briciole

grissini (II)

breadsticks (II)

grissini

My first post on grissini ended with the description of a plan for baking crisp grissini like those I used to eat in Italy. I had already eyed a recipe in Daniel Leader's most recent book, called Simply Great Breads. I always say that if a cookbook contains one great recipe, it is worth the expense. In Simply Great Breads I had already found one great recipe: Boiceville Bialys. I will now add to the list Crisp Bread Sticks.

When I first read the recipe, I was intrigued by the use of a pasta machine to first roll the dough and then cut the grissini. Having realized many of Leader's recipes, I trusted him and got down to work. Still, I must confess that I approached the cutting part with a bit of trepidation: what would I do if the dough got stuck?

cutting grissini

Fear not. As you can see from the photo, the operation went smoothly and it was fun to catch the strands coming out of the machine and then spread them on the baking sheet. The original recipe includes instructions on getting seeds on the grissini's surface (see the result on the cover of the book). For my first rendition, I kept close to the tradition with which I am familiar and made plain grissini.

When I was a child, grissini were always part of the bread basket in restaurants and that's where we ate them — never at home — so seeing them on the table felt rather strange. My husband liked to munch on them and I did as well — same as many years ago. Based on the photos in the book, I think Leader used an attachment that makes wider strands than mine, but again, I am perfectly happy with the grissini I made.

The location where I found the recipe for Boiceville Bialys does not provide access to the recipe for Crisp Bread Sticks so the book is the place to go for it. Interpret this as a recommendation (this is not an ad: I purchased the copy of the book I have). Note that the recipe directs you to use a stand-up mixer. However, the dough can be mixed and kneaded by hand, which is what I did.

This is my contribution to edition #28 of Black and White Wednesday - A Culinary Photography Event created by Susan of The Well-Seasoned Cook. After a few weeks hiatus, Susan has made some changes to the structure of her popular photo event and restarted again this week.

The top photo was shot in color and then converted to sepia.

This post contains the gallery of images submitted to the event.

fare colazione

to have breakfast

Breakfasts of the World Challenge on Very Good Recipes

This month, I have the honor, together with nine other bloggers, of being a judge in a challenge that has a theme suited to the time of the year: If we think about January as the morning of the year, then breakfast is a perfect topic to consider during this month. All the details of the challenge are explained on this page, so I won't repeat them here. You have until Monday, January 30th to submit your entry according to the specifications laid out on the page referenced above. We are looking forward to reading about breakfast traditions from around the world. As a judge, I won't participate, but I am presenting a recipe to go with the announcement. But first a few words about the Italian breakfast par excellence.

Italy has given to the world the best breakfast: cappuccino. In other words, cappuccino makes the best breakfast of the world. I know I am making a rather broad statement, but I stand by it. Un cappuccino prepared come si deve (as it must be prepared) makes a perfect breakfast and does not need any accompaniment. The latter statement is my personal opinion and preference: many people in Italy eat something while sipping their cappuccino, usually a pastry, whose name depends on where you are. For example, cappuccio e brioche in Milan correspond to cappuccino e cornetto in Rome. If I close my eyes I can taste a warm cornetto in Rome, crispy outside, soft inside (but not as buttery as the French croissant). Other pastries are available in the bar (coffee bar), where the breakfast I am describing usually occurs. One can also purchase something for a mid-morning snack at a bakery, like a piece of pizza or focaccia. And if you are like my father, panzanella is your ideal breakfast.

Many Italians like to eat their breakfast after leaving home. As a child, my mother gave us breakfast before we went to school, usually a slice of bread with homemade jam (pane e marmellata), sometimes biscotti (photo above) and always a cup of caffelatte. We never had anything cooked. Having breakfast as a family was a once-a-year event that occurred only on Easter Sunday. That breakfast comprised traditional foods and was a ritual more than a meal. My current breakfast habits are very Italian, in the sense that I cannot eat anything early in the morning and my first meal of the day is actually a mid-morning snack made up of fruit.

Back to Italy, when we settled on the theme for the challenge, I had no doubts about what I would talk about, because there is a breakfast treat from my childhood that I had been wanting to describe for some time: uovo sbattuto (beaten egg). It was my Sunday breakfast when we had fresh eggs from friends or relatives that raised chickens. I am talking about what are now called pastured eggs. (Disclaimer: I am about to describe the use of raw eggs. I am not hereby suggesting or advocating the consumption of raw eggs: such course of action is a choice you may want to make and take responsibility for, or you may prefer to avoid.)

After obtaining permission to make myself a uovo sbattuto for breakfast, the breaking of the egg and separation of yolk and white occurred, first done by my mother, then, when I was a bit older and could be trusted with this potentially disastrous operation, by myself. The big difference between my mother and me was that I had learned to keep a bit of the egg white (albume) together with the yolk (tuorlo) for better result. The rest of the white was set aside for use in frittata.

I had my own mug for caffelatte that had a handle, which made holding the cup while beating the egg more comfortable. To the egg yolk plus a bit of the white I added 2 small spoons of sugar, which correspond roughly to a measured tablespoon. Then, using the same small spoon, I would vigorously mix the egg and sugar until light and bubbly. The vigorous movement amounted to beating even though I did not use an eggbeater. Part of the fascination of this ritual was that my breakfast was slowly taking shape in front of my eyes.

When I was satisfied with the look of the creamy mix, I would eat it by the spoonful, but not the whole of it. I guess I had to have some milk, so half a cup of that ingredient, warmed up, was added after I had eaten half of the cream. The result was a bit foamy, slightly egg-y and sweet: a very nice drink. When I was older, I changed the last part. I cannot remember whether my aunt Lucia had anything to do with me trying to add a splash of coffee instead of milk, but when I did it, it was a revelation and there was no going back to milk. This version was not as liquid as the one with milk so I ate it with the small spoon instead of drinking it.

Discussing breakfast was not common with my friends when I was a child, so I don't know how many of them shared my passion for uovo sbattuto, but a while ago, I read this interesting paragraph in La scienza in cucina e l'arte di mangiare bene (The Science of Cooking and the Art of Eating Well) by Pellegrino Artusi, the seminal Italian cookbook first published in 1891. The book has been translated into English and you can take a look at some of it on google books. Recipe number 719 is called Un uovo per un bambino (an egg for a child):

Non sapete come quietare un bambino che piange perché vorrebbe qualche leccornia per colazione? Se avete un uovo fresco sbattetene bene il torlo in una tazza in forma di ciotola con due o tre cucchiaini di zucchero in polvere, poi montate soda la chiara ed unitela mescolando in modo che non ismonti. Mettete la tazza avanti al bambino con fettine di pane da intingere, colle quali si farà i baffi gialli e lo vedrete contentissimo.
E magari i pasti dei bambini fossero tutti innocui come questo, ché per certo ci sarebbero allora meno isterici e convulsionari nel mondo!

I decided to give the full quote because it is charming, in an old-fashioned Italian that rings sweet to my ears.

You don't know how to quiet a child that is screaming for a morning treat? If you have a fresh egg, beat the yolk in a mug together with two or three teaspoons of powdered sugar, then beat the white until stiff and delicately fold it into the yolk. Put the mug in front of the child together with slices of bread to dunk. He will get himself a yellow moustache and will be in heaven. If only meals for children were as innocent as this, there would certainly fewer hysterical and convulsive children in the world! [source]

Truth be told, Artusi then writes a sentence against coffee, tea, wine and other products, so I doubt he would approve of the variation so close to my heart that involves a splash of coffee, though by the time I started eating it, I was no longer a child.

I had not made myself a uovo sbattuto for decades and had never made one for my husband, so last Saturday, I did it... and the magic was completely gone. I had trouble adjusting my hands to the use of a different mug and spoon and at the end of my beating it, the egg mix did not look like I remember. My husband thought that the egg tasted too sweet and the addition of coffee did not make much of a difference. As you can imagine, I was quite disappointed. I guess that there are certain things that belong only to our childhood and cannot be brought back, even for a noble reason.

Disappointed, though not devastated, I changed the breakfast menu and prepared French toast for my husband. This is a breakfast I learned to make after moving to California and that I prepare often, especially when I have my homemade challah available. But I have made it with other breads and also, last year, with slices of Stollen and of meringue coffee cake (photo below: the cheese is my homemade English-style coulommiers cheese).

For my most recent rendition, I used slices of pane alla zucca (pumpkin bread; see photo below).

The original recipe is in Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone. My adaptation follows.

Ingredients for one serving:

• 1 egg, possibly pastured
• 1/2 cup milk of choice
• a splash of orange blossom water or of vanilla extract, optional (if the bread I use does not contain any flavoring)
• slices of bread (when I use my challah, I usually cut three slices)

In a bowl with a flat bottom, beat egg with a fork until yolk and white are blended, then add milk and flavoring (if using). Beat again briefly until mixed. Add the bread and let it soak well (the amount of time depends on the type of bread), turning it after a little bit.

Warm up an oiled skillet and, when it is hot, add the bread and then pour over it the egg remaining in the bow, if anyl. Cook on medium-low heat for a few minutes on both sides, until nicely browned. Serve immediately with fresh fruit or other light accompaniment. Most recently, this role has been played by my roasted applesauce. I'd describe this is French toast with an Italian influence (in the form of my distate for sugary syrup).

Click on the button to hear me pronounce the Italian words mentioned in the post:

fare colazione

or launch the fare colazione audio file [mp3].

[Depending on your set-up, the audio file will be played within the browser or by your mp3 player application. Please, contact me if you encounter any problems.]

Breakfasts of the World challenge, bread, egg, usa

pane alla zucca

pumpkin bread

The cart in the foreground contains the result of our visit to the Warren Creek Farms pumpkin patch last October. Besides three pumpkins for carving, we chose several other specimens, like the Cinderella pumpkin indicated by the arrow. Since it is partially hidden, I have drawn two arrows to indicate two others that were on display. The original name of this variety of pumpkin is Rouge vif D'Etampes, but Cinderella pumpkin (literally, zucca di Cenerentola) fits it perfectly.

The pumpkin was so pretty, I could not bring myself to cook it. I have a cold room that is perfect for storing squashes, but even there they don't last forever, so one day recently, I decided it was time to bake the Cinderella. I pierced it in several places with a blade and put it in the oven preheated to 375 F for about half an hour to slightly soften it. When the pumpkin had cooled a bit, I cut it in half and scooped out the seeds (a grapefruit spoon is perfect for this task). I did not discard what I had removed from inside the pumpkin (see below).

I put the two pumpkin halves back in the oven, cut side down, until I could easily pierce the flesh with a blade. I took out of the oven the baking sheet and let the pumpkin cool. I discarded the water that was released by the cooling pumpkin. I then scooped out the flesh (again using the grapefruit spoon) and put it in a colander set over a bowl. By the time I was finished with the two big pieces of cooked pumpkin, a bit more water had been released and I discarded that as well. On this page, you can see some photos of the process I somewhat followed. Note the color of the roasted pumpkin in the photos: it resembles that of oranges, and it is lighter that that of canned pumpkin. This has an impact on the color of the bread (more on this at the end of the post).

At this point, knowing that I would use the pumpkin to make bread and also ice cream, I put it in a bowk and processed it briefly with an immersion blender. I immediately froze more than half of the purée and refrigerated the rest until ready to use it. I also rinsed the seeds I had removed from inside the pumpkin and roasted them at 375 F until they were crisp. The seeds (semi di zucca) were larger than those of the pumpkins my husband had carved for Halloween and very tasty. In the part of Italy where I grew up, roasted and salted pumkpin seeds are called bruscolini.

As I write, I have already made this pumpkin bread several times. The photo above shows it accompanying some roasted applesauce. It goes really well with cheese and it is a pleasure to nibble a slice au naturel. The recipe for the bread comes from the King Arthur Flour website. I always halve the quantities to make one braid. Originally, I was worried that the spices (spezie) would be a bit too intense, but that is not the case. I weigh the flours and some of the other ingredients, so my list is as follows:

• 5 3/4 ounces (165 g) King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour (this is not an advertisement: I always use this flour to make bread)
• 4 1/4 ounces (120 g) whole-wheat flour from my grain CSA
• 1/2 teaspoon (2.5 ml) cinnamon (cannella)
• 1/2 teaspoon (2.5 ml) ground ginger (zenzero in polvere)
• 1/8 teaspoon (0.625 ml) ground cloves (chiodi di garofano in polvere)
• 3/4 ounce (20 g) diced uncrystallized candied ginger (zenzero candito; see the Note below)
• 3/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 tablespoon instant yeast
• 7.5 ounces (210-215 g) puréed roasted pumpkin
• 1 large egg
• 2 tablespoons (1 ounce / 30 g) melted butter

The original recipe calls also for 1 1/4 ounce (35 g) brown sugar. A few times I used 1/2 ounce (15 g) of honey (miele), but the last time I made the bread, I skipped the sweetener altogether and I liked the result better.

Note: according to this page, the difference between crystallized and uncrystallized ginger is only that the former is rolled in granulated sugar after being candied and the latter is not. I don't like the coating, so I prefer uncrystallized ginger.

Making the bread following the instructions on the KAF recipe page is pretty straightforward. The only thing I did differently is the use of convection baking. Since my oven adjusts the temperature automatically when selecting the convection baking option, I still set it to 350 F. And in my oven, the bread bakes in 25 minutes.

The photos I had of previous realizations of this bread, apart from the one with the applesauce, were not satisfactory. The photo above shows the unsweetened pumpkin bread I baked yesterday, together with some candied ginger: it was made with another one of the pumpkins in the cart at the top, the oblong green one to the left of the Cinderella. Unfortunately, I failed to ask the name of the variety. The color of the roasted flesh is lighter and more yellow, which explains the different color of the bread. When you make your own, consider that the color of the pumpkin will have an effect on the color of the bread.

I am submitting this recipe, bookmarked on the King Arthur Flour website to the December edition of Bookmarked Recipes, an event originally started by Ruth of Ruth’s Kitchen Experiments and now hosted by Jacqueline of Tinned Tomatoes.

This post contains the roundup of the event.

I think this bread makes a great breakfast option, topped with preserves or cheese or used to make French toast, so I am submitting the post to the December edition of Breakfast Club: an event started by Helen of Fuss Free Flavours. Guest-host Krithi of Krithi's Kitchen has chosen Bread as the theme for the event.

Click on the button to hear me pronounce the Italian words mentioned in the post:

pane alla zucca

or launch the pane alla zucca audio file [mp3].

[Depending on your set-up, the audio file will be played within the browser or by your mp3 player application. Please, contact me if you encounter any problems.]

bread, pumpkin

bialy per la giornata mondiale del pane

bialys for World Bread Day 2011

I have been baking bread at home for a few years now, but I have missed World Bread Day because the event sort of sneaked up on me finding me unprepared. This year, I made a point of being prepared, so I have a nice bread to share: Boiceville Bialys from "Simply Great Breads" by Daniel Leader with Lauren Chattman. My dictionary defines bialy as "A flat bread roll topped with chopped onions." (Note that the recipe directs you to use a stand-up mixer. However, the dough can be mixed and kneaded by hand, which is what I did.)

I have also another book by Leader: "Local Breads," and I have featured recipes from it here, here and here. The recipe for bialys caught my attention immediately upon going through the book. I have made it twice, halving the quantities and also using my own poppy seeds (semi di papavero) for the filling: I like the combination with onion (cipolla). If you end up having leftover filling, you can use it as topping for a soup, like I did here.

A few weeks ago, I published a photo of my poppy seeds and I mentioned I had used them in a bread recipe: well, here it is and here is a photo of one of my poppies.

The photo above of the baked bialys is not great, but please believe me, they are great. The description Leader gives is perfect: "The bialys come out light and bubbly, with a thin but wonderfully crisp crust."

The parting shot is of the filled bialys ready to go into the oven. "Bialys are best eaten on the day they are baked," says Leader. Indeed, it is difficult to make them last until dinner time (ora di cena).

Happy World Bread Day!

This is my contribution to World Bread Day 2011, an event organized by Zorra of Kochtopf. The event takes place today only.

This post contains the section of the roundup that includes my entry, while this post contains pointers to all the sections of the roundup.

Click on the button to hear me pronounce the Italian words mentioned in the post:

bialy per la giornata mondiale del pane

or launch the bialy per la giornata mondiale del pane audio file [mp3].

[Depending on your set-up, the audio file will be played within the browser or by your mp3 player application. Please, contact me if you encounter any problems.]

bread, onion

pane di segale ai fiori di timo e di erba cipollina

rye bread with thyme flowers and chive blossoms

For the current edition of Cook the Books, we are reading Sarah Addison Allen’s novel Garden Spells. Not unlike a book I discusseda few months ago (Blessed Are the Cheesemakers by Sarah-Kate Lynch), Garden Spells is a fairy tale, and like all good fairy tales, it is a satisfying reading.

My favorite character of the novel is the good fairy, a.k.a. Evanelle. She accepts herself the way she is and also accepts other people the way they are, without trying to change their attitudes, actions or beliefs. What she does is giving them "things they may need" and she does so in the open. There is no hidden meaning in her actions, because she has no idea what specific need the "thing" will answer.

From the garden of the title, Claire, one of the two sisters who are the protagonists of the novel, gets herbs and flowers. She uses them in the preparation of dishes for her catering business and of drinks and preserves. Some of this products are meant to influence the eater/drinker. In this, then, Claire is different from Evanelle.

I am not a gardener, but I have a small space where I conduct experiments with varying degrees of success. Small and irregularly tended as it is, my garden is always a place of magic, though not of spells.

I have a set of foxglow plants (digitale) that are taller than the house^₁, a dark pink sweet pea (pisello odoroso) that is blooming with enthusiasm, sprouting radishes and red Russian kale, leaf lettuce, various members of the allium family, red and purple poppies (papaveri), a number of other culinary herbs (erbe aromatiche)

and chocolate sunflowers (girasoli)

I have never really used flowers in my dishes and reading Garden Spells made me want to perform a small-scale test. As I mentioned in my most recent post, I am trying to become better at using rye flour (farina di segale), which I get as part of my share in a grain CSA. My first rye bread adventure, a few months ago, did not go well, but as I was perusing a recent King Arthur Flour catalog, a recipe caught my attention: Canapé Pumpernickel Bread. I halved the quantities and shaped the dough into a 13-inch baton. I really liked the result: the flavor is complex, the texture rich with whole grains but still smooth.

I thought that this rye bread would lend itself to be enriched with flowers, so I harvested and added the following to the dough: the flowers of three sprigs of my lemon thyme, two chive blossoms and a few flowers of winter savory (santoreggia).

Chive Blossom — ensures you will win an argument. Conveniently, also an antidote for hurt feelings.

flowering lemon thyme

I don't know if thyme flowers have any special power (the Waverley Kitchen Journal at the end of the novel does not include an entry for thyme), but I am officially in love with the bread I made. The flavor of thyme is there and a light hint of onion. I think that next time I will be a bit more daring and increase the quantities.

This is the list of ingredients I used to make the bread. I am reporting the "volume" version, but I actually looked at the "weight" version, converted ounces to grams, then halved the quantities and weighed the ingredients accordingly.

• 3/4 cup [80 g] whole-grain rye flour (see my previous post)
• 3/4 cup [90 g] all-purpose flour (I used King Arthur all-purpose flour)
• 1/2 cup [55 g] whole-wheat flour (I get this also as part oof my CSA grain share)
• 1/2 cup [30 g] large flakes of rye bran that I sift off the stone-ground flour (see my previous post) [note that this is not the same as rye chops, but my approximation using an ingredient I have at hand]
  
• 1 tablespoon [14 g] gluten flour
• 1 teaspoons instant yeast
• 3/4 teaspoons sea salt
• 3/4 cup [175 ml] lukewarm water
• 1 1/2 [45 ml] tablespoons olive oil
• flowers from three springs of lemon thyme, two chive blossoms (florets separated) and a few flowers of winter savory

I followed the instructions as stated in the original recipe, except that I made one baton and let it rise on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. I heated the oven to 375 F with an empty baking sheet inside and when the bread was ready to be baked, I sprinkled its surface with a bit of water, moved it with the parchment paper on the hot baking sheet and put it in the oven.

Slices of this rye bread are great served with spreads (like my roasted pepper and almond dip in the top photo) and cheese.

Back to Garden Spells, towards the end of the novel, there is a sentence that I really liked and I hope I won't forget:

When you're happy for yourself, it fills you. When you're happy for someone else, it pours over.

I think the same can be said about sadness. I spent a fair amount of time in my garden during the weekend, trying to focus on small tasks, as a reaction to the pouring over of sadness caused by reading news and watching images coming from Norway. As I mentioned in a previous post, I love Norway, I think that nature-wise it is the most beautiful country in Europe. Many times during my two visits, I felt like I was in a magical kingdom. It is difficult to grasp the reality of such an enchanted place being visited by unspeakable horror. I hope what happened will not change Norway. The country and its people are special and they will always have a special place in my heart.

¹ As Lori Lynn mentions in her comment, foxglove is poisonous. It is very common around here and reseeds itself. I keep it for two reasons: it's a beautiful plant and deer don't like it.

This is my contribution to the current edition of Cook the Books, hosted by Rachel of The Crispy Cook. You can find the guidelines for participating in the event here, and here is the announcement.

This post contains the roundup of the event.

I am also contributing this post to the July edition of Healing Foods, the event created and organized by Siri of Cooking with Siri and hosted this month by Simona of briciole (that would be me). I chose the theme of the month to be whole grains and whole-grain flours.

This post contains the roundup of the event.

Click on the button to hear me pronounce the Italian words mentioned in the post:

pane di segale ai fiori di timo e di erba cipollina

or launch the pane di segale ai fiori di timo e di erba cipollina audio file [mp3].

[Depending on your set-up, the audio file will be played within the browser or by your mp3 player application. Please, contact me if you encounter any problems.]

rye flour, bread, thyme, chives

un weekend di pane

a weekend of bread

A few months ago, I wrote a post about arte bianca, i.e., the art of making bread (literally, white art). I am passionate about making bread (fare il pane), just as I am passionate about making cheese (fare il formaggio). This past weekend, I attended a workshop at the San Francisco Baking Institute, a wonderland (paese delle meraviglie) for bread and pastry makers. It was a birthday gift that I gave to myself. The Institute holds professional courses in bread and pastry making. This year, they have offered weekend-long classes that are perfect for baking enthusiasts for whom a week-long commitment is practically difficult. The workshop I attended last weekend was called "Specialty Breads at Home."

The first photo shows six of the seven breads we made during the weekend. The beautiful loaves are the instructor's production displayed for the end-of-class photo-op. From the left: ciabatta, 100% whole-grain, miche, Finnish rye, pear buckwheat, 100% whole-wheat pan. We also made challah.

This is a sample of my own production: miche (in the back), 100% whole-grain (left), pear buckwheat, and Finnish rye (in the foreground). For some reason, I have problems flouring the loaves before baking, which explains the difference between the surface of my breads and those of the instructor. Besides regular flour, we used whole-wheat, pumpernickel, rye (farina di segale) and buckwheat flour (farina di grano saraceno). We also used flaxseed, sunflower and sesame seeds, wheat germ (germe di grano) cracked wheat, rolled oats and dried pears. Five of the breads were hand-mixed, so I will soon try to make them in my kitchen (I don't have a stand-up mixer and I don't plan to get one, even though that means giving up on the idea of making panettone at home).

The main differences between making bread at the Baking Institute and at home are: the oven (forno) and the amount of dough. The bread we made during class was baked in bakery-size ovens. However, there was also a home oven and the instructor used it to demonstrate techniques to approximate at home conditions typical of bakery ovens.

Have you ever handled 10 kg (22 lbs) of bread dough? That's me moving that quantity from the table to the tub in the foreground during my first workshop at the Institute ("Sourdough Bread at Home") in early March (thanks to Orso for the photo). I like mixing bread dough, seeing it come together under my eyes thanks to the action of my hands — so much so that looking at a mixer in action makes me quite impatient.

At the end of each day, we tasted the breads we had baked. The schedule was such that we tasted ciabatta and challah on Saturday and the other five breads on Sunday, a real feast of flavors and textures. I brought home all the bread I made, so, as you can imagine, there is a good amount of bread in our freezer right now.

Click on the button to hear me pronounce the Italian words and expressions mentioned in the post:

un weekend di pane

or launch the un weekend buono come il pane audio file [mp3].

[Depending on your set-up, the audio file will be played within the browser or by your mp3 player application. Please, contact me if you encounter any problems.]

arte bianca

the art of making bread (literally, white art)

I am not an artist (artista) in any art, let alone making bread (fare il pane), just passionate about it. And I like the Italian expression: it recognizes the special talent of all the people who give us good bread. Buono come il pane (as good as bread), we say in Italian, instead of "as good as gold."

Here are a few images from my most recent home productions (versus recent productions made elsewhere: a story I will tell in a future post). All recipes are in Peter Reinhart's Artisan Breads Every Day.

onion and forbidden (black) rice bread (wild rice in the original)

---

many-seed bread, with flax, sesame and sunflower seeds and rolled oats (pumpkin seeds in the original)

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5-braid challah

Would you like a slice?

Hear me pronounce the words on the arte bianca audio file [mp3] or go to the arte bianca audio page for more listening options.

erba cipollina

chives (Allium schoenoprasum)

I like to make experiments in my little herb and vegetable garden (orto). I do not call myself a gardener, and manage not to get too disappointed when things don't happen according to expectations. On the other hand, I get very excited when things go well: I feel like I receive a gift I do not deserve.

Last year, I had a small bed built along one side of the house, and in it I planted, among other things, chives. The plant did well (I guess it liked its environment) and I harvested leaves from it for several months. It was a pleasant surprise when, a few days ago, I realized that I could start harvesting again. On this page you can read a few words of advice on growing perennial chives.

I decided to celebrate the event by using chives in a bread recipe from Artisan Breads Every Day by Peter Reinhart: Soft Cheese Bread, even though I knew I did not have as much as was called for in the ingredient list. I halved the quantities to get one loaf. I more than halved the sweetener using only a tablespoon of agave nectar. Among the options offered, I chose to use potato water and water as liquids, and olive oil as vegetable oil. I substituted some of the bread flour with white whole wheat flour and added extra water as instructed in the recipe. Finally, I opted for cubed cheese (formaggio) and kneaded it into the dough after the overnight rise. I prepared the dough an evening that I was very tired and did a couple of things not exactly as specified in the recipe. The following day, my schedule was hectic, but I managed to bake the bread and it was a life-savior on a day in which we had a lot going on and no time to sit down to a proper meal (pasto).

Not only did the chives come from my little herb garden, but the cheese came from my home production: Monterey Jack, aged for four months. The cheese worked very well in the bread. As the recipe anticipated, the small cubes of cheese become "little cheese bursts" once the bread is baked. I am planning to make cheese bread again, trying the other recipe in the book, Crusty Cheese Bread, this time making sure I have the required quantity of chives.

This is my contribution to edition #223 of Weekend Herb Blogging, an event started by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, now administered by Haalo of Cook (Almost) Anything At Least Once and hosted this week by Susan, The Well-Seasoned Cook.

Here is the roundup.

Hear me pronounce the words on the erba cipollina audio file [mp3] or go to the erba cipollina audio page for more listening options.

pane pita e hummus

The 2010 February Daring Cooks challenge was hosted by Michele of Veggie Num Nums. Michele chose to challenge everyone to make mezze based on various recipes from Claudia Roden, Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Dugid.

A mezze plate (also called meze) can contain many different foods. The mandatory part of the challenge included pita bread and hummus, and that is what I made. You can find the recipes for all the elements of the challenge here. [As an aside, the word mezze in Italian means half (adjective, female plural). For example, mezze penne is a kind of pasta, a shorter version of penne (literally, half penne).]

One of the reasons I love being a Daring Baker & Daring Cook is that it often happens that the challenge is a recipe I have been meaning to make for some time. Procrastination comes to a halt in the name of the monthly challenge. This month it was pita bread's turn to move from the "to-do" list over to the "done" list.

Michele allowed us to use a mix of flours, so I made pita bread with some whole-wheat flour (about 1/4 of the total), besides regular wheat flour. I halved the recipe, starting with 295 g of water (1 ad 1/4 cups) and 300 g of flour, then adding more flour until the dough had the right consistency. I baked the flatbreads on my baking stone and some puffed up nicely, while others didn't, not sure why. The breads that did not puff up were nonetheless good.

I had not made hummus for a while, so I was happy to renew my acquaintance with this famous spread. I soaked and cooked half a cup of chickpeas (ceci), using the recipe in Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison. The flavorful cooking liquid left behind after I drained the chickpeas ended up in a really nice pumpkin soup I made the day after.

I roasted a red bell pepper (peperone rosso), removed the skin and added it to the chickpeas. I also roasted four cloves of garlic (quattro spicchi d'aglio), because I prefer the more delicate flavor of roasted garlic to that of raw garlic and squeezed some fresh lemon juice. I also used some ground cumin (cumino) as flavoring (together with  sea salt and freshly ground black pepper). I toast cumin seeds in a dry skillet until fragrant, then grind them in my mortar to get a nice, fresh flavor. Finally, I used olive oil instead of tahini, because the couple of times I have bought tahini in the past I ended up having to discard it, which made me feel bad. I don't use tahini in other dishes and don't make hummus often enough to finish a jar. However, my hummus had a sesame component: I toasted some sesame seeds (semi di sesamo) and sprinkled them on the surface.

Although I did not have a traditional mezze plate, I served my pita bread and hummus together with my roasted red beet spread, my homemade cream cheese and small pieces of two of my hard cheeses (edam and kefalotyri, the latter made with a mix of cow and goat milk). I also served small patties made with thyme-flavored chenna and baked crab cakes (made with fresh crab — more on this in an upcoming post, hopefully).

Preparing pita bread made me think of a traditional Sardinian flatbread that I ate many years ago when I visited the island and never forgot: pane carasau. In browsing around the web trying to find a nice reference to share with you, I found a few videos, the first featuring Anthony Bourdain.

Did you see how the bread puff up beautifully in the oven? The video shows how each flatbread is cut in half horizontally while still warm, but it doesn't show the second baking, when all the pieces are put back in the oven to crisp up. I have eaten pane carasau with pecorino ("true pecorino"), as shown in the video. I have also watched another short video, and also a longer one, divided into two parts (one and two). The latter is in Italian, but I think the images speak by themselves. In it, you can see how the pane carasau is baked the second time, and also the sort of presses used to keep it flat.

Now that I've made pita bread, maybe I will try my hand at pane carasau, though I don't have a wood-fired brick oven. I will start by looking for a recipe and then we'll see what happens. (To be continued.)

In the meantime, you will find a lot of photographs to admire, when you browse the creations of my fellow Daring Cooks. A special thank to Michele for a very nice challenge.

Hear me pronounce the words on the pane pita e hummus audio file [mp3] or go to the pane pita e hummus audio page for more listening options.

Novel Food #8: quattro tipi di pane

four kinds of bread

He realized that, despite his fatigue, which was aggravated by the phone call, he felt hungry as a wolf. It was ten past six, not yet dinnertime. But who ever said you have to eat at an appointed time of day? He went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Adelina had prepared a dish fit for a convalescent: boiled cod. On the other hand, they were huge, extremely fresh, and six in number. He didn't bother to reheat them; he liked them cold, dressed with olive oil, a few drops of lemon, and salt. Adelina had bought the bread that morning: a round scanata loaf covered with giuggiulena, those delicious sesame seeds you are supposed to eat one by one as they fall onto the tablecloth, picking them up with your forefinger moistened by saliva. He set the table on the veranda and had himself a feast, savoring each bite as though it were his last.

As you may have guessed, "he" is Inspector Montalbano, the protagonist of novels and stories written by Italian author Andrea Camilleri. I had read Il giro di boa (Rounding the Mark), the novel from which the excerpt above is taken, shortly after it was published, in 2003, and recently I read it again. I lingered over this passage for several reasons. The first one is that it reminded me of my first visit to Sicily, many years ago now. I tasted bread covered with sesame seeds for the first time and loved it. Then, there is the great choice made by the novel's translator, Stephen Sartarelli, of leaving some of the original Sicilian words, especially giuggiulena, which sounds just lovely. I have read that the word comes from the Arab giulgiulan, meaning sesame seed. Sesame seeds (semi di sesamo in Italian) are used in two other delicious Sicilian specialties: reginelle and cubbaita. Finally, there is the philosophy behind Montalbano's approach to eating: savoring each bite as though it were his last. Words to live by.

Montalbano does not cook and does not ask Adelina (his housekeeper) to prepare for him a specific dish. He is happy with whatever he finds in the fridge or in the oven, and when he decides to eat, he devotes to the meal his full, undivided and loving attention: he sets the table, sits down to eat and savors each bite "as though it were his last." Eating on the run is a concept that does not have any place in Montalbano's world. As I wrote in my very first post on this subject, sometimes Montalbano supplements the food prepared by Adelina "with aulive, passuluna and a piece of caciocavallo (green and black olives and a typical southern Italian dream of a cheese)."

The peaceful image of food savored to the last sesame seed picked up from the tablecloth is in sharp contrast with the horrible crimes that are the subject of Montalbano's investigation in the novel, which contains references to current political problems and events. I won't give you more details, otherwise I may spoil your pleasure. Because you are going to read the book, aren't you?

Reading the excerpt and remembering the bread I ate while in Sicily inspired me to make bread with giuggiulena (sesame seeds). Also, Montalbano's love for olives (olive) suggested to me that he may like them in his bread. The end result is a set of four breads and references to their recipe.

Looking for a recipe for bread with sesame seeds, I found two on the King Arthur Flour's web site. The first one (called lunetta) uses mostly semolina flour (which comes from durum wheat). I suggest that you follow this recipe by weighing the ingredients, not measuring their volume (you can view the ingredients by weight on the recipe page). Also, make sure you get fine-textured semolina flour. To be on the safe side, I put the flour in the food processor and run it for a while before mixing it with water, then let the mixture rest for 15 minutes before proceeding with the rest of the preparation. Based on one of the comments on the recipe page, I used a whole egg to make the wash and baked the bread on a pizza stone (for longer than stated). Below there is a photo of the bread sliced¹.

The second recipe has less semolina flour and more white flour (I happen to have Italian-style flour, which I use in a recipe for pizza dough). The braid shape is not very evident in the photo. I chose this recipe, because I seem to remember that the bread I ate during my first visit to Sicily was shaped in a braid (treccia) a bread I also found in the atlas of Sicilian breads. In this case, I added a quarter cup of sourdough starter to the ingredients, as a personal touch.

Black Olive Cheeks (puccia) from Local Breads by Daniel Leader. You can read the recipe here. The only change I made is using less olives (1 cup), half of them oil-cured and half kalamata. I pitted and chopped the olives the evening before making the bread, after preparing the biga, so the morning after all the ingredients were ready. Don't be surprised if these panini (literally, small breads) disappear fast: they are delicious².

Finally, something special to surprise Montalbano: a challah bread made with mostly whole-wheat flour, compliments of Peter Reinhart. This was my first try at challah and in honor of the fact that when I buy challah, I usually get one with poppy seeds (semi di papavero), because it is my husband's favorite, I decided to devote half the surface to each kind of seed. A first challah experience and a very satisfying one.

Each of these breads has a different personality, due to the different ingredients. As my next step of my Montalbano-inspired exploration of the world of breads, I would like to try a recipe I found in a recently-purchased bread-making book, but first I need first to get some durum flour. More on this in a future post.

I wanted a photo showing sesame seeds ready to be picked up "with your forefinger moistened by saliva," so here you can see the S-shaped bread above sliced and spread with foods whose identity will be revealed in the near future.

On May 23, 2009, Camilleri uncovered la statua di Montalbano (Montalbano's statue) in his home town (Porto Empedocle Vigata, see my first post for details on this name). If you follow the link and then click on the word avanti (forward) you can see a close-up. A month prior to the unveiling of the statue, Camilleri had written an article about it for the Italian newspaper La Repubblica in which he described how one day he had met a person strikingly resembling his Montalbano. The article ends with a reference to Luigi Pirandello's novel One, No One and One Hundred Thousand (Uno, nessuno e centomila), preceded by this words:

So già che molti diranno che non somiglia a Montalbano. E che altrettanti diranno invece che gli somiglia. È inevitabile: ogni lettore si crea un suo Montalbano.

I know that many people will say that it doesn't look like Montalbano. And just as many will say that it looks like him. It's inevitable: each reader creates his or her own Montalbano.

This is, as you may have guessed, my contribution to the eigth edition of Novel Food, a literary/culinary event that Lisa of Champaign Taste and I cooked up a few seasons back and have been co-hosting ever since.

My portion of the roundup is here and Lisa's portion is here.

Hear me pronounce the words on the quattro tipi di pane audio file [mp3] or go to the quattro tipi di pane audio page for more listening options.

¹ I had never heard of a bread called lunetta, so I did a bit of search on the web. I found an atlas of Sicilian breads, which includes a reference to lunedde, votive breads with the imprint of a hand. Here I read that these panini are spiral-shaped and that the hand imprint symbolizes Our Lady of Sorrows. Unfortunately, I could not find a photo of lunedde nor a mention of sesame seeds on their surface, so I am not sure whether there is a connection. On the other hand, the pane casereccio di Lentini is S-shaped and covered with sesame seeds. There is also a crescent-shaped bread called laddu or ladduzzu, and the reason I looked at it is that the Italian lunetta means lunette. On this page there is a bread called lunetta that is crescent-shaped and seedless. In summary, I am still not sure about the Italian connections of KAF's lunetta. If anybody is able to provide information, I would be very grateful. 

² In the book, Leader says that he first saw these rolls in Lucca (Tuscany). A web search points to Puglia as the origin of a bread called puccia, a version of which is puccia with olives. Readers from Puglia, would you like to comment on this? There is also a bread called puccia in Veneto, made with rye flour.