I am delighted to
welcome this site’s first guest Bunburyist. She is an exceptional
actor, writer and editor.
I have been
editing my dad’s blog for almost the entire time he has been posting recipes. I
love to be in the kitchen with him when he cooks, but until recently I have
done very little cooking of my own. When Mom and Dad cook so well, it seems
silly to add a bumbling newcomer to the kitchen and until a few weeks ago I
lived in a dorm with no kitchen and about the same amount of time. Cooking was
completely out of the question.
But soon I will be
moving into an apartment which means I need to start cooking for myself unless
I plan on subsisting entirely on cereal and toast next year (always a
possibility, but certainly not the most exciting option). So this summer, I
have been stepping out from behind my pencil and dictionary and doing some
stirring, simmering and baking for myself.
Right away, there
was one thing I knew I wanted to make. In college, I was starved for really
good, crusty bread. Our dining hall offered only pre-packaged, pre-sliced
loaves with shelf lives only slightly shorter than Twinkies. After that, it
wasn’t enough to come home and buy bread at the store—I wanted to make it
myself.
However, jumping
into the world of yeast when you’ve hardly ever baked a batch of cookies is
hardly a wise move so I had little intention of acting on my urge to bake until
I happened on a new cookbook my dad had bought while I was away at college.
The Country Cooking of Ireland [2009] by Colman Andrews is my favorite
type of cookbook. It is beautiful (I consider the pictures of cows and Irish countryside
alone worth the cost of the book) and filled with information about the culture
and history of Ireland and its cooking. It was while reading through this book
that I came across a chapter that solved my bread dilemma: soda bread. Dense
and crusty enough to make up for a year’s worth of industrial slices of foam,
it’s also simple enough for a novice with more enthusiasm than skill and
doesn’t require any finicky yeast wrangling.
So I determined to
give it a try, still somewhat convinced that disaster would befall. But,
amazingly, it turned out! The recipe was simple but immensely satisfying. (Anything
that involves shaping your hand into a claw and running it through something
sticky can’t help but satisfy your inner five-year-old.) and I got a rush of
pride out of successfully baking a loaf of bread that was entirely out of
proportion with the difficulty of the recipe.
Suddenly cooking
wasn’t just a way to feed myself while away at school studying Oscar Wilde and
James Joyce, but something pleasurable and satisfying enough to do simply for
the fun of it. And I can’t wait to do more.
This bread was
meant to be made by a college student armed only with a pint glass and some
sort of bowl (the recipe suggests a wash basin or even the kitchen sink). As I
don’t fit the mold of pint-glass wielding collegiates, I used the measurements
accompanying the recipe. They worked quite well although they lacked the
haphazard charm of the pint glass method.
Pint-Glass Bread
- 1 pint glass [2 ½ cups/250 g] white flour, preferably Irish or pastry flour, plus more for dusting
- 1 pint glass [2 ½ cups/250 g] stone-ground whole wheat flour, preferably Irish or Irish-style
- Enough baking soda to coat the bottom of a pint glass [ ¾ tsp]
- Enough salt to coat the bottom of a pint glass [ ¾ tsp]
- Enough butter to coat the bottom of a pint glass [1 tbsp]
- ¾ pint glass [1 ¾ cups/420 ml] room-temperature buttermilk, plus more as needed
Preheat the oven
to 375°F/190°C (Gas Mark 5).
Sift the white
flour, whole wheat flour, baking soda, and salt together in a medium bowl and
stir together with a fork until they’re well combined. Rub the butter in with
your fingers until the mixture resembles bread course bread crumbs.
Form a well in the
middle of the flour mixture and pour the buttermilk into the well. Form your
hand into a rigid claw and stir the buttermilk into the flour slowly but
steadily in a spiral motion, starting in the middle and working outward. The
dough should be soft but not too wet or sticky. (Add more buttermilk if
necessary.)
Turn the dough out
onto a floured board. Flour your hands lightly, then shape the dough into a
flat round about 2 in/5 cm high. Cut a deep cross in the top of the loaf with a
wet or floured knife, then bake for 45 to 60 minutes, or until nicely browned
and the bottom of the loaf sounds hollow when tapped.
Andrews gives an
entire page of pointers to help ensure successful bread. Mainly though, you
want to make sure not to over-mix the dough and not to undercook the bread.
Resist the urge to
cut into the bread until it is entirely cool (I couldn’t the first time); it
results in a better texture and the bread is best at room temperature anyway. This
bread tastes amazing with honey, good cheese, jam or dipped in soup such as the
Potato and Leek posted on this blog.
