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This is my reality right now:
(1) The garden, which Husband planted and maintained during my pregnancy this summer, is overflowing with gorgeous ripe tomatoes and tiny but flavorful red and yellow onions.
(2) My eyes always seem to be bigger than my stomach, and I purchase more delicious crusty bakery bread than we can eat before it gets stale.
(3) I like to cook with things I have on hand, things which will go bad otherwise. It makes me feel frugal, and wise, and enterprising.
(4) I don't have a hell of a lot of time to cook at this very moment.
You can imagine my pleasure, then, when it occurred to me that I could make a very quick and very delicious dinner using nothing more than our tomatoes, our onions, our back porch basil and that half-loaf of rustic bread that's been sitting on the counter since last Friday. It hit on all four of my current realities beautifully: made entirely of produce we grew ourselves (I say "we;" I should say "Husband"), a way to tastily salvage the stale bread and use ingredients on hand and, finally, fast. I made it while the baby slept, nary a peep escaping his teeny lips before the meal was complete.
Now if I had made this salad using a loaf of my own home-baked bread, my head might have exploded. But I'll have to save that thrill for another time.
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TOMATO AND BREAD SALAD WITH RICOTTA
Adapted from Everyday Food magazine
I could call this "panzanella," but I am not full-time fancy.
Half a loaf of day-old crusty bread (about 1/2 lb.), cubed into large chunks
About 2 lbs. of fresh tomatoes, cubed into large chunks
1/2 a large (or 1 small) red onion, sliced thinly
3 T. red wine vinegar
3 T. olive oil, plus more for drizzling
Sea salt, to taste
Freshly-cracked black pepper, to taste
1 c. fresh basil leaves, torn or chopped roughly
15 oz. ricotta cheese
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Place the bread cubes on a baking sheet (with NO oil) and bake until browned, 15-20 minutes. Set aside.
In a large bowl, combine the tomatoes, onion, vinegar, oil and salt and pepper to taste. When the bread has cooled, add it to the tomato mixture along with the basil. Stir to combine, then let sit for about 15 minutes to allow the tomato juices to soften the hard bread cubes.
Serve with a few spoonfuls of ricotta cheese, a drizzle of olive oil and a little more salt and pepper to taste.
Serves 6.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: I was eating damper bread with golden syrup in the Northern Territory
Two years ago: roasted tomato marinara
I don't know in what convoluted world I live, but cooking and blogging were nearly impossible feats while I was pregnant. However, now that I am the mother of a newborn, well, cooking remains elusive but the ability to blog has somehow reappeared. I shall not question why -- when (in retrospect) I had all the time in the world -- I couldn't update this space to save my life, but now that I can't find time to eat a peach I can somehow write about corn ice cream. Mysteries, all of it.
First, the news: I am absolutely thrilled to announce the arrival of my son, Michael, who entered this world in search of a good meal on August 18. He has a full head of dark hair, and something that the Cleveland Clinic nurses referred to as a "lusty" cry. He is a tiny peanut, and I cannot believe that he is finally here. To celebrate his arrival, I would like to share the dessert I made for his father's birthday this past July 4.
The blueberry-corn ice cream sundae seemed the perfect treat for someone born at the height of summer. Blueberries are in season, ripe and lovely, get them before the birds eat them off the bush. The corn, at least in these parts, is "knee-high by the 4th of July," with early sweet crops making their way to market at local farms. I couldn't think of a better or more unique confection with which to celebrate Husband's birthday. How I managed to make the component parts from scratch while large in girth and slow on my feet from advancing pregnancy I'll never know. Suffice it to say: the blueberry-corn ice cream sundae is love, and I love Husband.
As the warm summer days begin to wane, take advantage of the markets before they close for the season and stock up on some corn and blueberries. Then spend a day or so puttering about in the kitchen, making corn ice cream and blueberry compote. Finally, invite over some people whom you really love. Dish up this creamy yellow and purple layered gorgeousness in a tall parfait glass and toast, well, whatever. Someone's birthday. Labor Day. The imminent return of Glee. You could even toast your own awesomeness at making corn ice cream. Whatever it takes.
For us, with our corn ice cream still left in the freezer, we'll be toasting Michael.
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BLUEBERRY-CORN ICE CREAM SUNDAES
Adapted from Nancy Olson, Gramercy Tavern
Note: the ice cream base has to chill overnight before being placed in your ice cream maker, so please plan accordingly.
For the sweet corn ice cream:
6 c. fresh sweet corn kernels (from about 6 ears), cobs reserved
4 c. milk
2 c. heavy cream
6 T. light corn syrup
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped
1 1/8 c. sugar
12 large egg yolks
1 1/2 t. pure vanilla extract
1/2 t. kosher salt
For the mini cornbread muffins (optional, for garnish):
3/4 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. fine yellow cornmeal
1 1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. kosher salt
1/4 c. sugar
2 T. unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 T. honey
1 T. pure maple syrup
1 large egg
1/2 c. milk
1 1/4 c. fresh sweet corn kernels (from about 1 1/2 ears)
2 t. turbinado sugar
For the blueberry-corn compote:
2 1/2 c. blueberries
1/4 c. + 2 T. sugar
1 1/4 c. fresh sweet corn kernels (from about 1 1/2 ears)
For the toffee popcorn:
1/3 c. sugar
3 T. unsalted butter, plus more for bowl
About 6 c. popped popcorn (go for an unbuttered/unsalted variety if using microwave popcorn)
2 T. light corn syrup
1/4 t. pure vanilla extract
1/4 t. kosher salt
For the black pepper whipped cream:
1/3 c. heavy cream
1 t. powdered sugar
1/8 t. freshly-ground black pepper
At least one day before you wish to serve the sundaes, make the ice cream. Set a large bowl in an ice-water bath; set aside. In a large saucepan, bring the corn kernels, corn cobs, 3 1/2 c. of the milk, heavy cream, corn syrup, vanilla bean seeds and pod and sugar to a boil over medium heat. Cook, stirring, to prevent the sugar from sticking to the bottom of the pan.
In a large bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and remaining 1/2 c. milk until well combined. Remove the corn mixture from the heat; slowly add about 1/3 of the hot corn mixture to the egg yolk mixture, tempering them, whisking well to combine. Pour the egg mixture back into the saucepan with the corn cob mixture, stirring constantly. Return the saucepan to medium-high heat. Stirring constantly, cook until this custard mixture coats the back of a wooden spoon, 4 to 5 minutes. Stir in the vanilla extract and salt.
Pour the custard mixture into the bowl set over the ice-water bath; let cool completely. Transfer the custard mixture to the refrigerator and chill overnight.
The next day, remove the corn cobs from the custard mixture, squeezing them well to extract as much liquid as you can. Discard the cobs.
Transfer the custard mixture to the work bowl of a food processor; process until smooth. Strain through a fine wire mesh strainer, discarding solids.
Transfer the custard mixture to an ice cream maker and freeze according to the manufacturer's directions. Keep the ice cream frozen in an airtight container until ready to use.
If using, make the mini cornbread muffins. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter 20 1/4-cup muffin tins; set aside.
In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, baking powder and salt; set aside.
In a large bowl, mix together sugar and butter; stir in honey and maple syrup until well combined. Add egg and continue mixing until well combined. Alternately add flour mixture and milk to sugar mixture, mixing well after each addition and beginning and ending with the flour mixture. Stir in corn kernels until just combined.
Fill prepared muffin cups 3/4 full with batter; sprinkle tops with turbinado sugar. Transfer to oven and bake until tops are golden brown, about 14 minutes. Let cool slightly in pans before removing and cooling completely on wire racks. Store in an airtight container until ready to serve alongside the ice cream sundaes.
Next, make the blueberry-corn compote. Place 1 1/2 c. blueberries and sugar in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan and cook over medium-high heat, stirring constantly and pressing on berries until they burst and the mixture begins to look syrupy. Add corn kernels, stir to combine and immediately remove from heat.
Stir in the remaining cup of blueberries. Transfer to an airtight container and refrigerate until cool, up to 24 hours.
Make the popcorn. Line a baking sheet with a Silpat; set aside. Butter a large bowl and add popped popcorn; set aside.
Heat sugar, 3 T. butter and corn syrup in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan over low heat until butter and sugar melt. Increase heat to medium and cook, stirring, until sugar mixture becomes golden brown. Remove from heat and carefully add vanilla and salt, taking care because the mixture may splatter slightly. Pour the sugar mixture over the popcorn and stir quickly until popcorn is coated.
Turn the popcorn out onto the prepared baking sheet, working quickly to separate kernels as much as possible. Let cool completely. Transfer popcorn to an airtight container until ready to use, up to one week.
Make the whipped cream. Place all whipped cream ingredients in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Whisk until soft peaks form. Transfer to an airtight container and refrigerate until ready to use.
FINALLY! Assemble the ice cream sundaes. Place two spoonfuls of the blueberry-corn compote into a large parfait glass. Top with two scoops of corn ice cream. Add a handful of toffee popcorn to each glass and top with another scoop of ice cream. Top with another spoonful of compote and a dollop of whipped cream. Garnish with a little more toffee popcorn and a mini cornbread muffin; serve immediately.
Makes 6 sundaes, with some corn ice cream left over for good measure.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: English muffins
Two years ago: homegrown tomato salad with feta and cracked black pepper
Well hello there.
It's been awhile. A long while. Life -- and this ever-increasing belly of mine -- keeps getting in the way of cooking and, by extension, blogging. But I have so much to tell you about, and so much deliciousness to share. After my firstborn makes himself known to the outside world (and maybe even sooner, if I get some energy), I will be telling you all about my three baking classes with Bread Baker's Apprentice author Peter Reinhart. I'll be sharing some delicious granola and an Australian Weet-Bix slice courtesy of dear friends Kerrie and Barbara, respectively. I might even discuss the birthday treat I'm planning on making for Husband this Sunday, as he -- and our fair nation -- grow one year older.
But until then, I remind you of this: the American flag cake. An oldie but a goodie. I figure some of you out there might be searching for a 4th of July sweet that doesn't necessarily involve a carefully-placed matrix of blueberries and strawberries that resembles the stars and stripes (not that there's anything wrong with that).
If you're so inclined in the next few days, get to baking this showstopper of a cake. And enjoy the fireworks!
Happy long weekend, everyone.
I don't know about you, but this seems to happen a lot in our house:
We begin with the best of intentions. We want more fresh fruit on hand, to encourage healthy snacking. Husband wants bananas available for necessary post-run fuel. They're good for smoothies. So we buy five or six of them, then they inevitably linger, uneaten on the counter top, turning from lovely green-tinged yellow to gently speckled brown to black in the time it took me to write this sentence.
Then I make matters worse by getting up on my Tasteful Decor Horse, placing the bananas in a pretty frosted yellow glass dish on the shelf above the stove. Out of Husband's line of sight. And we all know that when something is out of Husband's sight, it is out of Husband's mind. Unless that something is Howard Stern. Or Mr. Met. Or greasy Chinese food from Rockland County, New York.
This rotten parade of banana flesh has been therefore enriching our compost pile. I often think that I should bake something (muffins, dog treats) with the darkening fruit, but I always end up missing the window as the bananas go from perfect-for-baked-goods to liquefied before I can get out the mixer.
Sunday night, though, I was victorious.
While mentally preparing for the series finale of "Lost," I happened to glance at the bananas, which I had moved from their stylish perch atop the stove back to their utilitarian counter top real estate. I was really tired, and I think I was mid-sentence talking about how tired I was, but I got up, walked across the room, grasped the bananas and started peeling them. I was determined to have freshly-baked banana bread -- made from not-wasted bananas -- in my hand before I learned if Jack had the ability to kill the Man in Black.
I can't help but think that if the Smoke Monster had some of this banana bread, studded with toasted pecans and flakes of sweetened coconut, maybe he wouldn't have been so cranky.
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BANANA BREAD WITH COCONUT AND PECANS
Adapted from More From Magnolia, by Allysa Torey
Baked in a tube pan, this banana bread can also pass for cake, especially if served with a little ice cream or homemade whip cream. Personally, though, I like it sliced in thin pieces, toasted and spread with salted butter. The breakfast of champions.
ALSO: This bread is even better with chocolate. So if you're feeling it, add in some (8 oz. or so) chips or chunks of your favorite chocolate when you stir in the coconut and pecans.
3 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/2 t. baking soda
3/4 t. cinnamon
3/4 t. kosher salt
3/4 c. canola or vegetable oil
1 1/2 c. sugar
3 large eggs at room temperature, well beaten
1 1/2 t. vanilla extract
1 1/2 c. mashed ripe bananas (about 4 bananas)
3/4 c. sour cream
1 1/2 c. pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped
3/4 c. sweetened shredded coconut
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Place the chopped pecans on a baking sheet and bake until toasty brown, 7-8 minutes (be careful not to burn them). Remove from the oven and let cool. Keep the oven at 350.
Grease and lightly flour a 10-inch tube pan.
In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, cinnamon and salt. Set aside.
In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat together the oil and sugar. Add the eggs and vanilla, and beat well. Add the bananas and sour cream, and mix well. Add the dry ingredients and mix until just combined. Stir in the pecans and coconut.
Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 60-70 minutes, being sure to check after 60 minutes to ensure that it's not over-baked. (A skewer inserted into the center of the bread should come out with moist crumbs attached.) Let cool in the pan for at least 1 hour before removing from the pan and serving.
Makes one 10-inch cake/bread.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: Christopsomos
Two years ago: Indian tacos, breakfast-style
As I noted last time, you can't just have guacamole for dinner.
I mean, you could. But what fun would that be? Guacamole is a gateway concoction, an excuse, if you will, to consume any manner of complementary Mexican treats. Mexican treats like tacos.
I've been on some type of taco/taquito bender of late. I blame a trip that Husband and I took to Chicago in March, during which time we ate a magnificent meal at Rick Bayless's perfect and delicious Frontera Grill. Rick's taquitos de pollo ahumado were simply bewitching and I still think about them a little each day. The ingredients are simple (smoked chicken, black beans, poblano chiles, homemade sour cream, salsa verde, anejo cheese, guacamole) but Rick is an alchemist, I swear: he somehow transforms the simplest foodstuffs into creations that, well, are still on your mind months later. Remember this alchemy, for in a paragraph or two I'm going to bring it up again.
Back home from Chicago, I began seeking a local taquito that could scratch my Frontera itch. I remembered Momocho, a Cleveland restaurant known for its "mod mex" cuisine that had been on my to-try list for some number of years. A random night a few weeks ago I decided I could wait no longer. Husband looked at the menu online and I was half-way out the front door as soon as he mumbled the word "taquito." Between chef Eric Williams's goat cheese guacamole (holy hell) and the Mexican fighting masks leering down at my empanada from the restaurant's dimly-lit walls, I knew I had found a new favorite place to eat. And the taquitos, lord, the taquitos. I had the tinga (16-spice grilled chicken) and Husband had the machaca (coffee- and ancho-braised brisket). It is embarrassing, but as I am typing this I am drooling a little bit, Pavlov-style. I know: classy.
So if I can't get to Frontera Grill, I can get to Momocho. And if I can't get to Momocho, I can get to my kitchen. Because thanks to the glory that is the Rick Bayless cookbook empire, his Authentic Mexican includes a simple recipe for crispy tacos that are easily whipped up, even on a weeknight, to sate the most voracious of taco and/or taquito appetites.
Remember what I said about alchemy? The filling for these tacos is nothing more than shredded chicken, salt and a puree of roasted tomato, red onion and garlic that has been cooked and thickened in a cast-iron skillet. And yet, it is amazingly delicious and complex, and completely belies its humble component ingredients. Which is to say: the chicken filling for these tacos has no right or reason to be as tasty as it is, but it is, nevertheless, completely beguiling. No wonder Mr. Bayless is doing so well for himself.
And no wonder I've been eating so well.
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CRISPY CHICKEN TACOS
Adapted from Authentic Mexican, by Rick Bayless
I've made these tacos with flour and with corn tortillas, and I must say I prefer the corn. That said, if you only have flour tortillas on hand, go for it. The filling is so good it doesn't matter what you wrap it in, short of a piece of aluminum foil or a Sham-wow. I serve the tacos with no small measure of guacamole and a sprinkling of feta cheese (I can't find queso anejo or queso fresco around here), though Rick also suggests serving them on a bed of romaine leaves with sliced radishes and thinned sour cream.
Note also that the chicken filling can be made a day in advance and stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator.
Finally, Rick fries his assembled chicken tacos, but I choose to bake them. They get just as crispy and are a little less greasy.
1 ripe, large tomato4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 t. kosher salt, divided
1/2 t. freshly-cracked black pepper
2 T. + 1 T. + 1/4 c. vegetable oil, divided
1/2 a medium red onion, coarsely chopped
1 clove garlic, roughly chopped
12 corn tortillas
About 1 1/2 c. guacamole
1/4 c. crumbled feta cheese (or queso anejo or queso fresco, if you can find it)
1/2 c. sour cream thinned with 2 T. milk (optional)
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit.
Place a piece of aluminum foil in a cast-iron skillet (or other large skillet). Over medium heat, place the whole tomato on the foil and roast it, turning often, until the skin is blackened. Remove the tomato from the foil and place on a plate to cool enough to handle it. Peel the tomato, then core and roughly chop it. Set aside.
Season the chicken breasts on both sides with 1/2 t. of the kosher salt and the black pepper. Heat the same cast-iron skillet (or other large skillet) over medium-high heat. Place 2 T. of the vegetable oil into the skillet and then add the chicken breasts. Cook about 6 minutes per side, until the chicken breasts register 161 degrees Fahrenheit on a probe thermometer. Remove the chicken to a plate and allow it to cool enough to handle it. Shred the chicken into bite-sized pieces.
Place the chopped roasted tomato, red onion and garlic in the bowl of a food processor. Process until the mixture is completely smooth. Heat 1 T. of the vegetable oil in the same cast-iron skillet (or other large skillet) that you used to roast the tomato and cook the chicken. Add the tomato puree to the pan and stir constantly until it is thick and reduced, about 4 minutes.
Stir the shredded chicken into the thickened tomato mixture. Remove from heat and season with the remaining 1/2 t. kosher salt.
Heat the remaining 1/4 c. of the vegetable oil in a small skillet over medium heat. When hot, quick-fry the tortillas one at a time to soften them, 2-3 seconds per side. Drain well on paper towels.
Immediately assemble the tacos by placing about 2 T. of the chicken mixture across each tortilla. Roll up the tortillas and place on a baking sheet, seam side down. Bake the tacos for about 10 minutes, or until crispy.
Serve with guacamole, crumbled feta and thinned sour cream (if desired). I also suggest serving with Luta's margaritas.
Makes 12 tacos.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: granola
Two years ago: chocolate crinkles
"Hello Mother."
"Hello. How are you today? What do you need?"
[To be fair, I don't always necessarily need something from Mom when I call her. But mostly I do.]
"I need to know what you put into your avocado."
"What I put in my avocado? What the hell does that mean?"
"Sorry. I'm at work and distracted. I meant to ask, what do you put in your guacamole?"
[To be fair, her guacamole is awesome.]
"Oh, OK. Avocado, Lawry's seasoned salt, garlic, red onion, tomato, lime juice."
"Amounts?"
"I have no idea. Just make it. Why are you making guacamole, anyway?"
"For dinner."
"You're having guacamole for dinner?"
"Well, no. We're having tacos, with guacamole on the side."
"OK then. Don't forget the Lawry's seasoned salt. It is the secret."
A few hours later I realized that Mom's "recipe" -- otherwise known as "list of ingredients" -- did not include anything spicy. So I called her again.
"Do you put in a jalapeno?"
"Do I put a jalapeno in what?"
"Oh shut up, you know I'm talking about your guacamole."
"No. Just some hot sauce."
Husband had scrawled "one lonesome jalapeno" on the grocery list. I crossed it off the page.
I have often mentioned Mom's well-known disdain for ingredient measurements. Hence, she wanted me to publish her guacamole recipe as follows:
avocado
Lawry's
garlic
onion -- red
tomato
lime juice
hot sauce
Make guacamole.
However, even given Mom's charming disgust for method, I like to keep this space a full-service blog. So when I got home tonight I started measuring.
Just in time for Cinco de Mayo!
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GUACAMOLE
This recipe is easily halved. In fact, if you're only looking for a little snacking guacamole, or perhaps some to use as a condiment for tacos, I would suggest halving it.
5 avocados, cut into pieces
2 t. Lawry's seasoned salt
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 c. red onion, finely chopped
1 medium tomato, diced
1/4 c. freshly-squeezed lime juice
Hot sauce (I like Tabasco), to taste
Place the avocados in a large bowl. Using a potato masher or a fork, mash the avocados until they're relatively smooth (leave a little chunkiness; it adds to the pleasing texture). Add the rest of the ingredients and mix well.
Start eating.
Makes about 3 cups of guacamole. If you're going to store leftover guacamole, do so in an airtight container, with a piece of plastic wrap pushed down on the surface of the guac. Also throw in one of the avocado pits; Mom swears this helps keep the leftover guacamole from turning brown.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: honey biscuits
Two years ago: mole poblano
The last time I baked from The Bread Baker's Apprentice, Conan O'Brien was still on NBC. They were lighting the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. Winter was on its way, and I was, how do you say, with child even though I didn't know it yet. For someone who claimed that she was going to make all her own bread from now on, it has been a long, lonely hiatus indeed.
But I always knew I'd return. I'd watch the blogs of my fellow Bread Baker's Apprentice challengers as they baked loaf after loaf, speeding through the book with yeasty abandon while I was stuck in the never-never land between kaiser rolls and lavash crackers. I wondered if I'd been left behind, lapped many times over by more enterprising bakers who were already deep into the Ps. But I took solace in the fact that we were all permitted to go our own pace (even our dear leader was slowing up a tad). I knew it wasn't a race. I knew someday soon the bread-baking urge would strike again.
Part of my lag had to do with the fact that I was stuck on lavash crackers -- a recipe I had attempted before, for the Daring Bakers back in September 2008. I liked the crackers when I made them back then, but I wasn't totally enthusiastic to make them again. So I kept putting it off. And putting it off some more. Until one day a few weeks ago when -- staring at the lavash cracker recipe, willing my hands to begin working with flour -- I noticed a note in the margin. It said that the lavash cracker dough can also be used to make pita bread.
And thus was revealed the answer for which I had been waiting all these months: I could make the lavash crackers without really making the lavash crackers, while at the same time attempting homemade pita -- something I'd been hankering to do for a long, long time. I was a baker with a plan, a woman on a mission. No longer stalled on lavash, I was ready to take up the glorious mantle of the Bread Baker's Apprentice once again. I hoped my fellow bakers hadn't given up on me.
I made the pitas this past weekend and they were so amazing (and easy) that I had to make another batch, right away. I had forgotten how simple it is to make one's own bread, and how truly delicious the result. These pitas are especially easy: one quick 90-minute rise, a flattening trip under the rolling pin and just a few minutes on a 500-degree baking stone and -- hey! -- just like that, homemade pita. People will marvel at you when you present a big tray of hummus, veggies and pita and then explain that you made the bread yourself. Then they will marvel some more when they actually taste the soft pita, which is so much tastier than the store-bought stuff. (It is up to you whether you wish to divulge how easy it is to make your own.)
So here I go again. Just yesterday I vowed that I will always make my own pita from scratch, never again to reach for the grocery variety. I am again full of vigor and enthusiasm for bread baking. It's nice to be back.
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The Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge asks that we do not share Reinhart's recipes. That said, if you are the least bit enterprising, you can find the lavash cracker recipe elsewhere on this blog (and linked to from elsewhere in this post). Even so, I know you all have the book anyway, so turn to page 178 and begin making pita, or crackers, or both.
The pita instructions can be found in the margins of page 178. A few pita-notes: First, the lavash cracker recipe as written makes only four 3-oz. pitas (or two larger 6-oz. pitas). That is woefully inadequate. I choose to double the lavash cracker dough and make eight 3-oz. pitas, which are a good size for sandwiches and for cutting into hummus-dipping wedges. Second, the process: preheat the oven to 500 degrees Fahrenheit, with a stone inside if you have one. Take the finished lavash cracker dough (after it's risen for 90 minutes and doubled in bulk) and then divide it into 8 equal portions. Roll out each portion until it's a circle a little less than a quarter-inch thick. Bake the rounds directly on the 500-degree stone. Third, I had great success baking the pitas on a stone, though the recipe states they can be baked on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Finally, the pitas only need a few minutes in the oven to begin to puff. Take them out right when they puff, and before they begin to take on color. If you let them brown in the oven, they will be much too crispy and crackery for traditional pita purposes (but the dog and probably your husband will still like them).
PS. I'm submitting these pitas to Yeastspotting because I am thrilled by them and choose to act like I am the first person in the world who has ever baked pitas at home.
And for one last piece o' business, check out these other Bread Baker's apprentices and their lavash successes:
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: Tim Tam cheesecake
Two years ago: truck-stop cinnamon rolls
