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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
I really haven't been feeling very human of late. I'm usually a pretty energetic person, and even though I do enjoy more than a few time-sucking television programs, I like to think that I am industrious. That I get stuff done. That, like the lady in the Cake song with the short skirt and the long jacket, I am touring the facility and picking up slack. House stuff. Cooking and baking stuff. Gardening stuff. I used to sit down only rarely on the weekends, instead moving from task to task, edging flower beds and baking bread and transplanting tomato seedlings, making my little corner of the world a little bit nicer for myself, Husband and pup Jet.
But these days I languish. I can rarely stay awake through an entire episode of CSI: NY, let alone bake a hearth bread. Husband keeps reminding me that although I might not actively realize it, I am doing quite a lot of work -- growing a small human and all. I wasn't prepared for what an exhausting task that truly is. So I try to feel righteous in my sloth, deserving of my time in the reclining chair. But it's not who I am. So I go a little stir crazy. And complain that I'm wasting too much time! There's too much work to be done! Patient Husband, who is so helpful and kind as to nearly achieve martyrdom status, talks me down every time. He is a good man.
Take for example Saturday night. It was about 7:30 p.m. and I was complaining about how I felt I hadn't gotten anything done that day. I should just go to bed, I whined. Husband said, "Why don't you bake something? I'll help you." He was so cute and earnest I couldn't turn him down.
"Would you make toasted coconut and chocolate chip cookies with me?" I replied, sheepishly.
He immediately got to work chopping chocolate.
These cookies are super easy to make, perfect if you're feeling lazy but would still like a home-baked treat to top off a lazy, rainy Saturday. They're chock full of toasty coconut and 70% cacao chocolate (I actually doubled the amount of chocolate from the original recipe, which seemed very very skimpy indeed). And they come from a Cooking Light article about how dark chocolate and coconut can now be considered to contain the "good" version of saturated fat. They are healthy! In moderation! (Whatever.)
So my goodness, people. Bake and eat up.
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TOASTED COCONUT CHOCOLATE CHUNK COOKIES
Adapted from Cooking Light
It makes every bit of sense in the world to me to double this recipe. It only makes about 20 cookies as is, and I see no reason to have 20 cookies when you could easily have 40.
1 c. flaked sweetened coconut
4.5 oz. all-purpose flour (about 1 c.)
1/2 t. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
1/8 t. kosher salt
3/4 c. light brown sugar, packed
1/4 c. unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 t. vanilla extract
1 large egg
4 oz. dark chocolate (70% cacao), coarsely chopped
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Spread the coconut on a baking sheet and toast in the oven, stirring every few minutes, for 7-10 minutes, or until the coconut is a toasty shade of light brown. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool. (Leave the oven at 350 degrees.)
In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt and stir with a whisk until blended. Place the brown sugar and butter in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat with the paddle attachment at medium speed until well-combined. Beat in the vanilla and egg. Add the flour mixture and beat at low speed until combined. Using a spatula or wooden spoon, stir in the toasted coconut and chopped chocolate.
Using a spring-loaded ice cream scoop (or rounded tablespoons), drop the batter onto a Silpat- or parchment-lined baking sheet. Make sure the cookies are 2 inches apart. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes, rotating the sheet halfway through the baking. Let the cookies sit on the baking sheet for about 2 minutes before moving them to a wire rack to cool.
Makes about 20 cookies.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: potato-leek soup
Two years ago: lemony lima bean, chickpea and zucchini salad
Though I am not Jewish, I must admit that Passover, to a certain extent, is the bread of my affliction as well.
Husband keeps kosher for Passover, an act which I greatly admire. But the stark reality is: this carb-loving shiksa finds it challenging to make it through eight nights without being able to eat pasta with her husband. Take this afternoon for example. I was craving pizza like nobody's business. I was all excited that Husband was to be finished with work at 6:00 p.m. It's a beautiful warm spring night and I relished the drive to the best pizza place in Akron. And then I realized it's Passover. Husband can't have pizza. My dreams were dashed. Curses.
What I have found over the years, however, is that quinoa is kosher for Passover. And quinoa is satisfyingly grain-y and filling, so much so that one almost forgets that one is supposed to be eating only matzoh. Several years ago I found a Grant Achatz recipe for quinoa with caramelized onions -- which is so simple that I keep wondering how it is that the recipe is Grant Achatz's, he of the ethereal molecular gastronomic paradise that is Alinea (BUBBLE GUM long pepper hibiscus creme fraiche anyone?) -- and I knew it would become a Passover staple in our house. Because if there's anything that Husband loves, it's being a Jew. A Jew who would eat caramelized onions by the bowlful, with a spoon.
And so! If it is Passover, there is quinoa with caramelized onions. For the second-night Seder this year I paired it with chicken tikka masala -- non-traditional to be sure but delicious and kosher nonetheless.
Everything went perfectly with the Hillel sandwich, and even my nephew got in on the act, reading the four questions and searching for the afikoman for the old-school reward of just $1. Though Husband was the only Jew at the table, all were sated and happy and, well, reclining.
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QUINOA WITH CARAMELIZED ONIONS
Adapted from Grant Achatz's recipe, from an old issue of Food & Wine
I used a mixture of "regular" and red quinoa for this dish, because it was what I had in the pantry. Feel free to use whatever quinoa you have and enjoy.
3 T. extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 pounds white or yellow onions, thinly sliced
Kosher salt and freshly-cracked black pepper
1 1/2 c. quinoa, rinsed and drained
2 1/2 c. water
Heat 2 T. of the olive oil in a large skillet. Add the onions and cook over low heat, stirring often, until meltingly soft and deep golden, about 30 minutes. As the onions begin to look dry and stick to the bottom of the pan, stir through a little bit of water. You might need to do this a few times. When the onions are deep brown, season with salt and pepper to taste and set aside (leaving them in the skillet, off the heat).
Heat the remaining 1 T. of olive oil in a large saucepan. Add the quinoa and cook over medium-high heat, stirring, until light golden and fragrant, about 3-4 minutes. Add the water and 3/4 t. of kosher salt and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce the heat to low and cook until all of the water has been absorbed and the quinoa is tender, about 12-15 minutes.
Fluff the quinoa with a fork and add it to the skillet with the caramelized onions, stirring to combine. Season with salt and pepper to taste and serve immediately.
Serves 8.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: King Boo and Hot Wheels
Two years ago: more Nephew birthday cakes
I do not wish to be one of those pregnant ladies who can only talk about how pregnant she is. I do not wish for a screen capture of this site to end up posted to STFU, Parents -- no matter how much I love that blog (oh, and I do). And though pregnancy is exhausting and just a slight bit all-consuming, I wish also to focus on other elements of my life.
As such, today I will not be telling you about how I have been wickedly craving chicken souvlaki since mid-December. I shall not blame it on this tiny person I'm carrying around. Instead, I will tell you all about chicken souvlakis I have loved and -- for various reasons -- cannot get any longer. I shall explain why, after many nights pining away at my souvalki-lessness, I finally broke down and (gasp!) made my own. And it was good. Damn good. So damn good we've eaten it three of the last four nights (it goes really well with both RuPaul's Drag Race *and* Lost).
But first: chicken souvlakis I have known. For many decades there was a family-owned restaurant in my hometown called Mary & Ted's. It had been there forever, changing its decor every so often but always serving up the same comfort food/Greek diner favorites. I can easily picture the restaurant in at least three different interior design iterations and can especially remember the large U-shaped counter flanked by big square plastic drink dispensers full of blue slushy liquid. When I was in elementary school, sometimes Dad would take me there before school and I'd eat silver-dollar pancakes with childish gusto. You could buy Andes mints at the cash register. The same people always seemed to be there.
Mary & Ted's closed a few years back. And while it's always sad when a local institution goes out of business, my sorrow was reserved mostly for the fact that Mary & Ted's chicken souvlaki would no longer be in my life: juicy grilled chicken, served with tangy tzatziki and crisp lettuce and red onions in a warmed, soft, ever-so-slightly olive oily flatbread. Alongside this messy concoction: a mountain of crisp, salty fries. Perfection. But as with many perfect things, it couldn't last forever.
Then there was Uncle George's, a Greek diner in Astoria, NYC, that was around the corner from Husband's old apartment. Sitting, fat and happy, on a busy Queens street corner, Uncle George's was always stuffed full of people, night or day. Loud people eating a lot of Greek food, drinking cold red wine from jewel-toned aluminum cups. Uncle George's had the most amazing lemony and oregano-y potatoes, cut in large hunks and set alongside whatever it was you happened to be eating. In my case, it was the souvlaki, with its soft bread lapping up the lemon runoff from the nearby potatoes. Husband and I were dating at the time, and a weekend trip to New York for me was never complete without a stop at Uncle George's. Husband still beats a path there whenever he's in town, especially if he's in town for a Mets game.
And thus, having been spoiled by restaurant souvlaki for the better part of the past decade, is it any wonder that it never once occurred to me that I could cook it at home? All this whining about how I can never get souvlaki anymore finally came to a head last week when the light bulb went off over Husband's head. "Do you want me to grill some chicken? We could make our own."
Eureka!
So we made our own, and then we made some more. And then, what the hell, we made some more. The weather's been really nice and the charcoal grill was calling and I bought extra bread at the Middle Eastern grocery and I can eat several cups of homemade tzatziki single-handedly. And you know what? Homemade tastes even better than restaurant-made. Even Mary & Ted's and Uncle George's.
Now excuse me while I make some more.
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CHICKEN SOUVLAKI
For the tzatziki:
1 c. plain Greek yogurt (I especially like Fage 2%)
1/2 c. seeded, peeled and shredded cucumber, squeezed to remove excess moisture
2 T. fresh mint, chopped
1 T. fresh dill, chopped
1 T. olive oil
1 T. freshly-squeezed lemon juice
2 garlic cloves, minced
Pinch sea salt, to taste
For the chicken:
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2 T. olive oil
2 T. dried oregano
3/4 t. kosher salt
1/2 t. freshly-cracked black pepper
To assemble the souvlaki:
4 pieces of soft flatbread (or pita)
2 tomatoes, cut into wedges
1 c. shredded iceberg lettuce
1/2 c. red onion, thinly sliced
Hot sauce, if desired
First, make the tzatziki. In a medium bowl, combine all tzatziki ingredients and stir to combine. Set aside. Prep the tomatoes, lettuce and red onion. Set aside.
To prepare the chicken, place the meat in a medium bowl and drizzle with olive oil. Add the oregano, salt and pepper and stir to coat the chicken breasts. Grill the chicken -- either outdoors on the grill or indoors in the grill pan if the weather is less than cooperative -- until golden brown and delicious and the internal temperature registers at 161 degrees Fahrenheit. Remove from the heat and let the chicken rest a few minutes before slicing into pieces.
Assemble the souvlaki by lightly grilling a piece of flatbread until warmed. Spread with a few tablespoons of the tzatziki then top with chicken, tomato, red onion and lettuce. If you're in the mood for hot sauce, feel free to add a little (Husband likes his this way).
Makes 4 sandwiches, with a little tzatziki left over. Store the tzatziki in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: Mrs. DiLorenzo's manicotti and an alternate take on my roasted tomato marinara
Two years ago: tsoureki
I can already hear you all out there, sighing.
It's been almost two months since you've posted that rich chocolate cake, and now you return with...vegetables? Seriously??
I know, I know. Broccoli pesto might not seem like the most thrilling of dishes...not the sexiest, food porniest thing with which I could return after my lengthy cooking and blogging hiatus. But what can I say? I have broccoli in the fridge and a craving in my mind, and if there's anything I'm learning from being pregnant, it's listen to those cravings.
Yes, you read that right. I am expecting. Hence the whole hiatus -- I haven't had the energy or desire to eat, let alone cook, let alone be creative in the kitchen. But as the constant nagging illness and exhaustion make way for what I pray is an easier few months ahead, I find myself ready to get back to (modest) culinary work. My first task: transforming those green florets in the crisper drawer into a pleasing riff on pesto.
And though he's been an absolute dear over these past four months -- cooking for me when I wanted to eat, running out to the store to buy me grapes, doing the dishes, baking me chocolate chip cookies at the drop of a hat, not complaining when I wanted to go to bed at 8:15 instead of play The Beatles: Rock Band -- I'm hoping Husband will appreciate that I'm cooking dinner for him tonight. Thanks to some recent warmer weather and some rain today, the blanket of snow that's been covering our world since Christmas is finally gone. Clearly, hell has frozen over. And I'm ready to cook again.
At least for the moment. We'll see how tomorrow goes.
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BROCCOLI PESTO
Adapted from Kitchenist
It is not at all necessary to serve this simple pesto over pasta. I can think of lots of things to do with it: serve it atop a grilled or pan-fried chicken breast; mix it with cold pasta, kalamata olives, fresh tomatoes and some bright fresh herbs for pasta salad; serve it, room temperature, as a spread for a homemade crusty loaf of bread, warm from the oven.
That said, I do like it quite a lot served over pasta. To do so, bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Cook 1 pound of pasta according to the package directions to al dente. Drain pasta, reserving a few cups of the starchy pasta cooking water. Toss the pasta with about 1 cup of the broccoli pesto, adding a ladle or two of the pasta cooking water to transform the pesto into a creamy sauce.
1 head of broccoli (about 2 1/2 c. florets and tender stems)
1/2 c. walnuts, almonds or pine nuts (or a mix), toasted
1 garlic clove, chopped
1/4 t. red pepper flakes
1/3 c. grated Pecorino cheese
4 oz. feta cheese, cubed or crumbled
Juice of half a lemon1/2 c. olive oil
Pinch sea salt
Cook the broccoli florets either by blanching them in a pot of boiling water for 3-4 minutes or steaming them in a vegetable steamer for 4-5 minutes. Rinse immediately with cold water to stop the cooking process; drain, and set aside to cool.
Place the cooked, cooled florets in the bowl of a food processor with all the remaining ingredients, except the olive oil and sea salt. Process until the broccoli is chopped into fine pieces, then drizzle in the olive oil until the mixture is well combined and smooth. Taste for seasoning, then add sea salt if desired.
Makes about 2 cups of pesto, which will keep in an airtight container in the refrigerator for 3 days and in the freezer for at least a month.
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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: spinach lasagna
Two years ago: Italian wedding soup
Yesterday I made myself a chocolate layer cake for no reason at all.
I hardly ever make a cake for myself; I wait until a special occasion, then make a cake for someone else. Which is ridiculous, if you think about it. Do I not deserve a delicious cake? Even when it's not my birthday? So yesterday, when I was drooling over a photo of a chocolate layer cake in one of my favorite cookbooks, waxing poetic about how badly I wanted a slice, Husband said, "You know, you do know how to bake. Why don't you make yourself one?"
Well, duh. It was a revelation. The cold winter sky opened; angels began to sing. And I started chopping chocolate.
Donna Hay's layered chocolate fudge cake is nothing if not rich, and nothing if not rustic. The luscious photograph that accompanies the recipe shows a four-layer cake spread with frosting between the layers and on top -- but not around the cake's chocolatey sides. They are left unfrosted, naked, for all the salivating eaters to see. Beguiling, really.
The cake itself is deeply flavored with chocolate, with a texture that veers into genoise/sponge-cake territory. It achieves its modest lift from vigorously beaten eggs and a modest amount of flour. The recipe does not call for salt, though as I think of it the recipe calls for "butter" -- not "unsalted butter" -- and I'm thinking it might be possible that Australians would use salted butter in the cake. (My edition of the cookbook was published in Australia.) My knee-jerk reaction is always to use unsalted butter in baked goods, so I might have missed the salt boat here (though I certainly made up for it with a sprinkling of fleur de sel atop the finished cake). But no matter, the cake was marvelous and maybe next time -- just for comparison's sake, you know -- I'll go the salted butter route.
As far as the fudge filling goes, I used it as an opportunity to cobble together 12 oz. of random bits and pieces of chocolate left over from previous baking adventures -- orphaned chunks of chocolate that were just hanging out in the pantry, waiting for their chance to play a starring dessert role. It was quite satisfying, chucking butter and cream together with semi-sweet Nestle chips and a hunk of semi-sweet Valrhona and several squares of bittersweet Ghirardelli and a few rectangles of Hershey's dark chocolate to make the filling. It was a scene, man.
And even though I had made the cake for myself, I did end up sharing it with family. Sister's 142nd birthday is this week, and we went out last night to celebrate. I will be baking a proper chocolate-hazelnut cake for her birthday tomorrow. But last night, after her birthday dinner, it seemed silly not to use this rustic layer cake as a sort of precursor to her formal birthday. Which is how Younger Nephew ended up sitting in my kitchen, covered in frosting, fork in hand, stating that the chocolate -- like everything else sweet in my kitchen -- was "HIS" and his alone.
Not exactly what I envisioned when I set out greedily and piggishly to make a cake for myself. But as with everything else in life, chocolate cake is always sweeter when you can share it with someone you love. Even if that person doesn't really want to share.
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LAYERED CHOCOLATE FUDGE CAKE
Adapted from Flavours, by Donna Hay
For the cake:
2 1/2 oz. unsalted butter
1 t. vanilla extract
8 eggs
1 1/3 c. sugar
2/3 c. cocoa powder
1 c. all-purpose flour
For the fudge filling:
12 oz. semi-sweet or dark chocolate, chopped
3/4 c. heavy cream
5 oz. unsalted butter
Pinch kosher salt
Optional but totally delicious topping:
A hearty pinch of fleur de sel
First, make the fudge filling. Place the chocolate, heavy cream, butter and salt in a medium heat-proof bowl. Set the bowl over a pan of simmering water and allow everything to melt, stirring occasionally to combine the ingredients. Remove from the heat and refrigerate until cool.
While the filling is cooling, make the cakes. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Line the bottom of 2 8-inch round cake pans with parchment paper.
Melt the 2 1/2 oz. butter and vanilla in a small saucepan over low heat, then set aside to cool slightly.
Place the eggs and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat for 8 minutes, or until the mixture is light and creamy and tripled in bulk.
Sift the cocoa powder and the flour twice, then sift it into the egg mixture.
(Those cocoa chunks up there just go to show that sifting once is not enough.)
(Double-sifted and lovely.)
Add the butter mixture to the batter and fold gently with a spatula until the batter just comes together. Divide the batter between the prepared pans and bake for 25 minutes, until the cakes pull away from the sides of the pans. Cool in the pans. Cut each cake horizontally into 2 layers.
When the filling is cool and somewhat stiff, remove it from the refrigerator and transfer into the bowl of an electric mixer. Using the whisk attachment, whip the filling until it is light and fluffy, scraping down the sides of the bowl a few times.
To assemble the cake, place one layer of the cake on a serving plate and spread with the filling. Repeat with the remaining cake layers and the remaining fudge filling. If using, sprinkle the top of the cake with fleur de sel.
Serves 10-12.
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A little taste of what's come before:
One year ago: cheddar-Pecorino biscotti
Two years ago: Ma Chris salad
A few days ago, friends, A Stove With A House Around It turned two.
Two!
It is hard to believe that two whole years have elapsed since that dull evening in January 2008 when I decided that I was too creatively and culinarily pent-up to continue without some sort of outlet. And so I wrote on that day, "Always a fan of metaphor (and hyperbole), this blog represents the overwhelming importance of food in my life -- to the exclusion of shelter itself. Kidding. Maybe."
Well, considering we do have several roof issues that cause troubling leaks every winter -- and I am instead dreaming of how exactly I wish to use our limited resources to remodel our perfectly serviceable kitchen -- it looks like my manifesto was right on the money. And though I originally envisioned this space as dedicated mostly to the recipes and memories of my youth, it has happily evolved into a record of the food, people, places and experiences that make up the day-to-day fabric of my life. It has been my pleasure sharing it all with you, and I hope you've enjoyed yourself here. After all, without you, there is just a lot of echoing in this space as my lonely words bounce off the heading and the sidebar.
So. How to acknowledge this second birthday? I could bake a cake. But I have a feeling I'll be doing that this weekend, as Sister turns, like, 90 or something. No. I think I'll make some pretzels. As I did last year at this time to celebrate birthday #1. Yes. I believe I shall make birthday pretzels a yearly tradition: each year this blog grows a little older, I'll share another pretzel recipe I've found. Because I do believe a full life is one lived in the presence of many pretzel recipes.
For your second birthday, little blog, I've made you some of Alton Brown's hot pretzels. Just about everything Alton makes is a win and you, my HTML progeny, deserve the best. (And, yes, these beat last year's Martha Stewart recipe by leaps and bounds, in terms of crusty browned flavor and soft yeasty interior). So sidle up to the kitchen counter and help yourself to some yeasty, salty goodness.
And happy birthday.
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HOMEMADE SOFT PRETZELS
Adapted from Alton Brown
1 1/2 c. warm water (110-115 degrees Fahrenheit)
1 T. sugar
2 t. kosher salt, plus more for sprinkling over the pretzels
2 1/2 t. instant yeast
22 oz. all-purpose flour (about 4 1/2 c.)
2 oz. unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
Olive oil, for bowl
Non-stick spray, for pan
10 c. water
2/3 c. baking soda
1 large egg yolk beaten with 1 T. water
Combine the water, sugar and 2 t. kosher salt in the bowl of an electric mixer and sprinkle the yeast on top. Whisk together to dissolve the sugar and then let stand until the mixture bubbles and foams, about 5 minutes.
Add the flour and butter to the yeast mixture. Fit the mixer with the dough hook and mix on low speed until the dough comes together. Then switch to medium speed and knead until the dough pulls away from the side of the bowl and forms a ball, approximately 4-5 minutes. Remove the dough from the bowl, then coat the bowl with a few teaspoons of olive oil. Return the dough to the bowl, rolling to coat it in oil. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let it sit in a warm spot in the kitchen until the dough doubles in size, 50-55 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, then spray with non-stick spray (or brush with olive or vegetable oil). Set aside.
Bring the 10 c. of water and the baking soda to a rolling boil in a large pot.
While the water comes to a boil, turn the dough out onto a work surface and divide into 8 equal pieces. Roll out each piece of dough into a 24-inch rope. Make a U-shape with the rope then, holding the ends of the rope, cross the ends over each other and press into the bottom of the U in order to form the shape of a pretzel. Place the formed pretzels onto the parchment-lined baking sheets.
(Even Husband makes pretzels.)
Place the pretzels in the boiling water, one at a time, for 30 seconds each. Remove them from the water using a large flat spatula, letting as much of the water drain away as possible.
Return the boiled pretzels to the parchment-lined baking sheet, brush the top of each pretzel with the egg yolk and water mixture, then sprinkle with kosher salt.
Bake until the pretzels are a deep golden brown, about 12 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack for 5 minutes before serving.
Makes 8 large, gorgeous hot pretzels.
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Gee Dianne, what were you cooking in years past?
One year ago: pan-fried tofu with spicy lemongrass sauce
Two years ago: chocolate chip cake
