Obsession: Bread

My brother David has been on my mind a lot lately for a variety of reasons. Maybe as the holidays approach, the ache caused by his absence becomes more acute. Whatever he reason, I search for evidence of his life in mine still.

It always comes back to bread for me. One of the things I got from his house was his "brotform." Actually my mom had it then she read, here, I think, that I would have loved to have it, so she passed it on to me. And I brought it to my new home in my suitcase.

My Brotform. It was David's brotform.

 First things first...I thought you baked the bread in this thing. Um. That would have started a fire, I do believe. I googled how to use it and you use it ONLY FOR THE FINAL RISE. That is what gives the loaf its lovely lines.

So anyway, I reached for Tartine Bread by Chad I-knew-him-when-he-was-still-in-school Robertson. As I read about Chad's search for making great bread, it was almost like reading some stuff David might have written. He talks some about the science of it and about ..well, good bread. Life is too short to eat crap bread. (Go on, needlepoint that onto a pillow. NOW.)

I started reading Tartine Bread last week and mixed up a starter pretty quickly. Make up a 50/50 mix of white and whole wheat bread flours.  Make a thick batter of water and mixed flour. No, as a matter of fact, NO YEAST IS ADDED. There are natural yeasts in the flours, on our hands, in the air. And that is what is going to make the bread rise (I know: amazing, right???)

I start the starter.

Let sit.

And sit. And sit.

And sit.

It should become stinky and bubbly. And it DID. Then you toss 80 percent of it and add equal parts water and flour to the starter. Lather rinse repeat. Until you think it's ready.

Then? THEN you mix ONE FRIGGIN TABLESPOON of that starter with 200g of warm water and 200g of flour (50/50 mix). And overnight, it should become nice and aerated and bubbly.
And then?
THEN you add 1000g flour (900g white, 100g wheat) ...hm. Annnnnd...700 g water. Let rest. Add 50g warm water and 20g salt. Mix. Rise in bowl, making turns (go buy Tartine Bread to really learn). Divide into two rounds. Rest. Shape into 2 loaves, let rise THREE HOURS. Bake. (Oh, and totally bake using Chad's method, I do not care WHAT recipe you are using. It is IMPORTANT. And it is why I am now coveting a Lodge Combo Cooker....)

The real story is that the first batch of leaven (when you mix starter w 200g each water and flour) never ever even looked like...anything.
I pitched it.
I tried to will the second batch into rising. And I persevered and baked it off and I got bricks.

Tasty bricks.

Tasty bricks, mind you, but bricks.

Then I tried one more time with the leaven. This time, I mixed the leaven in the same container the starter was in. This time, the leaven floated the way it was supposed to. This time, I did the turns timed as Chad instructs (although i still wasn't please with it after three hours. It wasn't fluffy enough.)
But I did a better job of shaping the loaves. They had more structure.
When I baked them off?

Ooh, pretty.

Ooh, big, aerated, hole-y loaf.

Pretty damn good. There's nice big aerated holes in the loaves, just the way a really good loaf should have. There's FLAVOR. Texture. Moisture. Man, this is good bread. And I think it's going to get better...

And now? Now I'm a textbook case of someone trying to live by bread alone. OH OKAY! Bread AND Butter alone.

But man, it is soooo worth it.

And buy the book for anyone in your life (you?) who makes bread. Unbelievable. The whole combo cooker technique is amazing.

A most dangerous game...clotted cream.

Clotted cream. Doesn't look like much, does it now?

My husband waxes a bit rhapsodic about clotted cream. And I think I never quite got what the fuss was about. The name is awful. No one wants to eat clotted anything. And to top that off,  it is difficult, if not impossible, to find in the U.S. But over the summer (I think), I had some at a tea in Argentina, a tea at El Alvear, an old-school-elegant place.

That tea was dinner. We had two complete teas, plenty for three. We cleaned up every crumb, were stuffed...and then they wheeled over the cake cart...Didn't I feel foolish when I had to eat MORE??

But (and again, I am almost certain it was at Alvear that I had the clotted cream...) after the cucumber sandwiches and before that cake cart, I spread clotted cream on my baby scone (in Bath, England, you have to say scone to rhyme with gone. Go on, practice. Got it? We'll continue), it was this surprising marriage of butter and cream. The best of the two (and I'm the person who doesn't like whipped cream on anything)...it was delicious and all of a sudden I got it.

And that was that. Until recently, when DH mentioned it again. One quick google later, I had a recipe in my hot little hands (okay, on the hot (no, really, it DOES get hot) little laptop). Thank you to Cupcake Project and her easier-than-you-think post on homemade clotted cream.

I used only a pint-and-a-bit of cream. I didn't want to invest too much into it if the experiment failed. That went into an All-clad (my fave! No, I don't get paid to say that!) saucepan and into the 180 degree oven, which might explain why this doesn't get sold here in the U.S. (If I die, point them to this post and tell them I cooked cream at 180 degrees for about 13 hours AND THEN ATE IT.)

Frankly, I thought my experiment had failed, because it looked like...well, it looked like nothing more than slightly reduced cream. But I persevered. Into the fridge it went for another eight hours.

Ooh, and the next time I looked? THERE WERE ALL THESE CLOTS IN THE CREAM. I scooped them out. I probably have about one cup of clotted cream and one cup of cream (minus delicious clots) that I can still use to cook with, says Cupcake Project.

And here's the other thing that I forgot from my taste over the summer. There is also this caramelization that goes on while the cream reduces...So it's a flavor of butter and cream and caramel all in this one creamy spoonful.

I had to stop what I was doing and enjoy a teaspoon of this decadence on a bit (heh. That doesn't look like a bit to me!) of a scone-rhymes-with-gone. Even though I'm heading out to lunch in about 45 minutes.

Experimenting with food...a most dangerous game for my waistline (yes, I did get my run in. Oh, btw? I'm training for another bit of crazy, the Bermuda Triangle Weekend in January: 1 mile of Friday, 10K on Saturday and a 1/2 marathon on Sunday. What? When did I EVER say I would never run more than a 10K? Oh, right. ALWAYS. Liar liar and all that...I take it back. I digress.)

Here's the procedure: pour cream into oven-safe pot with lid. cover and cook in 180F degree oven for about 12 hours. Cool on counter, then move to fridge (still covered) until completely chilled. Remove skin or clots from cream. Save cream for another recipe, spread clotted cream on...on...on everything.

Also, Cupcake P says don't use ultra-pasteurized cream. I forgot that caveat and used what I had, which was, indeed, ultra-pasteurized. Flavor is great, but I'm willing to bet you can get more yield and nicer, smoother results from cream that is just plain old pasteurized. 

In the meantime, this'll do. This'll do.

Tastes and Travel: Volt in Frederick, Maryland

If I recall correctly, this is the Sidepocket--hello bourbon!

September travels took me through Frederick, Md., where two of my favorite people live. (Hi, Cindi and Paul.) I had three of the most relaxing days in months, including a bike ride up the river to Shepherdstown, WV. Awesome ride, awesome people...they let me forget my troubles for a while.

One night we managed to get out to dinner at a local spot and then on to after dinner drinks at Volt, owned by Top Chef finalist Bryan Voltaggio.

The vibe here is awesome. We were too late to dine (no resies!) but got to go by for an after dinner drink.

This was the second time I missed a full-on food visit to Volt. Next time, I MUST get some dinner...too good to miss.

Mmm...Corn.

This is coming a little late, but...isn't late summer corn just awesome? I spent a couple of weeks at my mom's house in September and ate corn straight from the farm as often as possible. This wacky ear? Looked like yellow river stone put together on the cob...but tasted like sweet summer.

I'll miss the corn until next year. Nothing measures up to a tender, fresh-picked, barely cooked corn. It is summer.

Pumpkin!

It must be fall...These are from Reeger's Farm in Indiana, Pa.

The warts? Those are called peanuts.

Fields full of pumpkins..It's a pumpkin fest in the making

That is all.

Fall and Remembering David Again

On September 30, my brother David would have turned 48. On September 25, we held a second memorial in our hometown, Indiana, PA. So many people turned out to remember David. It was something I dreaded, but then something I was so happy we did.
The day was lovely, a touch of fall already gracing the hills of Western Pennsylvania, a place I know David just loved.

I miss David often. Just today, while on a walk, I found myself mentally composing an email to him, an email about food of course, and then I remembered it won't get sent.

This Robbie Williams song is on a playlist we put together for the first memorial service. Eva, David's wife, said he loved this song. The lyrics are hauntingly appropriate. (The video, not so much)

Catching up...I did it (two-plus months ago, that is...)

Poor little Babette Feasts blog. I tell you, I have not been feasting much lately. August and September were an absolute whirlwind of travel, starting with the NYC Triathlon.

That was SO much fun. And exhausting. Here's the thing. The swim? Fine, no big deal (although choppy...I worried about people without experience, then found out my cousin Amy finished faster than I did. And that is my strong event. Her weak one. I guess I really am old....but that's okay, because guess what? I did the NYC Triathlon!)...I did the barefoot run by grabbing the swim shoes I'd stashed under a bench right by the swim exit...then I stopped and used a bench to sit down and get out of my wetsuit...then I toweled off, put on bike shorts and headed out...my transition time for swim to bike was something awesome like 15 minutes.

What? It's not like I was angling for a medal!!

Anyway, then came the bike ride. Now mind you, I had really worked myself up into a state about the bike ride. They were predicting rain and all I could think of was how very bare the tires on the road bike are. Skid city is really what I was thinking. But what really happens is that you get on ...and you RIDE. You don't think you are going to fall, you just RIDE. You avoid people and you RIDE. You are very glad you are wearing the sunglasses, even though it is too dark, because wet roads kick up sprays of water right into your face and you RIDE. Then it starts pouring rain and you still RIDE. You ignore the fact that your sister, after she dropped you off for the event the day before, took note of the turnaround point and thought.."Far." You hit the turnaround point. The rain stops and the headwinds pick up...

Oh, man, I was so tired at the end of that ride. I do hilly-er hills in Charlotte, but these were loooooong, slooooowwww climbs and they took a toll.

But I got into the transition and I changed socks (so smart, to have read that it's a good idea to have some dry socks on hand), said hey to Sam as I exited the transition area (he was waiting for his relay team member to send him on his way) and promptly DIED.

Duh. uh. IED.

You start up a steep hill and I walked. You get to 72nd Street and I walked. I tried to jog and happily, I was actually jogging when I passed my little band of cheerleaders (Pat, Sushil, Simone, Gary, Julien +1, Gabby)...and then I had to walk again. All I could think was I have 6 miles to go. I was my own worst enemy. All the positive reinforcement thoughts went out the window.


I made it to each mile marker by running to the next tree down the way. Then walking. Then running to that lamppost I could see. Then walking...Then running to that big rock. It had been cool (ish) and raining during the bike ride. Now the sun came out and it was like running in a steam room and the temperature just seemed to rocket up to 90.

That is some hilly park, Central Park. Finally, around mile 4.5 Sam caught up with me. I was really feeling all kinds of crap so I said hey and see you at the finish. Sam kept running (again, when he caught up to me, I was, surprisingly, jogging)...then turned around thinking I was right behind him only to see me walking.

He waited. When I caught up to him, Sam made me start jogging and didn't let me quit. He kept me going by saying, "Come on, let's pass these two.." Then he would set his sights on the next runner or two and we'd pass them.

It was hard, but I was so touched. We crossed the finish line together and I cherish that moment.

but I gotta say, I felt awful. I wanted to cry. The volunteer who met me at the finish line asked me how I felt and must not have believed me, because he asked me my name...Truth? I should have told him I felt like crap and taken all the help he had to offer.

Scenes from the day:

Waiting in line for bus to the starting transition zone...where you then had to walk a mile to get to swim start. Yes, I was almost late...

Sam around 4:30 a.m. while waiting for the bus.

I actually stopped on the "run" to take a shot. Stupid to carry the camera at all.

Look, that's me saying hi..and trying to look like I'm having fun.

Me, Sam, Gabby, Gary

Still, I am glad so very glad I did this. The feeling of accomplishment in this cannot be matched by other things I do, mostly because this is so far out of my own comfort zone. To all of you who supported my efforts, you are so appreciated.

You MUST check out Amy's highlights, one of which was Amy, her sister Jill and I riding our way from hotel to transition zone through the streets of NYC. AWESOME. (I didn't make any of the photos because I felt like such ...yuck.)