The Wednesday Chef

This post could also be named How Not to Bake Bread. Mmm, the bread in the picture looks so promising from far away. But click on it, and you will see. A doughy middle. And what you couldn’t see, but I did, were the wet sides. Yep, this bread that had so many lovely ingredients in it (cracked wheat! steel cut oats! wholesome whole wheat flour!) ended up in the trash can (but not before I sliced off the only salvageable parts of the bread, namely the crusty tops, and ate them for lunch).

This recipe accompanied an article about a soup party in Martha Stewart Living, back when Susan Spungen was still the food editor there. The bread looked so healthy and hearty and easy that I thought I’d give it a try last night. Note to self: do not attempt to bake bread when you cannot devote as much time as the dough needs to rise and bake until it’s done, through and through. Perhaps most importantly, note to self continued, do not bake bread if you cannot bother to read and follow the recipe’s instructions. I pretty much blame only myself for this kitchen disaster (except I also think the recipe had too much salt in it, but whatever).

I hadn’t been able to tear myself out of bed in the morning when I was supposed to, and then when the second rise hadn’t even really finished, I stuck the bread in the oven and tapped my feet impatiently until the bread looked done enough to take out. It had been an hour, but we all know how funny my oven can be about timing. I had to get to the office and couldn’t devote myself to making sure all the steps had been completed in their own good time. Best of all, I didn’t read the instructions carefully enough, and let the bread cool in the pan for hours before turning it out on the rack. So the lackluster outcome was the result of me being distracted, trying to cut corners and save time: not the smartest thing when baking bread.

Do I recommend you try this recipe? Well, the truth is, this isn’t the kind of bread I dream about eating. Breads like this are sort of more on my wavelength. I guess this post is more about me being an idiot than the bread being any good. The thing is, this bread would be really nice toasted with a slice of cheese on top, or dunked into a thick soup, or spread with peanut butter. And it is pretty easy to make. So if you have some time and are looking to get rid of your steel-cut oats, give it a try! Just make sure you have enough time. And follow the instructions.

Whole-Grain Oat Bread
Makes 1 nine-inch loaf

1 cup steel cut oats
2 cups boiling water
1/3 cup bulghur wheat
3 tablespoons honey
1/2 cup warm water
1 envelope dry yeast (1 scant tablespoon)
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon coarse salt
2 to 3 cups all-purpose flour
Unsalted butter, room temperature, for bowl and pan
1/2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

1. In a medium bowl, cover steel-cut oats with the boiling water. Let stand until room temperature. Stir in bulghur wheat and honey; set aside.

2. Place the warm water in a small bowl. Sprinkle yeast over water. Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes.
3. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the dough hook, combined the reserved oat mixture with the yeast mixture, whole-wheat flour and salt. Add the all-purpose flour until the dough is tacky, but not sticky (I only needed 2 and a half cups). Continue kneading about five minutes more.

4. Place the dough in a buttered bowl, and cover with buttered plastic wrap directly on the surface. Let rise in a warm place until doubled in bulk, about 90 minutes, or refrigerate overnight (which is what I did).

5. Turn out dough onto a clean work surface; form into a loaf about 9 inches long. Lightly mist with water; sprinkle with rolled oats (I skipped this step). Place in a well-buttered loaf pan; let stand until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.
6. Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Using a serrated knife, slash top of loaf lengthwise down center. Place immediately in oven. Bake until nicely browned and cooked through, about 1 hour. Remove from pan; let cool on a wire rack.

Here in New York City, we keep bracing ourselves for the crisper, colder days of fall. Yet summer seems to be hanging on stubbornly, maybe to make up for the cold, miserable spring we had that stretched all the way to June. Some people are itching for lower temperatures to break out their fall finery, but I'm happy that I can still walk to work in a sleeveless sweater and squint at my desk as the hot sun pours through my window. It'll be cold soon enough…

While visiting Boston in the summer, I snagged a recipe from my stepmother's copy of Everyday Food (I know, I've mentioned this before. My stepmother has a lot of good subscriptions! So I try to sneak a few in my bag when I'm at their house. Very surreptitious, aren't I? Hi, Susan!). It was for a version of risotto using pearl barley. I've never cooked with pearl barley before, and I had a bag of purple basil left over from a CSA share, plus I liked the idea of using frozen corn for simplicity's sake, so I set out last night to make this.

First, I sauteed an onion in some olive oil until it was translucent, then I added the pearl barley and cooked it for another minute or two.

I added some hot chicken broth and basically proceeded as you always do with risotto, ladling in hot broth, stirring over low-ish heat until the liquid is absorbed, adding more broth and so on (credit where credit is due: I made Ben do the stirring and he excelled at it.)

After a while, the barley started to plump up and the risotto thickened slowly.

When the grains were fully cooked but still pleasantly chewy, I threw in a box of frozen sweet corn, and cooked the mixture for another few minutes, until the corn was heated through. Then I added a handful of torn basil leaves and a few gratings of Parmigiano.

It was wonderful! The combination of textures – faintly crunchy corn and chewy barley – and flavors – sweet kernels, minty basil, nutty cheese – was just delicious. Plus, it was easy to make and healthy to boot. Since basil is easy to find at grocery stores all year round, this is a light, summery dish that could easily be made in colder months because of the ease of using frozen corn. I know, frozen vegetables (besides peas, and I'm personally kind of partial to frozen brussels sprouts) are sacreligous. But I have to admit that the practicality and light, sweet flavor of the corn won me over. At least this time.

Doesn't that look glowing and warm and comforting and delicious? I thought so, too. And yet. I'd better tread carefully here, because apparently the recipe I made last night is the recipe to end all recipes. Reprinted every single year in the New York Times for 15 years running, or something like that. Let me tell you a bit about it.

Marian Burros, a longtime writer for the NY Times food section, first published the recipe for Plum Torte in 1981. Every year thereafter, because of reader demand, the food section would reprint it. A few years ago, the New York Times printed it one last time and exhorted readers to cut out and laminate the recipe: they would be printing it no longer. Marian Burros ended up immortalizing it in a few of her cookbooks, and it's available all over the internet, in case you weren't subscribing to the NY Times in those days. And last week, when Marian published an article about autumnal cooking, the Times decided to offer the recipe to accompany the online edition. So I felt I just had to make it. Nevermind the luscious asian-pear crisps asking longingly to be made from the L.A. Times, or the fact that an equally good-looking apple-phyllo dessert was in Marian's article. The Plum Torte was calling my name and so I answered.

I figured it would give me a chance to make one last dessert with plums before the beginning of fall. I'm going apple-picking in the Hudson River Valley this weekend, so there will be enough apple dishes coming in future weeks. I plucked twelve shiny Italian plums from the greenmarket earlier this week and last night got down to business. Very quick business, I might add. The batter is simple as can be – you simply cream butter and sugar, then sift in a small flurry of flour, salt and baking powder. This thick batter is poured (or rather, smeared, since it was pretty stiff) into a springform pan. The layer of batter seemed surprisingly thin to me.

I halved and pitted the plums, and arranged them in a circular pattern on the batter.

I stirred together cinnamon and sugar, which then got liberally sprinkled over the plums.

The pan went into the oven, where it was supposed to bake for 40 to 50 minutes. I set about making dinner for Barbara (a beet salad and spaghetti with pesto, which by the way, I should have mentioned yesterday, benefits greatly from the addition of a lump of butter added to the bowl of sauce and cheese. Lest my Italian forefathers and mothers turn over in their grave, I say, I read this in a book! An Italian book! So there. Go back to resting in peace.).

When I checked the torte after 50 minutes, it still looked pretty pale on top, and the skewer came out with lumps of raw batter still attached. So I closed the oven door, and we went out to the patio for dinner. I completely forgot about the cake (note to self: when eating outside, remember that smells from kitchen cannot migrate through closed doors). In the middle of a particularly interesting point that Barbara was making about something or other (I was paying attention, don't you worry), I smacked my head and ran back inside to the oven.

At this point, the cake had been baking for and hour and 15 minutes, at least. I yanked open the door and sighed with relief.

The cake was fine. We let it cool for a while, then cut in. Maybe it's because it was still warm and some cakes benefit from a day of being left alone. Maybe it's because I had such high expectations because of all the hype surrounding the recipe. Maybe it's because I grew up eating a different kind of plum torte with a yeasted base (that looks more like this) and has much more structure and character and lets the fruit shine through more. But (covers her head with protective hands) I didn't really like this. My roommate did! And Barbara did! And my coworkers (as usual – is there anything they won't eat?) did! But I didn't. It was too sweet, too flat, too flabby.

It wasn't bad. But I probably won't make it again. There, I said it. If anyone has had more success with this, will you tell me about it?

Summer is coming to an end, but basil plants are still pushing on determinedly. What to do with that bunch of basil going slowly limp in your crisper? It’s more obvious than obvious, of course, but a pesto whirred together in your food processor is a quick way to preserve some of that summer aroma for colder, shorter days. I like to make my pesto without the cheese, in case I feel like freezing portions of it. When the time comes to serve the pesto, you defrost it, and grate fresh cheese into the mix.

I know that some people like to make pesto without a recipe, so they can adjust the garlic or oil levels. But when I’ve done so in the past, the pesto always comes out too garlicky or over-nutted or super-oily. So I follow the following well-balanced method each time. For someone who makes single portion servings of pasta for herself, this amount of pesto ends up serving me well for several days. I like to add a boiled, sliced potato and some boiled, thin green beans to the pasta and pesto.

First, 2 cups of fresh basil leaves are washed and patted dry.

Then, 2 cloves of garlic are peeled and dropped into a food processor along with 3 tablespoons of pine nuts (feel like toasting them? go ahead), salt, and a half cup of olive oil.

Add the basil and puree until a bright green sauce comes together.

You can put this sauce in a container, cover it with a film of olive oil and store it in the fridge for a week. Take out as much as you like for each serving and while the pasta cooks, grate Parmigiano into the serving bowl, mixing in the basil puree to make pesto.

Oh boy, I’m "it". Cath, from A Blithe Palate, tagged me for my very first meme. This food-blogging community is quite a friendly and active one!

I am supposed to go through my posts until I stumble on the 23rd one, then seek out the 5th line, post it here along with some insights into what I wrote, in addition to the meme instructions for five more bloggers whom I tag.

Since my blog is but a wee baby blog right now, my 23rd post was actually posted just a few days ago, when I made ciabatta. The fifth line of the post is

"But, I told myself, I am a recipe-testing blogger!"

Ah yes, this was the intrepid, not-to-be-dissuaded tone I took with myself when the plethora of yeasts and flours needed for those breads threatened to overwhelm me into choosing an easier recipe. If I’m going to get all serious and mystical for a moment, I actually think this sentence pretty well sums up how I feel right now about the blog and the writing and cooking: it’s a challenge that I need in my life. Even when crazy ingredient lists or complicated preparations might seem daunting, I am a recipe-testing blogger and I will conquer them all! At least for the most part…

So, now it’s my turn to tag some folks. I choose Zarah Maria at Food and Thoughts, Debbie at words to eat by, David at David Lebovitz, Kim at Walker Eats, and Cherie at kitschenette: all of their blogs have been inspirations to me.

Searching for an authentic version of panzanella – that Italian salad made up basically of stale bread and fresh tomatoes – proved more difficult than I expected. Many recipes online and in cookbooks included fennel, raw garlic, tuna, chickpeas, Parmigiano, boiled eggs, and other such out-of-place ingredients that didn’t really fulfill my ideas of one of the exemplary dishes of cucina povera. I wanted something much simpler and totally stripped down, with only the most essential ingredients playing off each other. Armed with these ideas, I went down to my local bookstore and nosed through several books. I ended up finding the most promising recipes in Saveur Cooks Authentic Italian and Flavors of Tuscany (a highly covetable book, at least in my estimation).

Saveur has you toast a cubed baguette in olive oil and garlic, which you then toss with sliced tomatoes, red wine vinegar and basil. Nancy Harmon Jenkins has you toss water-moistened stale bread with tomatoes and other vegetables, basil and red wine vinegar. I liked Saveur’s plain and simple ingredient list better, but something about the moistened bread in the second recipe seemed more peasant-like to me. I decided to fuse the two ideas and make my own panzanella. I think it comes close to nirvana, especially if you are like me and think that tomatoes and bread might be the only two foods worth living for on this planet.

I started out with an assortment of gorgeous tomatoes. Miniature plum tomatoes called Juliet, which literally taste as sweet as candy, stripey Green Zebras, a delicate yellow tomato, and then one red and green striped one that looks like a Brandywine, but I’m not sure.

I cubed a hardened baguette (although now that I have some stale ciabatta lying around, that could certainly be used, too) and soaked the cubes in a small glass of lukewarm water for a second or two. I squeezed out the excess water and put the softened bread in a bowl. To that I added all the sliced tomatoes, a handful of sliced basil, and a good amount of salt. To dress the salad, I added some delicately flavored olive oil and a few drops of sherry vinegar (I think balsamic vinegar is too sweet and strong for the bread). Eaten straight away, the panzanella was refreshing and delicious.

I love using up stale bread, and while it’s still warm out, this salad is a good way to do that. Soon enough, when the good tomatoes are gone and it’s cool outside, it’ll be time for the warmer dishes using up old bread, like pappa al pomodoro and many of Judy Rodgers’ soups.