Tartine Bread: Sourdough Brioche

When you are crazy for sourdough and obsessed with brioche, it’s a given that eventually, a sourdough brioche must be made.

At least, it was a given for me. My husband told me my “love of all things sourdough” was being taken too far when I interrupted his reading to tell him of my great plans.  I informed him that commercial yeast is, in the timeline of bread making, a recent innovation that is predated by brioche.  As a good lawyer, I bolstered my thesis with the facts, noting that the most accurate translation of Marie Antoinette’s infamous comment was, “let them eat brioche.” (Yes, people, this is my takeaway lesson for you from the French Revolution). He made a face, so I ignored him.

The recipe I used was Chad Robertson’s recipe from Tartine Bread, a great book I’ve talked about before. In direct contrast to most of that volume’s recipes, which don’t even need to kneaded, this one absolutely requires a stand mixer–how else could you smoothly incorporate a full pound of butter?

Besides the astounding quantities of butter and the use of nearly a dozen eggs, this recipe requires both a sourdough starter and a poolish (a mixture of flour, water, and a pinch of instant yeast that is allowed to ferment overnight and develop extra flavor). It’s a lot of bowls, but by no means difficult.  It all comes together in a stand mixer, with the butter beaten in at the end.  The dough is wet, sticky, glistening and almost taffy-like in appearance. Funnily enough, for a dough that weighs a full six pounds, it hardly seemed to tax my mixer at all (much to my relief)–presumably because it is indeed such a soft, pliant dough.

The dough is folded down a few times during bulk fermentation, but because it uses both instant yeast and wild yeast, it had no trouble kicking back and making itself comfortable in my oversize, 6-quart bread rising bucket. (Finally–I feel like that purchase was justified). The use of instant yeast is also what makes the dough hold up well for freezing for a later use.  And thankfully so:  it’s  a relief you don’t have to bake six loaves of brioche all at once.

Four pounds are in the freezer, and the remaining two pounds made their way into my brioche molds, where formed into the traditional shape, they happily continued to grow.  My loaves baked up wonderfully, though I’m afraid that they did brown a bit more than I would have liked.  Although–this may not have been an error on my part; Robertson explains that at he and his wife’s bakery, they intentionally brown their goods more than the typical bakeshop.   (I think these might have turned out more nicely if I had remembered the egg wash at the end as well.  But after cracking open 10 eggs, I must have subconsciously decided that enough was enough).

Verdict? I love having extra dough in the freezer, asking merely to be defrosted and shaped.  I love the luxury of this recipe, full of so many possibilties:  though I’d never tire of an honest, simple brioche, the kugelhopf variation is tempting me.  And I love using both sourdough and poolish, giving the dough depth of flavor and extended shelf life.

But most importantly I love eating it smeared with jam. And my husband does too–and though he’s may not be willing to say as much, the several slices that he enjoyed were admission enough.

I hate to be a downer and not give you any recipe, but I’d have to suggest having a look at the book–the instructions are so detailed and each step so lovingly photographed I’d hardly do it justice.  I’d even say that it’s well worth a slot on your Christmas wish list.

And…if you are at all interested in sourdough bread baking (and you should be), make sure you help celebrate “Doughvember” hosted by Pinch My Salt and Salty Seattle.  It’s new and unusual uses of sourdough that are precisely the focus, and this could be just the tip of the iceberg.  I’m making this bread in the spirit of stretching my sourdough skills, and am looking forward to seeing what else everyone creates.

Update:  I just noticed that I did not mask well in my first photo the fact that my son took a little nibble out of the brioche.  Helpers in the kitchen sometimes extract their price, I guess.

—by Sara

This post is submitted to Yeastspotting, hosted this week by one of my favorite blogs, the Tartine Bread Experiment –Yes, that Tartine:  how serendipitous!

BBA Challenge #43: Roasted Onion and Asiago Miche

also known as…the END!

Trite as it may be, I do feel the need at this final post in the BBA Challenge venture to take stock, and consider what I’ve learned.  So before writing up this last bread, let’s pause for reflection.

I started this challenge 4th of July weekend of 2009.  I finished  this challenge June 26, 2011.  I won’t lie, the impending two year mark definitely gave me the final kick in the seat to bake that last bread.  (It did not, however, push me to post about it before this deadline of sorts, but close enough).

Two years ago, there was just little E, though not long after I started this challenge we found out that baby H was also in the oven.  (I can’t help the cliché/pun; I am writing a post about bread here).  I don’t know if the BBA Challenge somehow reached him in the womb, but the boy likes bread.  

Four years ago, living in London, I bought this book on Amazon marketplace for $5, after seeing it recommended on The Fresh Loaf.  I immediately started baking from it, but mainly made brioche.  I was intrigued by the Pannetone recipe but figured I’d never get around to making the sourdough breads.  Making my own starter just seemed all too intimidating, and I didn’t have any other eccentrics in my circle of acquaintances who could give me a bit of their starter.  After several failures at rearing my own, my sister-in-law scored  a Harvard Law School prof’s starter for me, which I managed not to kill.  Then I managed, with a bit more patience, to grow my own starter.  Now I’m a full-on sourdough snob!

I can’t guess at how many 5lb bags of flour I’ve gone through, not to mention weird specialty ingredients like fiori di sicilia and diastatic barley malt powder.  (Fortunately I live very close to the King Arthur Flour headquarters).  I’ve met a lot of other baker-bloggers (and have been sucked into further challenges, not all of which I have followed through with), and have even drug old friends into the challenge (not that they were kicking and screaming about it).  

I’ve also had my Kitchen Aid mixer (that appliance that is supposedly indestructible) blow out and have learned that there are only two places in the whole state that will fix it (and that fixing it is not cheap, but at least I got a trip to Salem out of it I guess.  Yes, that Salem from the witch trials).

I probably don’t remember but hazily (except for my posts) many of the breads I made along the way, and there were certainly some recipes that I never would have made but for the challenge.  Which was a good thing.  English muffins?  Pretty cool.  Casatiello?  Surprisingly addictive.  Stollen?  Still not sure about that one, but I will try it again, probably leaving out the booze was a bad idea. 

Most importantly I have gotten into the habit of baking bread nearly every weekend, which is a comforting, grounding ritual with everything else going on throughout the week.

Musings done.  On to this last bread (speaking of recipes I never would have tried absent the challenge).  I’d been told that this last one is a showstopper and I was not disappointed.  It was savory and rich  and I kept tearing hunks off against my better judgment (so it went to work, which as I’ve admitted I do as a  matter of self-preservation).  I halved the recipe (though almost forgot this at several points, which luckily I  realized before disaster ensued–can you imagine the horror, on my last challenge!  I am sure you shudder to consider it).  I took liberties with the variations as well:  I used red onions and jack cheese, to wonderful effect.  Red onions, being naturally sweet already, caramelize even sweeter.  Jack cheese, by the way, is delicious–I can’t remember how long ago I last had it, but I think I need to step away from the French and Spanish cheese counters a bit more often.

The dough was wonderfully smooth and developed, as you can see from the photo below–all the bits and bobs were held together by the dough’s surface tension, leaving nothing poking out.  In fact this only needed to be kneaded (hee hee) for four minutes to come out so nicely (which is one thing I still haven’t figured out–why was four minutes sufficient here, while in most cases Reinhart requires 8-10 minutes?  Anyone know?).  Because it was the last bread, I even kneaded it by hand.  I have gotten in the habit of using the stand mixer, even though I do enjoy kneading and feeling the bread transform from a sticky ragged mess to a smooth, springy ball under my palms.  Whacking the dough on the counter from time to time is fun too, if you have any latent aggression or stress.

All in all, an appropriate end to the BBA Challenge.    And now there’s nothing more left to say but hurah! 

(And…should I sign up for another challenge?)

Tartine Country Bread (with recipe)

Tragedy struck our household just after Christmas, when my beloved kitchenaid professional stand mixer jammed up.  So much for its vaunted planetary action, where the beater blade spins on its axis while simultaneously rotating around the bowl.  Instead my machine let out an increasingly angry buzzing noise from the machine and an increasingly panicked response from me.  My kitchenaid is just over 3 years old–I whined, as if rationalizing with it would guilt it into replying, well then, nevermind, I suppose I’ll start working again.

I eventually learned that in the great state of Massachusetts, there are only two locales that service stand mixers.  The one in the Boston area turned out to be in Salem.  As in, the witch trials.  Hmh.

I’m still waiting for the new gear piece to come in from the manufacturer, and in the meantime I have had to make do.  (Oh, we grew up without a stand mixer, though I coveted them on TV cooking shows.  But one gets used to luxuries so quickly…).  As dear readers know, my kitchenaid is often hauled out for bread making, not so much because I hate kneading but rather so I can have my hands free chasing down a speedy crawler and his equally energetic older brother.   What to do?

So, yeah, I found an excuse to buy another bread book.

But I can justify it!

Even among my (far too) large collection of bread books, this one stands out.   In part, it’s Chad Robertson’s method in Tartine Bread:  simply fold the dough over itself every half hour for about 3 hours to develop the dough.  Time + water + folding builds the gluten just as kneading would.  The other genius of the method is to use a dutch oven to replicate the steamy environment of a professional oven.  (No throwing of ice cubes into heated cast iron skillets preheating on your oven floor, or spraying down the sides of your hot oven with water).  It’s a bit of a delicate operation dealing with a very hot and heavy cast iron pot and lid, but as long as you have a good supply of kitchen mitts and potholders, you’re good to go.

The bread is amazing.  It has that rustic, chewy european bread crust, a mild sourdough flavor, a complexity from a touch of whole wheat flour.  The crumb is equally marvelous, filled with little pockets of air, but moist and toothsome.  The loaf keeps well and is fresh-tasting even 5 days after baking.  And it’s beautiful to look at–ruddy browns, heat-blistered surface.

Rather than putting the recipe here, I’ll link to the article in Martha Stewart Living where the basic recipe was featured. 

 

I don’t want to scare anyone off, but the recipe as posted there is so detailed I couldn’t do it justice here.  But the length of the recipe is a good thing:   answering and anticipating any question you may have such as “does this look right” or “what is this supposed to smell like?”,  and to boot, there are probably more progress photos than you’ve ever seen before in any recipe.  You could, in fact, almost skip reading the recipe, if all those words are too intimidating. 

I’d (surprise) recommend the book if you like this bread, as several easy variations on his basic method are given, plus delicious recipes for soups, mains, and desserts that bring out the best of the bread.  There’s also a brioche recipe made partially with sourdough–but that one requires the stand mixer…

*A note on sourdough:  Yes, this does require sourdough.  Fear not, as this recipe explains how to make your own.  As you know I’ve had my troubles rearing up my own colony of yeast, but something about this book inspired me to try again.  Patience, patience: on day EIGHT my sourdough finally came to life.  And it’s very much alive, even if it was slow out of the gate!   I’ve also found that when all else fails, rye is a great “first food” for yeast; you can always stop using the rye once your starter gets going if you don’t like the taste.  (Otherwise, you can just order sourdough cultures online for pretty cheap–ask me if googling it fails you).



Dark Pumpernickel Bread with Raisins

This bread, Dark Pumpernickel Bread with Raisins, from Dan Leader’s Bread Alone, was a lot of fun to make.  However, it takes a LONG time–two ferments rather than one (that’s three rises) and 1 1/2 hours in the oven. 

I halved the recipe (and Lord knows how I would have kneaded all that dough if I hadn’t) and as the rye starter I maintain (from Dan Leader’s Local Breads) seems to be different from the Bread Alone book in composition (and since my starter is drastically smaller in amount than required for this recipe), I built the necessary proportions using the rye sourdough elaboration from the Local Breads recipe for Whole Rye Berry Loaf.  (I added about 5oz of water rather than the 4 oz called for in the pre-ferment as the Bread Alone sourdough seemed wetter).   I meant to only add 9oz of the final starter but ended up adding the full amount which was nearer to 11 oz.  This turned out not to be a problem, as far as I could tell. 

The recipe gives a wide range of flours, I stayed within the lower end of this range.  This seemed to work out well.  The only problem was that I think my oven got too hot over the long baking period, so as is obvious, the crust was burnt.  The inside is just fine, and I was thrilled by the dramatic oven spring.  Plus it’s the first pumpernickel I’ve made that was truly dark (which is what I think of for pumpernickel).  It was quite sweet from the molasses and raisins, and deliciously moist:  I was happy to eat it plain.  I put half in the freezer as this is one massive loaf (and I only made a half batch!  Unbelievable.  I’ll have to keep this in mind when making more out of Bread Alone–Leader is clearly baking for a crowd!)

Final question:  if anyone uses both of these books, do you know if the starters are interchangeable, as they seem to be different formulas to me?  If you use a local bread starter, how do you convert to the Bread Alone starter (not only in the hydration proportions but in the quantities required!?)

BBA Challenge #37: Swedish Rye (Limpa)

I’ve been excited about Swedish Rye (Limpa), the next BBA Challenge bread, since well before the challenge, so it’s about time I made it.  I imagine this might be the first time many fellow BBA bakers have heard of Limpa, let alone made it or eaten it, but I first had it a while ago in Chicago, where I purchased a whole loaf on a visit to the old Swedish part of town.  (Yes, that’s what I did in Chicago, I bought a loaf of bread and Swedish licorice.  Over 10 years ago, but less than 20…and that’s all I will admit to).  And I remember loving it.  In fact when I first bought the BBA, I was disappointed that this recipe required a sourdough starter, thinking “I’ll never do that…”  (Fast forward to find a stiff levain, a liquid levain, and a rye sourdough starter currently inhabiting my fridge.  Fast forward to my husband looking for the yogurt sauce I made for our eggplant salad, throwing up his hands:  “I keep thinking I’ve found it, but no, it’s just more sourdough!”

I know reviews have been mixed with certain other BBA Challenge participants:  Phyl and Anne Marie  are fans, Andrea not so much, and Daniel’s oven sabotaged his efforts.    In part, itt’s probably a matter of whether or not you like the flavors of fennel or anise (which I do, though i hate black licorice candy–who knows?)  I didn’t realize that fennel and anise were different spices until making this dough, and not having anise I just left it out.  (Here I am, thinking back on many other recipes I’ve made with “anise” aka fennel–oops!).  I like fennel, but more importantly, this had cardamom, one of my all-time favorite flavors.  Throw in the citrus essence, bring to a boil and steep, and enjoy the warm, aromatic scent that pervades your kitchen!  This mix of flavors is then mixed with your sourdough starter and molasses to create your pre-ferment:  definitely a most unusual beginning for a bread. 

I was nervous whether my pre-ferment was truly ready (the instructions say it should be frothy, you can judge for yourself from my photo below if I achieved that) and as always I was uncertain as to whether or not I had kneaded properly given the presence of that tricky flour, rye.  But I think I somehow got it right:  I got a great oven spring, a beautifully shaped loaf, and a delicious, unique bread.  For me it’s definitely worth making again, though I wish I could think of more uses for it:  that very uniqueness makes it a little less versatile (not that I have problems eating bread straight, mind you).  Anyone know a good Swedish holiday to celebrate?

Dan Leader’s Silesian Dark Rye

I continue to bake from Local Breads, excited to use the rye sourdough starter I raised from scratch, and in an attempt to incorporate more whole grains into my diet.

This has a stronger rye flavor than my Czech Light Rye, but is delicious in its own way.  Besides sandwiches, I found that the lingonberry jam I bought on my last trip to Ikea went wonderfully with toasted slices of this bread for breakfast.  The tart flavor of lingonberry stands up to the assertive taste of this bread.

I was also thrilled with the oven spring I got on this loaf.  I am apparently not slashing deep enough–once again (like my Czech Rye) the steam found its own way to escape during the baking process, and not along the route I prepared for it with slashing.  I’m convinced that my scoring has been too shallow for years, but it never showed up because I wasn’t properly developing the gluten.  Now that I am pretty consistently getting “windowpane” in my machine (i.e., kneading to sufficiently develop the dough and the gluten within), getting the scoring right matters.  It’s a nice realization to make, as it means my breads are getting better.