Stand Mixer

Pizza is the perfect food, or so I’m so often told. When I moved to Providence, Rhode Island, I’d heard that there was great pizza to be had, so I asked everyone I met to recommend his or her favorite place. They all seemed to have a different style that they preferred, not unlike the diversity I’ve found in similar explorations into barbecue and chili. There is Sicilian thick-crusted pizza and thin New York style (the kind where the nose of the slice has to be flipped back into the center of the slice to keep all the cheese from running off). At least two-dozen franchise pizza shops exist within a three-mile radius of my home, some with prebaked shells, others with house-made crust. There are double-decker pizzas, cheese-in-the-crust pizzas, and a very popular twice-baked crust, recently dubbed Argentinian pizza in some regions, but here it is mysteriously and incorrectly referred to as Neapolitan. The best pizza I’ve had in recent years was in Phoenix at Pizzeria Bianco, a small restaurant run by Chris Bianco and his friends and family. Chris grows his own basil and lettuce behind the restaurant, makes his own mozzarella cheese, and hand-mixes his pizza dough in large batches (I mean really hand-mixes, on a bench and by hand). It is wet dough, like ciabatta, and sits for hours slowly fermenting. His is the closest I’ve had to pizza made in the style of Naples: simple, thin crusted, and baked fast and crisp. Pizzeria Bianco serves only about six kinds of pizza, a house salad, house-made Italian bread (from the pizza dough), and three or so desserts made by Chris’s mom. They can’t keep up with the business, and getting a seat in the pizzeria is like winning the lottery. Naples is the birthplace of what we today call pizza. Genoa has its focaccia, Tuscany its schiacciata, and Sicily its sfincione, but true Neapolitan pizza is the perfect expression of the perfect food. Every other style may also be crust and topping, but life would be better if only this superior version were allowed to call itself pizza. More to the point, it is possible to make a great pizza at home even if your oven cannot reach the heat levels used by the very best pizzerias that burn hardwood or bituminous coal and reach between 800° and 1200°F! Jeffrey Steingarten wrote a wonderful piece in the August 2000 issue of Vogue in which he told of trying dozens of ways to generate enough heat to replicate a pizza oven in his home. He nearly burned down his house in the process. Unfortunately, most home ovens will not go beyond 550°F, if that, but the following dough will produce an amazing pizza even at that relatively low heat. It has long been my contention that it is the crust, not the toppings, that make a pizza memorable. I’ve seen some expensive, wonderful ingredients wasted on bad crust, or, even more often, a decent dough ruined in an oven that was not hot enough to bake it properly. For many years, cookbook instructions have been to bake at about 350°F or maybe at 425°F. Rarely do you see instructions that suggest cranking the oven to its fullest capacity, but that’s what you have to do to make a great pizza at home. The single biggest flaw in most pizza dough recipes is the failure to instruct the maker to allow the dough to rest overnight in the refrigerator (or at least for a long time). This gives the enzymes time to go to work, pulling out subtle flavor trapped in the starch. The long rest also relaxes the gluten, allowing you to shape the dough easily, minimizing the elastic springiness that so often forces you to squeeze out all the gas. Lately, there’s been a controversy regarding what type of flour to use. Unbleached is a given. It simply delivers more flavor and aroma. For the past few years the trend has been toward high-gluten or bread flour because it promotes oven spring and holds together better during handling (this is called dough “tolerance”)...

Panettone is a traditional, rich Christmas bread originating in Milan. There are many folktales about its origins, the most popular being that it was created a few hundred years ago by a humble baker named Tony to woo his beloved, the daughter of a rich merchant. More importantly, he had to win over the father to the idea of his daughter marrying a baker, so he pulled out all the stops, filling his bread with the baker’s equivalent of the gifts of the wise men: butter, brandied dried and candied fruits, nuts, and sugar. The merchant was so impressed that he not only gave his daughter in marriage, but also set Tony up with his own bakery in Milan with the promise that he would continue to make his bread, pane Tony. For many years the standard panettone found in most bakeries and cookbooks has been one made with commercial yeast, a good but not great rendition. The best and most traditional versions are made by wild-yeast fermentation, augmented by a small amount of commercial yeast. Recently, one of the largest panettone bakeries in Italy changed its formula from commercial yeast to wild yeast, returning to the more traditional method that had all but been abandoned. The bakers discovered that not only does the bread have a longer shelf life due to the increased acidity, but it also outsold the commercial-yeast version. This added up to a huge increase in profits and, more importantly, to happier customers. The following formula will produce a long-keeping loaf that could easily become a perennial favorite at holiday time. It is more time-consuming to produce, but that’s the price of world-class quality. You can also make a perfectly good panettone by following the Stollen formula on page 252, shaping it in the round panettone style.

This is one of the breakthrough breads that taught me the value of combining large portions of pre-ferment with overnight cold fermentation. Semolina is the gritty, sandy flour milled from durum wheat. (Durum is the strain of wheat most closely identified with pasta.) It is a hard, high-protein wheat, but it is not high in gluten. The golden color is mainly due to a high proportion of beta-carotene, which contributes both aroma and flavor as well as the appealing hue. You may substitute a finer grind of this flour, called fancy durum (sometimes labeled “extra fancy durum”). When it is labeled “fancy durum,” the flour is milled to the consistency of regular bread flour. This is the grind used in pasta and also used in the 100 percent durum bread called pugliese (page 222). This version of pane siciliano consists of 40 percent semolina flour and 60 percent high-gluten or bread flour. The finished loaf has a beautiful blistered crust, not too crackly, and a crumb with large, irregular holes, open to the same degree as good French or Italian bread. The sweetness and nutty quality of the semolina, and the complementary flavor of the sesame-seed garnish make this one of my absolute favorite breads.

This is the perfect dough for creative shaping, and the one used throughout France for many types of breads sold under various local names. The dough is similar to regular French baguette dough, but it includes a small percentage of whole grain, either whole wheat, pumpernickel-grind or white rye, or cornmeal. This additional grain gives the bread more character and grain flavor, and contributes to the brownish-gold, country-style crust that distinguishes it from white flour French bread. Most important, this is the dough, as I learned it from Professor Raymond Calvel, that opened my thinking to the use of large percentages of pre-ferment. On pages 72–79 you will see a number of shapes you can make from this dough. The most famous are the fendu, épi, couronne, and auvergnat. There are many others that you may also have seen. As always, though, the first emphasis must be on the quality of the dough. There is nothing more disappointing to a bread lover than to see a lot of work go into a shaping technique for a dough that does not deliver world-class flavor and texture. This particular dough never disappoints.

The technique by which this bread is made has tremendous implications for the baking industry and for both professional and home bakers. The unique delayed-fermentation method, which depends on ice-cold water, releases flavors trapped in flour in a way different from the more traditional twelve-stage method. The final product has a natural sweetness and nutlike character that is distinct from breads made with exactly the same ingredients but fermented by the standard method, even with large percentages of pre-ferment. Also, because the dough is as wet as rustic ciabatta-style dough, it can be used in many ways, from baguettes, as Philippe Gosselin does in Paris, to ciabatta, pugliese, stirato, pain rustique, and even pizza and focaccia. This bread shows us another way to manipulate time, and thus outcomes, by manipulating temperature. The cold mixing and fermentation cycles delay the activation of the yeast until after the amylase enzymes have begun their work of breaking out sugar from the starch. When the dough is brought to room temperature and the yeast wakes up and begins feasting, it feeds on sugars that weren’t there the day before. Because the yeast has converted less of the released sugar to alcohol and carbon dioxide, a reserve of sugar remains in the fermented dough to flavor it and caramelize the crust during the baking cycle. While this delayed-fermentation method doesn’t work for every dough (especially those that are enriched with sugar and other flavor-infusing ingredients), used appropriately, it evokes the fullness of flavor from the wheat beyond any other fermentation method I’ve encountered. As a bonus, and despite all the intimidating science, this is actually one of the easiest doughs in this book to make. Without question this is the dough that has gotten the most recent attention from my students at Johnson & Wales, The California Culinary Academy, and around the country in my daylong workshops for home bakers. It is not just the flavor of the bread that excites them, although without it the concept would be interesting but moot. It is the idea of pressing into new frontiers of bread making, of realizing that there are still areas of exploration not charted by even the professional community. We are learning that as we deconstruct the bread-baking process, we are still in the early discovery stage of what is possible. As in any facet of life, this is an exciting place to find oneself, like standing at the end of the world, facing the words, as so often showed up on ancient maps, “Unknown Kingdoms Be Here.”

I am always exploring the multigrain genre in a never-ending quest for better and better ways to deliver nutritious bread in a delicious package. Adapting some of the advanced concepts we’ve discussed, such as the soaker technique, to activate enzymes and break out natural sugars seems a natural progression. This is a variation of perhaps my best-known bread, struan, whose flavor in the original version I thought impossible to top. This version preserves that flavor and opens up possibilities for grain variations not possible with the direct-dough technique of the original struan, as described in Brother Juniper’s Bread Book and Bread Upon the Waters. Substituting, for instance, millet, quinoa, amaranth, or buckwheat for the corn or oats (or simply adding them to the blend) can be accomplished with the soaker method without pre-cooking those grains. I say this with the confidence born of hundreds of customer testimonials: this bread and its variations make the best toast in the world. Because it is sweetened with both honey and brown sugar, it caramelizes quickly, both while baking and especially when toasting. The many grains hold moisture so that, while the slices crisp up when toasted, they also retain a moist sweetness. The flavors marry extremely well with mayonnaise-based sandwich fillings, such as egg salad, tuna salad, chicken salad, and BLTs. I nearly always top the loaves with poppy seeds because they add a complementary appearance and taste and look more attractive than, say, sesame seeds. The dough can be formed into rolls and freestanding loaves for specific applications, but I believe that the most perfect use of this bread is either for sandwiches or toast (or even better, toasted sandwiches).

Here, whole-wheat flour accounts for 33 percent of the total flour, which is the most popular formula for making light wheat bread. The result is a loaf similar to the soft wheat breads purchased off the shelves. Of course, this is a poor compromise for whole-grain purists, which is why I am also including a bread formula with 100 percent whole wheat (page 270).. But there are times when you just want a tasty, soft, but not altogether white sandwich bread, and this versatile loaf fits the bill.

Either of these two formulas will make a delicious rye bread, light or dark. But combined, you can weave them together to make the fabled marbled rye of childhood memories and Seinfeld fame. These are made by the direct-dough method, as opposed to the sourdough method preferred for onion rye and deli rye. But the ease of making these breads, their soft texture, and their flexibility for braiding and blending make them a favorite of my students.

In America, the term Italian bread has come to mean a loaf very similar to French bread, only usually a little softer. This has very little to do with reality, however, since scores of authentic Italian breads exist. What made the old-time Italian bakeries that were once a part of many American towns and cities special was that the bread was baked fresh daily and bought right at the shop. Today, even with the current bread revolution, much of the bread produced does not stand up to the those old Italian loaves, despite the love, care, and wonderful wood- or coal-fired ovens that we may associate with many contemporary bakeries. This is because many bakeries, smitten with innovative modern ingredients that accelerate fermentation in order to save time and increase profits, have reverted to fast-rising methods that leave much of the potential flavor and color trapped in the starches. The Italian biga pre-ferment method is a step in the direction of improving these breads, much as pâte fermentée and poolish does for French bread. The following formula pushes the biga method to its limits, and the result is an Italian bread as good as or better than any I’ve had in recent years. The use of a large amount of biga insures maximum sugar breakout from starches, evoking a sweetness that is far beyond the small amount of sugar in the formula. The finished bread will be slightly softer than French bread and less crusty.

These are sometimes called by different names, such as New York hard rolls, bulkies, or even Vienna rolls. But the distinguishing characteristic of a kaiser roll is the star pattern on the top and a thin, slightly crisp crust that yields to the first bite and crumbles deliciously in the mouth around whatever sandwich filling it holds. Most bakeshops make them using a direct-dough method and knock them out by the thousands. This version, again pushing the limits of our newfound understanding of fermentation and enzyme activity, utilizes old dough, pâte fermentée, to improve flavor, texture, and color, making the resulting rolls significantly better than their commercial counterparts. While strangers will be complaining that they can’t find a good old-fashioned New York hard roll, you will be spoiling your friends and family with these bulkies.

In every book I’ve written there is a version of French bread, each attempting to close the gap between professional, artisan, and home-baked loaves. This is the best version yet and the closest, I believe, to the breads you will find at your favorite bakery. The key, as in many of these formulas, is the use of a large amount of pre-fermented dough, pâte fermentée. My best previous version required holding the shaped loaves overnight in the refrigerator, a technique that still may be applied to improve many lean, slow-rising breads. But purists object because the technique causes blisters, sometimes called bird’s-eyes, on the crust (due to carbon dioxide trapped just beneath the skin during the cold retarding stage). While I like that look, as do many consumers, it is not the way baguettes look at French boulangeries, nor most bakeshops anywhere. This new method allows you to make a full-flavored French bread, from start to finish in 4 to 5 hours (assuming you have the pâte fermentée made in advance). The pre-fermented dough gives the final dough the qualities of one that has been fermented for 7 to 9 hours, the standard of many professional operations. The crust will have a rich, reddish-gold caramelization rather than the more typical yellow-gold color of younger dough. This richer color is a result of sugars released from the starches during fermentation. The bread also exhibits a sweetness that seems as if it must be from added sugar, but all the sugar in this bread is released from within the flour, broken free of the complex starch molecules by amylase and diastase enzymes during fermentation. As with most hearth breads, another key to the success of this bread is handling it gently, retaining as much gas as possible during shaping in order to promote large, irregular holes in the crumb that, again, release maximum flavor. This large, open crumb is one of the signs of a properly handled artisan loaf.

These are fun to make, especially with kids. Instead of baking the bread in the oven, the muffins are baked in a skillet or on a griddle. If you want to get the big holes that the professionals get, you will need to work with a soft, but not sticky, dough and bake or grill the muffins at just the right time, catching them on the rise. The dough, a fairly straightforward enriched dough, can also be used to make English muffin loaf bread, a holey white bread that kids—well, not just kids—love.

The quality of most American focaccia is so poor that I’m surprised it has caught on as it has, being listed by a top food magazine as one of the hot food trends of the new millennium. Its survival and emergence is probably due to the few bakeries that really do it well, showcasing the honeycombed crumb that results from a properly executed rustic dough. Toppings, no matter how creative and flavorful, can never cover for an inadequate crust. This is true for pizza as well as its Ligurian cousin, focaccia. The main difference between them is that true pizza (Neapolitan) has a thin crust, while authentic focaccia has a thicker crust, but not obnoxiously thick as seen in some American renditions. I prefer a thickness of 1 to 1 1/4 inches, with big, open, translucent holes, like a ciabatta or pugliese. There is really only one way to achieve such perfection, and that is through long fermentation by either generous use of pre-fermented dough or by retarding the fermentation process through refrigeration. Either method will get you there, so I offer you two formulas. The results are comparable and demonstrate the possibilities presented by time and temperature manipulation. Following the formulas are some suggestions for variations and toppings.

I’ve long believed that the connecting link in any Thanksgiving dinner is the cranberry relish. It ties all the other flavors together, its juices running in all directions on the plate, blending with the gravy, potatoes, and the dressing, and finally, enlivening the turkey itself with its sweet-and-sour flavor tones. Of course, it has to be good cranberry relish, with coarsely chopped berries, walnuts, and orange juice, not just the canned jelly slices. This bread captures those flavors and can be used to supplement the relish (which always seems to run out before I’ve had my fill). It also makes a beautiful table presentation, with its double-decker braiding, evocative of a traditional celebration challah (page 133).

In Brother Juniper’s Bread Book, I included a recipe for a variation of this bread, but I believe this version is even better, encompassing all the qualities one wants from a raisin bread. It is light, flavorful, loaded with raisins, and it has a wonderful finish, filling your mouth with the satisfying aftertaste of roasted walnuts. If you prefer not to use nuts, eliminate them from the formula without any further changes (you may also substitute other nuts, such as pecans or hazelnuts).

My students often ask me to teach them how to make a cinnamon bun as good as the ones they get at the mall from Cinnabon and other franchise shops. For my money, this version makes a cinnamon bun that outperforms all the malls. But those of us who grew up in eastern Pennsylvania have a soft spot in our hearts for sticky buns, such as the ones originating from the Pennsylvania Dutch countryside. Frankly, everyone in the United States seems to have a favorite regional version, whether it is a cinnamon bun glazed with a sweet, white-sugar fondant or a sticky bun with a caramel glaze. Regardless of side issues, such as white versus caramel glazes, the type of nut (usually walnuts versus pecans), or with or without raisins, the real key to this kind of comfort food is a soft, light, tender, slightly sweet dough baked just right. This formula falls in the enriched, not the rich, dough category because the fat content is slightly under 20 percent. I’ve made versions of sweet dough that do indeed contain up to 50 percent fat, but then why eat the buns? You might as well strap them right onto your hips, since that’s where they will end up (or, as one of my customers used to say, “They call them sticky buns because they stick to your buns!”). Between the shortening, eggs, sugar, and milk, there are plenty of enrichments to tenderize this dough without additional fat. However, if you do want to make a more decadent version of cinnamon or sticky buns, try the formula for Middle-Class Brioche on page 127.

This bread, with its big, shiny holes and amorphous shape, has taken America by storm, just as it did Italy during the past fifty years. Though it hails from an age-old tradition of rustic, slack-dough breads, the name ciabatta was not applied to this loaf until the mid-twentieth century by an enterprising baker in the Lake Como region of northern Italy. He observed that the bread resembled a slipper worn by dancers of the region and thus dubbed his loaf ciabatta di Como (slipper bread of Como). A new tradition was born. During the second half of the century, this ciabatta became the unofficial national bread of Italy, so closely identified is it with the chewy, rustic peasant breads of the Italian countryside. As with pugliese bread, the dough is not unlike that of many other Italian and French rustic breads, including pizza and focaccia, and can thus be made into many shapes other than the Lake Como slipper.

This bread, with its big, shiny holes and amorphous shape, has taken America by storm, just as it did Italy during the past fifty years. Though it hails from an age-old tradition of rustic, slack-dough breads, the name ciabatta was not applied to this loaf until the mid-twentieth century by an enterprising baker in the Lake Como region of northern Italy. He observed that the bread resembled a slipper worn by dancers of the region and thus dubbed his loaf ciabatta di Como (slipper bread of Como). A new tradition was born. During the second half of the century, this ciabatta became the unofficial national bread of Italy, so closely identified is it with the chewy, rustic peasant breads of the Italian countryside. As with pugliese bread, the dough is not unlike that of many other Italian and French rustic breads, including pizza and focaccia, and can thus be made into many shapes other than the Lake Como slipper.