goat cheese. (Please, no matter what you do: don't leave it out.)

-Grapeseed oil. (Or any other oil you have that withstands high temperatures and doesn't have a strong flavor.)

What you will do:

-Make little balls of risotto with your hands.

-Stick a piece of goat cheese in the middle, and reshape.

-Cover the risotto balls with bread crumbs using your favorite method.

-Fry in very hot oil until golden.

-Eat immediately, preferably with finely chopped tomatoes that you've left to marinate with some garlic, balsamic, olive oil and a little bit of orange peel. And of course, some sea salt and black pepper. But I didn't need to tell you that.

emergency-pea-soup.

I make this when I come home absolutely, completely starving and I absolutely cannot bear the thought of waiting more than 15 minutes for dinner. It's instant gratification.

emergency pea soup.
1 onion, finely chopped
1 stalk of celery, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, finely sliced
2 medium potatoes (e.g. russett), peeled and diced (the smaller you dice them the faster you get to eat)
1 pack of frozen peas
5 cups vegetable stock
pat of butter or 2 Tbsp olive oil
salt, pepper

Heat the butter or oil in a big pot on medium-high heat. Add the onion and saute for a minute or two until it turns translucent and starts to smell good. Throw in garlic, celery and stir around for a minute or so.

Add potatoes and pour over the vegetable stock. Bring to a boil, turn down the heat and let simmer until the potatoes are tender, about 10 minutes, which is just about enough for a quick shower.

Back in the kitchen turn the heat up and throw in the bag of peas. Bring back to boil and simmer for another 4 minutes or until the peas are cooked through.

Get out your immersion blender and blend happily away until the soup is smooth. Taste: Some pepper. More salt? Maybe a squeeze of lemon?

Eat, preferably with a blob of yoghurt.

Serves 2 extremely hungry people or 1 with generous left-overs.




Note: The soup is easily fancy-fied by topping it with some chopped parsley and maybe some dry-roasted pine nuts or sunflower seeds. Or, if you have an open bottle of white wine sitting in your fridge, you can replace half a cup of the vegetable stock with it.

Challah

Some cooks approach even simple bread
with fear and trembling, despair and dread.
Indeed, such fear's surprisingly widespread --

yet utterly unjustified;
for of all baking, bread provides
the most reward for least demand -- so I'd

argue, anyway. This recipe
is near-effortless, dear addressee:
it comes with the guarantee

of years of Friday morning kneads,
and nine times out of ten succeeds
no matter how the baker proceeds.

I learnt it ultimately from George Greenstein,
but my mother made it part of my routine.


Challah (for novices and experts, but addressed to the novices).

1 cup warm water
2 packages active dry yeast
1 egg, lightly beaten
2 egg yolks, lightly beaten
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup sugar
4 cups flour, plus a little more for dusting the kneading surface and your hands
2 teaspoons salt
plus
1 egg and 1 teaspoon water, for egg wash
cornmeal for dusting the baking sheet
and
(optional) sesame seeds, poppy seeds, or anything else you like for topping the bread

Unusual materials:
8-inch springform pan (only if you plan to make a Rabbi's challah)
pastry brush (for applying the egg wash)

In a large bowl, sprinkle the yeast over the warm water and stir to dissolve. (The water should be about 110 degreed Fahrenheit -- warm enough to help your rise, but not hot enough to kill the yeast.) Add egg, egg yolks, oil, sugar, flour, and salt; stir until the dough comes away from the sides of the bowl.

Lightly flour a large, clean, smooth working surface (if you don't have marble or a silicone mat, use a large cutting board, very smooth table mat, or unusually clean kitchen counter) and turn the dough out onto it. If the dough is too soft and sticky to work with, add more flour 1/4 cup at a time, but this should be a last resort -- 4 cups is plenty, and more will start to make the bread too tough. Knead until the dough is smooth and elastic and the gluten is well-developed -- perhaps ten minutes if it's your first time kneading and you haven't got the hang of it, but usually no more than three or four. You can tell you're done if the dough springs back when you poke it and the indent disappears.

Transfer the dough to an oiled bowl, turn to coat, and cover until the dough is tripled in volume, about 2 1/2 hours. (But you don't have to take my word for it. Time of rising will vary -- by a LOT -- from kitchen to kitchen and from occasion to occasion, so don't rely on the clock. And of course it'll be much shorter if you're using Rapid-Rise yeast, which there's no special reason not to do as it doesn't make any discernible difference in the final product that I can tell.) This is a fully aged, or ready, dough.

Punch down the dough, cut it in half, cover it (tight covering is great but it'll do fine even loosely covered), and let it rise for 15 more minutes. Punch it down again. Now it's time for braiding!

Some people (e.g., my mom) can do these elaborate beautiful braids with six-parts that look really impressive. If you can do that, great. But I can't, and if this is your first time making challah you probably won't want to try. You might as well just go with one of the classic shapes for challah: a traditional three-strand braid, a circle (for Rosh HaShanah especially), or a Rabbi's challah.

To shape a three-strand braided challah:
Take one of the two lumps of dough out of the bowl and roll it into a long rope. Tear the rope in three as evenly as possible, then join the three little ropes at one end. Move one of the extreme ropes into the center; then the other; then the other, etc., until there's just enough left of each rope to join them together at the other end. Then do that. Place the braided challah on a cornmeal-dusted baking sheet.

Another option is to place the braided challah into a cornmeal-dusted loaf tin -- it should fit in one of various standard sizes -- and place the tin on the baking sheet. The ultimate size and shape of your challah is much more under your control if you take this path, but your challah will look squarish, and it may be difficult to remove it from the pan.

To shape a circle challah:
Take one of the two lumps of dough out of the bowl and roll it into a long rope. Wind the rope around from the center outwards in a spiral. Place the challah on a cornmeal-dusted baking sheet.

To shape a Rabbi's challah:
Dust a springform pan eight inches in diameter with cornmeal. Take one of the two lumps of dough out of the bowl. Tear off a hunk about a third of the size of the whole and place it in the middle of the springform pan. Tear off smaller hunks and surround the central hunk of dough with them. Place the pan on a baking sheet.

Of course, there are two lumps, and the recipe makes two challahs, but both should fit on one baking sheet. I tend to braid one and make another as a Rabbi's challah. If you don't want two challahs, you can refrigerate or freeze the dough, but not for very long, so it makes more sense to make both and just freeze a part of the finished product.

Whew. Now beat the last egg with the teaspoon of water to make the egg wash. Brush the breads with the egg wash, taking care to cover them completely and not to let excess egg wash drip into their crevices.

Place the challahs in a warm, draft-free area (a pre-warmed oven or turned-off top oven with a bottom oven on is ideal, and the dough will rise much faster in such circumstances), cover them with a clean dishtowel or anything that will cover them completely without getting stuck, and allow them to rise until doubled in size -- maybe 45 minutes to an hour. At some point during this second rising, pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. When they're through rising, brush the challahs with egg wash a second time, then apply sesame or poppy seeds if using.

Bake on the middle shelf of the oven for about 35 minutes. The bread is done when it has a rich mahogany color (it won't have this if you didn't use egg wash) and sounds hollow when you tap it lightly. If there's a white line visible between the cracks, put the bread back in for a few more minutes. Let the bread cool on a wire rack before cutting.

Enjoy!