BBA Challenge #2: Greek Celebration Bread

Next on the BBA Challenge lineup:  Artos, or Greek Celebration Bread from The Bread Baker’s Apprentice.  A main recipe plus an Easter and Christmas variation are given:  I made the basic recipe, using the poolish method (as I am still intimidated by starting a barm, though I will have to soon enough if I keep on with the challenge).

The poolish is made the night before, left to ferment on the countertop a few hours, and then refrigerated.  Because I only needed a cup of poolish, I cut the basic recipe down, though I still ended up with 4.5 ounces left over.   (Note I used a scale to measure out the poolish rather than using a volume measure.  I am sure this provided much more accurate results, especially with something like poolish which is “living and breathing” and thus I imagine may have different volume measures depending on how robust the yeast in your mixture are).

Here’s the poolish ready to go in the fridge:  lumpy like pancake batter.

Here it is the next morning.  I’ve got a closeup of all the air bubbles, but not one showing how much the texture has changed–it’s almost like it’s thick, ropey strands of dough that are clinging to each other, so much so that it slides cleanly out of the measuring jar with just a little prodding from a spoon.

The poolish is mixed into more flour, yeast, eggs, honey, olive oil, and a heady, aromatic mix of spices and extracts:  nutmeg, mace, cloves, cinnamon, allspice, and orange and almond extracts–truly enjoyable to measure each one out and take in some of the aroma as you add it in. 

Once again, I didn’t quite achieve the “windowpane” despite longer-than-specified mixing.  And once again, I decided enough is enough and proceeded to set my dough aside to rise. 

I over-oiled the bowl for the first rise, which made it a bit challenging to form the boule for the second and final rise.  As I tried to pull the dough under to create the nice round loaf shape, it started to seem like a mass of oily tentacles underneath that slipped past each other rather than melding together.  I knew that once it rose it would be OK and the oil would absorb, but in the meantime my bread was not looking too pretty.  I sprinkled some flour on the underside and this fixed the problem.  The bread was set to rise on a piece of parchment paper.

After it rose (rather mightily, I should add), I scored the top and put it in the oven to bake.

While it baked, I prepared the optional glaze–I mixed all the ingredients in together at once (water, sugar, honey, orange extract) rather than adding the honey and extract after making the syrup.  This wasn’t a result of a conscious decision but rather not reading the instructions carefully.

Out of the oven, the bread had grown even more–some  serious oven spring!  (Hmmm…maybe my windowpaning wasn’t as deficient as I thought).  The growth was more side to side rather than evenly throughout the loaf, and in particular one side of the loaf grew a little bit too much–I think this is the result of my inexpert formation of the “boule” loaf (you are meant to achieve a certain amount of surface tension probably to “contain” the growth a little).  This was particularly evident on the scoring of the loaf:  it now appeared that my notches were made far too close together, which pre-baked was not the case, or so I thought at least.

Baking it on the parchment paper turned out to be very helpful when it came time to apply the glaze–the paper prevented sticky drippings from landing all over the counter (drippings that probably would not have been to easy to get up once they had dried on). 

My glaze did remain pretty sticky–not sure if that is due to my mixing all the ingredients together at the outset.  By the second day, however, it almost seemed to have absorbed into the loaf itself.

The final verdict?  I loved this bread.  I was horrified to see how much I had eaten in only a few hours.  But is it any surprise?  I’ve blogged about my love of pannetone and those types of Italian breads, and this bread hits many of the highlights of those Italian holiday loaves:  citrus notes, luxurious spices, tender texture, a hint of sweetness.  It’s a bread I’ve always thought I should make someday but I’m glad for the challenge or I might not have ever gotten around to it!

One thing I might do differently in the future however (besides correctly prepare the glaze and lighten up on the oil):  make two loaves.  This loaf was huge.  But only appropriate for a holiday bread!

BBA Challenge #1: Anadama Bread

Anadama begins with “A” and hence is the first recipe in the Bread Baker’s Apprentice, and thus the first bread to bake in the BBA Challenge! 

I have made Anadama bread before, but had to use blackstrap molasses rather than regular.  It resulted in a creamy-cocoa colored loaf, uniformly so within and without.  In fact when it was finished and I tasted it I thought:  that’s the bread that is served in so many bread baskets here (I remembered it in particular from Henrietta’s Table in Harvard Square, which tries to source locally wherever possible, so serving a traditional New England bread would seem to fit within that ethos).  Slightly sweet, soft, and mild.

This time I used regular molasses, but instead of polenta used white cornmeal.  Why?  I wanted to make this bread on Sunday–but it is a two day bread and we were away for the weekend visiting family for the 4th.  The cornmeal mush is started the day before and then becomes the base of dough.  So Saturday night I asked my husband’s uncle if I could have a cup of cornmeal.  A box of white cornmeal was available, and in it went into a tupperware along with a cup of water.   We then proceeded to leave without it, but a few minutes into our trip home (just past the dairy farm next to their place) I realized and we turned around.  I ran back into the house, past two sets of aunts and uncles, parents in law, a sister in law, and cousins, grabbed my container of mush, and ran out calling “I forgot something.”  (Considering my father in law asked how the morgue–i.e. the frozen chicken parts I keep for stock–was doing, no one was too surprised by any of this).

Into the mush you mix some of the flour, yeast, and more water and let proof for an hour.  After a car trip mine needed only about 45 minutes:

Then you mix in the remainder of the ingredients (I need not clarify that this picture is after the molasses addition)!  As was cautioned in the recipe, I needed to add more flour than called for–probably about half a cup.

The instructions say that in a stand mixer you will mix for 6-8 minutes to get “windowpane” (i.e. where the gluten is so developed it holds together as you stretch it so much it is nearly translucent).  I mixed for far longer than that–maybe up to 14 minutes, and while I got closer, I finally gave up when I thought my stand mixer might overheat.  I am not sure why on earth it too me so long (to not even get all the way there), as I would think the machines would be somewhat uniform–as this was written for home bakers, anyway.  (I would understand if I had to knead by hand much longer than specified in the recipe as I’m sure my technique is not the best!).  I didn’t realize how short I was on flour until the end, so perhaps that was part of the problem.

Anyway, my dough was pretty stretchy:

And set into an oiled bowl to let rise.

I followed (perhaps for the first time!) Peter Reinhart’s instructions on forming a loaf for a loaf pan:  Fold and pinch, fold and pinch.

One more rise.  I popped these in the refrigerator as I had to go grocery shopping (Reinhart says you can hold them there for up to two days, but mine had already risen considerably after just an hour in the fridge).

Baked, and sliced.  I don’t have a water mister for the oven, so I “painted” the top with water to give some extra hydration to allow for extra rise in the oven.  I did forget to slash the tops of the loaves, which might have allowed even more oven spring.

The bread is similar to how I remembered it the first time, but perhaps with an even milder flavor.  (It’s funny as I think that most people associate molasses with a strong taste, but here it’s pretty mild).  The bread was, I mentioned soft.  So soft it almost seems to collapse when you cut it.  I thought that the crust might toughen up a little as it cooled, but no.  I don’t know if this is how it’s supposed to turn out or whether it’s my execution.  On the other hand, if you are one who hates crusty bread, Anadama might just work well for you.

Late to the party: BBA Challenge

I’ve had the Bread Baker’s Apprentice for a few years.  I’ve always hoped to get around to all the recipes in the book, but usually end up going back to brioche.  I’ve posted about the ciabatta recipe here as well.  But many of the recipes in the book remain to be tried.  So the BBA Challenge at Pinch My Salt is the perfect opportunity! 

 

This has been going on for a few months already, but no excuses.  And the benefit is I get to learn from those who have gone ahead! 

My first bread of the challenge will be Anadama Bread–a traditional New England bread, so very appropriate.  Stay tuned, and Happy Fourth of July!

Middle Class Brioche (story of an obsession)

Peter Reinhart recipe again.  While I think this is my favorite brioche recipe (I have tried a wide number of these, I am a bit obsessed with brioche), it’s not just the recipe itself but the actual titles–Reinhart has three versions, Rich Man, Poor Man, and Middle Class.  It’s all about the butter and egg content.  The Rich Man’s brioche evidently boasts the same fat to flour ratio as pie crust dough–the only difference is the yeast!  I know my station and have stuck with middle class brioche, which has been plenty decadent for me.  (Poor Man’s brioche is apparently best for working with to wrap foods en croute, such as that brioche baked brie that was so popular by the university caterers when I was in college, though not particularly beloved by me).

This brioche can be made in one day or split into two (allowing the first rise to occur overnight in the refrigerator); the latter being my preferred method.  I can’t tell you if there’s that much difference in taste, but it just seems easier to fit into your schedule that way.

The first step is to make a sponge.  It’s basically a pre-ferment, with a bit of flour, liquid and yeast to develop flavor.  In the case of brioche, as it is a richer dough, you make the sponge with milk rather than water.  This takes up to an hour.

Then you mix in eggs.  I used our CSA eggs which have that gorgeous orangey hue:

Then you beat in the softened butter and flour.  You can do this by hand but, like the ciabatta, it’s a bit harder on the arms than regular kneading.  This time, unlike the ciabatta, I did not hesitate to pull out my lovely kitchenaid stand mixer.  And it worked like a charm.

You then spread the dough into a wide pan overnight to rise;

then get it first thing in the morning so you can get started on the next step (OK; that may not be essential, but the earlier you get going, the earlier you’re eating brioche!).  Here I’ve started dividing the dough into the main bulk of each of two loafs, plus the smaller cone that is inserted into the center of the larger loaf.

Did I say I’m kind of obsessed with brioche?  You don’t have to use brioche tins, but they are more fun:

After shaping the loafs, you leave them for their final rise:

And wait for them to grow into their molds.  It does take a bit longer than “regular” dough (2 1/2 – 3 hours for these large loaves); I imagine it’s all the fat in the dough weighing it down.  (Something to think about as you eat it perhaps?)

 

Once you bake them, let them cool and enjoy!

 

I suppose you can put more butter on this but I never do.  I do love to toast it (it’s almost as if the butter inside melts within, and you have bread buttered from the inside out) and smear it with raspberry preserves.  Or just eat it.

We all decided this was my best batch of brioche yet.  I can only imagine (1) using the farm fresh marigold colored eggs and (2) using whole milk had something to do with it.  (We used to not have whole milk in the house; now with a toddler we buy it by the gallon!).  Some other points to add about brioche is I find that instant yeast works best.  I’ve tried fresh yeast and active dry yeast as well, but they don’t seem to have enough oomph to get the dough to rise overnight in the refridgerator.  In particular, with brioche, it seems to me the extra power of instant yeast helps.  Back to my theory that all that fat is weighing down the dough, I guess.

Whatever it is, the finished bread is anything but heavy:  rather, wonderfully light yet rich.  Is it any wonder I’m slightly obsessed?

Ciabatta: no cigar, but closer.

Last weekend I decided to try making Ciabatta again, once more using the recipe in the incredible The Bread Baker’s Apprentice by Peter Reinhart.  The last time I made it I used my stand mixer (as I worry I’ll never have a chance to finish kneading with little E on the prowl.  Not that it would hurt anything–bread dough actually does well left to rest between kneading).  I don’t know if I over-kneaded or what happened, but the dough barely stretched into that long slipper-like shape for which ciabatta is made.  It was like trying to stretch out, and then fold, a rubber band.  I decided to go with the old-fashioned way this time, kneading by hand.

You start the day before by making a “poolish” which is (apparently) a French term for a pre-fermented dough.  You mix a bit of flour, yeast and water and let it rise–it’s more like batter than dough at this point.  It will puff up and then goes in the refrigerator overnight, leaving you with this the next day:

Poolish for Ciabatta

 You mix the poolish into the rest of the flour, yeast, salt and a small amount of water.  Here’s the strands of gluten that have formed during the pre-ferment phase, as I pour the poolish into the main mixing bowl.  (As you can see it doesn’t really “pour” all that well).

Finished poolish--see how stretchy it is!

 Peter Reinhart has an interesting kneading method for ciabatta:  you use one hand to mix, in the bowl, and the other hand to rotate the bowl.  (You feel quite professional doing this until your arm gives out and reminds you that you are a mere mortal home chef).  You do this for about 5-7 minutes, but as my arm was getting so tired I went a bit longer–I’m sure that my kneading was not nearly as vigorous as he was imagining when he wrote the recipe.  You then lay the dough flat, let it rest a few minutes, then stretch out each end and fold it over itself like an envelope.  I knew things were going better as I actually managed to do this rather easily.  You then let it rise:

Ciabatta--first rise

 After it rises, you cut it into two or three pieces (gently–unlike many bread recipes, you don’t want to deflate the dough here.  I don’t know why, but that’s what Reinhart says to do, and I obey).

 You then let them rise again and bake.  They only bake for about 25 minutes or so, which is surprising.  I didn’t prepare the oven by misting or putting a pan of boiling water in (this replicates the hearth of a professional oven–really there’s no way to truly replicate it at home) but I did use a baking stone (my valentine’s day present to myself).

Ciabattas ready for the oven

I was very pleased with how my loaves looked coming out of the oven.  The final test would be slicing and seeing if it was that high airy texture full of swiss-cheese like holes.  But even before I got to this final step, I knew it had gone a lot better this time, as it actually resembled what I imagine ciabatta to look like!

Ciabattas cooling

Well, not perfect it turns out–the bread was rather dense when sliced as you can see by this photo.  I think it probably didn’t have enough water.  As I looked through the instructions again, I noticed that Peter Reinhart says that as you get more proficient with the process you can add more water.  Indeed I had learned this before in my bread baking class back in London that the greater the hydration, the more holes in the bread (as the water evaporates within the dough, I presume).  Usually recipes caution you so heavily against adding too much water I didn’t even think about that and tried to keep to the lowest range of recommended water in the ciabatta recipe.  So next time, I will be a little more generous with the H2O and hopefully it will be just right both inside and out!

Ciabatta sliced