Some people will find this hard to believe, but there are those of us who still eat bread. Regularly. And I am one of them. As far as I'm concerned, there's a reason that it has long been referred to as the staff of life – and that the ultimate expression of companionship and community is breaking bread. Bread is simple, fundamental, essential. There is nothing nicer, to my mind, that tearing off a corner of a fresh baguette and eating it slathered in butter. Or dipped in olive oil and sea salt. Or spread with apricot jam or topped with brie and slow-roasted tomatoes.
I love sourdough and Tuscan peasant rounds and caraway rye and sprouted whole-grain loaves. I love avocado toast ala Gwyneth Paltrow ("like a favourite pair of jeans" indeed) and yolky, salty, fried-egg sandwiches ala my mum. With peameal bacon, if at all possible. I love thick slices spread with the pimento cheese that my Southern stepmom taught me how to make. Or turned into yummy bruschetta.
Add to that, as Tamar Adler pointed out in An Everlasting Meal, there's a million lovely, homey uses for a loaf that's past its prime: breadcrumbs, croutons, garlicky crostini and even Italian bread salad or soup.
All of this is why I will never give up eating bread, no matter how unfashionable it is. I am so committed to carbs, in fact, that I have started baking my own. I tend to favour the dense, whole wheat, seed-crusted, molasses-sweetened beauties of my hippie childhood. But I don't always have the get-up-and-go to tackle all that kneading.
So the below recipe is a good compromise. It's from Kathleen Flinn's wonderful book The Kitchen Counter Cooking School, adapted from master recipe in Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day. It gives you mouth-watering, hearty bread with almost no effort. That way, you can spend all your time and energy dreaming up delicious ways to serve it.
No-Knead Bread
Yields four one-pound loaves
3 cups lukewarm water
1 and 1/2 tablespoons yeast
1 tablespoon Kosher salt
6 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
additional flour for dusting loaves
cornmeal
1. Combine the water, yeast and salt in a large mixing bowl. Stir to mix. Add all of the flour at once and mix with a wooden spoon until the dough is wet and sticky with no dry patches. Loosely cover with plastic wrap. Do not seal airtight. Let it rise 2 hours at room temperature. If not using immediately, refrigerate the dough, covered, for up to 2 weeks.
2. To fashion a loaf, scoop a grapefruit-sized piece from the bowl of dough and dust it in flour. Rub with more flour and then gently stretch the top around to tuck the sides into the bottom to form a round, smooth loaf. Put on parchment paper, dusted with cornmeal so it won't stick. Let it rise, uncovered for 30-90 minutes. (And no longer, as I learned the hard way! Flat loaves = not cool.) The loaf will plump but not change radically in size.
3. 20 minutes before baking, preheat oven to 450F. Place pizza stone on middle rack. Place a deep baking tray on the bottom rack.
4. Dust the loaf liberally with more flour. Slash the top several times with a knife. Place the parchment paper and loaf on pizza stone in hot oven. Pour hot water into the baking tray and close oven immediately so that steam does not escape.
5. Bake for approximately 30 minutes, or until loaf is golden brown and sounds hollow when tapped. Cool to room temperature.
It saddens me to think that there are lots of people in this world that have never tasted homemade jam. I myself only recently discovered the delights of canning and preserving and I can't believe I didn't sooner.
You know that mediocre, tooth-achingly sugary, fruit-like substance labeled "jam" on grocery store shelves? It doesn't even deserve to share the same name as the goodness you make in your own kitchen. It's akin to the difference between a dollar store pashmina and an Hermรจs scarf. Or Mavis Staples' transcendent "I'll Take You There" and muzak. Mercy.
I took a jam-making class a while back and when I tasted that first spoonful of plum preserves, I gasped. Seriously. I was instantly smitten.
So friends, please allow me to introduce you to the joys of real jam. I have a feeling you will love this recipe. It serves up the essence of apricot, bursting with summer sweetness, dressed up ever-so-slightly with lemon and vanilla. Perfect for spooning over cream tea scones, crisp toast or pancakes.
Apricot jam
Inspired by Vintage Mixture
Yields 1 and 1/2 small jars worth
1 and 1/2 pounds apricots
1 and 1/8 cups sugar
1 and 1/2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 vanilla pod
1. Pit the apricots and cut into small chunks, leaving skins on.
2. Place in a large saucepan and add sugar. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring frequently. Spoon off the foam as it rises (save to drizzle over yogurt the next day). Continue cooking until the jam reduces.
3. Use the spoon test to see when jam is done.
4. When it's done, add the vanilla seeds. Turn off heat and let it cook for a few more minutes. Remove from heat and stir in lemon juice.
5. Ladle jam into sterilized jars. I'll confess that I'm still a little intimidated by the canning process, so instead I make small batches, refrigerate them, and eat immediately. I think this jam should keep up to a week in the fridge, but my guess is that it won't last that long. Mine certainly didn't.
NOTE: If you are looking for a way to use the remaining half of the vanilla bean, a half batch of this gorgeous rice pudding recipe will do the trick. You also can rinse the pods after use and make vanilla sugar with them.
Those of us who have learned how to bake know the secret to equanimity. When the world pinches us – when we feel discouraged or depleted or slightly despairing – we retreat to the kitchen.
We know that there is nothing more soothing than mixing and stirring and kneading, nothing more comforting than the sweet scent that fills your home when something is baking in the oven. And we know that there is nothing more magical than the transformation of butter and sugar and flour into cakes and cookies and pies. Baking takes the goodness of the universe and somehow makes it tangible.
Every pastry chef that I have ever interviewed has echoed this sentiment. But I think that Anna Olson said it best when she told me that she refers to baking as "kitchen yoga."
Your recipe need not be super saccharine to do the trick. Healthy recipes give you all the joy of baking without winding up with a gooey chocolate cake hanging around on your counter, insisting that you cut off just one more slice.
I grew up on these wholesome bran muffins, and to me they taste like home. Sometimes I throw in some blueberries (or raisins, if I'm making them for people who like that sort of thing). But really, they are much better plain. Serve them warm, with just a dab of butter.
Making them is a truly restorative exercise, ideal for performing in the early morning hours on the weekend, as the city slumbers and then stirs and wakes to life.
Zen Bran Muffins
Adapted from The Laura Secord Canadian Cookbook's Cavendish Bran Muffins
Makes 12 muffins
1 and 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup of bran
1/4 cup of vegetable oil
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup molasses
2/3 cup yogurt
1/2 cup of raisins or 1 cup blueberries (optional)
1. Preheat oven to 400F.
2. Line a medium muffin tray with paper baking cups.
3. Sift or blend together the dry ingredients.
4. In a separate bowl, mix together the oil, brown sugar, egg, vanilla and molasses.
5. Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients alternately with yogurt. Combine lightly after each addition. If using, fold in berries or raisins.
6. Fill prepared muffin cups and bake for 15-18 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean.
I tend to do my best cooking alone in the kitchen, with nothing on my mind other than a quiet solo dinner. I listen to CBC radio as I putter, or perhaps some Drake or Lauryn Hill, and a sense of contentment steals over me. Chop, stir, muse, taste. There is nobody to please but myself. From this serenity, flavours emerge. As the wonderful food writer Tamar Adler might put it: lettuce and salad dressing join forces harmoniously; noodles embrace sauce; cheeses melt beautifully, oozing gratitude. A relaxed state of mind encourages food to become its best self.
Unfortunately – and I have learned this the hard way, folks – the reverse is also true. If I am scattered or pressed for time or even slightly anxious, the results are never good. Dishes that I have cooked a dozen times take on alien tastes or consistencies. They resent the lack of attention; they refuse to cooperate.
And here's the thing: when a bunch of people come to dinner, I am never particularly relaxed. They are at my table and I want to feed them well, but this wanting to feed them well gets in the way of actually doing so. Add to that: they understandably want to talk to me when they arrive. But I can't seem to be able to be present for my lovely guests and give my demanding little dishes the focus they require.
So I no longer try to do both. These days, for dinner parties, I serve things that are ridiculously reliable, super simple and can be made ahead – slowly, quietly, thoughtfully. Like this lasagna. It is straightforward, yields enough to feed a party and is so delicious that I now field regular requests for it. Add an easy peasy green salad, a platter of cut tomatoes strewn with buffalo mozzarella and drizzled with oil and balsamic vinegar and a basket of good bread, and bob's your uncle, you have a satisfying spread.
Next time you entertain, do yourself a favour and have this lasagna bubbling in the oven before your charming friends come knocking on your door.
Easy does it lasagna
Adapted from Chatelaine magazine
Makes 8 servings
1 lb ground beef
double batch of Life-Changing Tomato Sauce
salt and pepper, to taste
handful of basil leaves, chopped
3/4 box of oven-ready lasagna noodles
475g container ricotta cheese
340g package of pre-shredded Italian cheese (I swear by the President's Choice version, which has mozzarella, parmesan and provolone)
1. Preheat oven to 500F.
2. Lightly brown beef in saucepan, breaking up meat, for 5-7 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in sauce. Add salt and pepper, to taste. Add basil.
3. Spread 1/2 cup of sauce over bottom of a 9 x 13 baking dish. Cover with layer of noodles. Using a tablespoon, drop half of ricotta evenly over noodles. (Do not spread.) Spoon half of remaining sauce on top. Sprinkle with handful of cheese.
4. Add another layer of noodles, ricotta, sauce (reserving a few spoons, as this will help the top from drying out) and cheese.
5. Top with a layer of noodles and reserved sauce. Gently press noodles into sauce. Evenly sprinkle with remaining cheese.
6. Lay a piece of foil overtop. Seal shut. Place lasagna in centre of oven and reduce heat to 400F. Bake 20 minutes. Remove foil and bake until lasagna is hot in centre, from 20 to 30 more minutes.
7. Let stand 10 minutes before cutting, as you make sparkling conversation.
