Stand Mixer

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. You can make this dough with a large amount of either poolish or biga, and formulas for both versions follow. It can also be made with the addition of milk and olive oil to tenderize the dough. In other words, there are many variations, all valid, and as long as you make a slipper shape you can call it ciabatta. Since writing Crust & Crumb, I have continued to fine-tune these rustic breads, pushing the limits of time and temperature manipulation, trying to evoke every bit of flavor trapped in the flour. In the pain à l’ancienne formula, we will make a similar dough but with no pre-ferment and a long cold fermentation. Each variation in technique brings forth slightly different flavor tones from the wheat, and everyone seems to have their own preferences. In this version, the use of 165 to 180 percent pre-ferment seems to be the magic amount to maximize a same-day bread in a 4- to 5-hour window. It yields a slightly acidic and yeasty edge, a flavor that many people love. They say, “This tastes like real bread!” I have found little difference between the biga and poolish versions; both are amazing

Challah, the braided Sabbath bread of Judaism, is a European celebratory loaf symbolic of God’s goodness and bounty. The braids traditionally separate the loaf into twelve distinct sections representing the twelve tribes of Israel. The use of eggs in the bread was probably a way to use up excess eggs before the strict Judaic Sabbath day of rest made it impossible to harvest the new eggs, as harvesting is one of many activities considered work in Orthodox Jewish communities. I’ve made challah many different ways, but this is a great formula that produces a soft golden loaf, radiant when brought to the table. The key to a beautiful challah, one that stops conversation and holds everyone’s attention, is to braid it so that it is tapered at the ends and plump in the middle.

This is a rich, dreamy Italian elaboration of brioche, loaded with flavor bursts in the form of cheese and bits of meat, preferably salami. Since first reading about it in Carol Field’s wonderful The Italian Baker, I’ve also made it with bacon bits, different types of fresh or cured sausage, and even with nonmeat substitutes. The bread is traditionally baked in paper bags or panettone molds, but it can also be baked in loaf pans. Perhaps the best way to think of it is as a savory version of panettone, with cheese and meat replacing the candied fruit and nuts. Serve it warm and the cheese will still be soft; serve it cool and each slice will taste like a sandwich unto itself.

Brioche is the standard by which all rich breads are judged. In fact, whenever rich breads are described, they are often compared to brioche or called a relative. Brioche is actually simple in character: it is enriched with a small amount of sugar, substantial amounts of egg, and lots of butter—at least in excess of 20 percent (butter to flour ratio) but usually 50 percent or higher. I have rarely seen brioche made commercially with more than 75 percent butter, but I have seen formulas that call for up to 100 percent. There are countless formula variations. Some are made with sponges or other pre-ferments, some by the direct-dough method. Some versions are immediately fermented and then shaped and baked, while some require overnight chilling. The anecdotal history of this bread includes allusions to Queen Marie Antoinette, whose last words are reputed to be properly translated as “Let them eat brioche,” and not “Let them eat cake.” There are a lot of reasons to assume that either translation is more myth than fact, but it does beg the question, why would anyone even think to make such a statement? This may be because brioche had two distinct expressions in pre-Revolution France. One version, for the wealthy and thus called rich man’s brioche, was loaded with butter (70 percent or more). The other, made for the huddled masses and therefore called poor man’s brioche, was butter challenged (20 to 25 percent). As so often happens with bread, it makes a perfect symbol for many things, not the least of which is the class struggle between the haves and the have-nots. So, it would make sense that if the queen was about to lose her head because the revolutionaries were, for the most part, have-nots, why not offer them rich man’s brioche. “Yeah, we can do that, sure.” But, alas, it was too late, too futile, and probably too arrogant a gesture. When we examine the formula for rich man’s brioche, one thing becomes evident: it has almost the same flour to fat to sugar ratio as pie dough. The main difference is the yeast and eggs. Most pie dough, whether pâte brisée (plain) or pâte sucrée (sweet), and whether flaky or mealy, is made by some variation of what is known as the 1-2-3 method. This means 3 parts flour, 2 parts fat, and 1 part water (and also, in sweet or sucrée pie dough, sugar). The ratio translates as 66.6 percent fat to 100 percent flour. Brioche, rich man’s brioche at least, has between 50 and 80 percent butter, right in the pie-dough range. This means that brioche can, in principle, be used to make a very nice tender pie or tart dough, which is often done in French pâtisseries. It is a wonderful alternative to the flaky or mealy pie dough under quiche or other custard tarts, as I have witnessed in the clafouti sold in the pastry shop of Paris’s Ritz Hotel. Apparently, they make hundreds of these tartlets everyday for their guests and can barely keep up with the demand. Other applications of brioche include loaf breads for the definitive French toast, tea and café rolls, wraps for meat- or vegetable-filled molds, and, most famously, small fluted rolls with “heads” (petites brioches à tête). Beyond that, there are the infinite regional and holiday expressions of the bread, from the Italian pandoro and panettone, to the kugelhopf of Alsace, stollen of Germany and Switzerland, and the amazing meat- and- cheese-filled Italian version called casatiello. The following versions of brioche give you three options, depending on the amount of butter you feel ready to tackle. In the spirit of Queen Marie, we will call them rich man’s, middleclass, and poor man’s brioche, all of which have valid applications in the bread canon.

There are two kinds of people in the world, those who like chewy water bagels and those who prefer softer steamed bagels. Having grown up on the East Coast in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, I am naturally inclined toward what I think of as the true bagel, the thick-crusted, dense, boiled version, called the water bagel because it is poached in a kettle of boiling alkalized water. (I also like egg bagels, which are made by adding eggs as an enrichment to the dough but, nevertheless, are boiled.) Most people who like the new style of softer bagels, and there are many such adherents, do not realize that what makes them so big and soft is that they are a softer dough, formed after a long proofing. This makes them impossible to boil because they are too airy to sustain their shape in the roiling cauldron. They are perfect for commercial steam-injected rotating rack ovens, however, because they do not have to be handled twice. (The oven lifts the entire rack of sheet pans and rotates it for even baking, after blasting it with a bath of steam to replace the boiling.) According to folklore, bagels were invented in seventeenth-century Austria as a tribute to the wartime victories of King Jan of Poland, and were modeled after the stirrup of his saddle. They were a bread for the masses, popular also in Germany and Poland, but they were introduced into the United States by German and Polish Jewish immigrants, so we think of them as a Jewish bread. Now, because of the softer steamed versions, bagels have once again become a bread for the masses. However, the modern steaming method lends fuel to the debate of authenticity and battles against our nostalgic desire for the real deal. Everyone who loves bagels seems to have a theory as to why even properly boiled bagels seem to fall short of those memories. Some think it depends on the quality of the water. “New York bagels can’t be duplicated because of that great New York water,” say New Yorkers, while others think it has something to do with the quality of the flour, or whatever else they put into the kettle to flavor the crust. Others blame the automatic bagel-shaping machines invented by Tom Atwood in the 1950s. (Prior to that, Tom, now in his eighties, told me, all bagels were shaped by hand using the wrap-around method shown on page 120.) My theory is that nothing can top the taste of memory, but it is quite possible to find and make bagels every bit as good as in yesteryear, though never as good as those of our memories. As a professional baker, a bread instructor, and a water-bagel guy, I’ve been working on making the perfect bagel for a number of years. Just as the steam technique is a totally modern innovation that opened the bagel to the mainstream marketplace, there are many techniques that are now available to both professional and home bakers that did not exist in the days of King Jan. Even the bagel bakers of our parents’ generation did not fully understand bread science as we now know it, though their feel for the product and their intuition was sharpened to a fine edge. What I have been working on is the application of some of the artisan techniques recently introduced by the new generation of bread bakers to the production of a definitive water bagel good enough to challenge our childhood memories and overcome our nostalgic biases. You will have to be the judge. This version is, I believe, an improvement on the formula given in Crust & Crumb, which I thought at the time was as good as it gets. This version uses an easier-to-make sponge, yet still provides the overnight fermentation that maximizes flavor. My students at Johnson & Wales University are too young to have had a “good old days” experience with bagels, so even though they love these bagels, their frame of reference is limited. But my wife Susan who, like me, grew up in the food and bagel mecca of Philadelphia, and some of my friends who grew up in New York C...

When it comes to holiday and festival breads, the varieties and secret family recipes are endless. But when broken down to their basic components, they are pretty much variations on a theme. This is especially evident in the various Greek breads. Artos is the general name for Greek celebration breads, but they are given particular names and twists and turns for specific festivals. It is the twists ands turns that make the breads special, bringing visual drama, history, and family tradition into the process. For instance, the color of the fruit is different for Christmas breads than for Easter since Christmas is a festival of incarnation, while Easter is a festival of resurrection and transformation. The breads are often brought to church by home bakers, blessed by the priest, and then brought to the table or given to the needy. I love the designs of the nativity christopsomos, with its bread-dough cross laminated on top of a round loaf and of the Easter egg–braided lambropsomo, also called tsoureki (a Turkish variation). The orange and brandied vassilopita, served on New Year’s Day in honor of Saint Basil, always has a gold coin hidden in it, not unlike the three kings cake of New Orleans and Spanish cultures. The following master formula can be used as the base for any of these breads, and some specific holiday variations follow. The formula uses a wild-yeast starter, along with a spiking of commercial yeast, to create an authentic-tasting, yet manageable, bread. Nowadays, most versions are made completely from commercial yeast, but this is only a recent innovation. If you do not have any barm on hand, you may replace it with an equal amount of poolish. The fermentation and proofing times will remain the same.

This dessert captures all the smells and tastes of fall. Similar to its cousin, pineapple upside-down cake, it is easily prepared in a cast-iron skillet, then turned out on a plate along with its syrup. Sweet potatoes serve as a binder and sweetener in this cake. Serve it with a dollop of tangy crème fraîche or a little warm caramel sauce.

Jerry Traunfeld was the executive chef for many years at the HerbFarm in Woodinville, Washington, near seattle and now owns Seattle’s Poppy Restaurant. Jerry’s finely tuned palate served him well in the development of an expansive herb-focused menu at the award-winning restaurant. Jerry’s version of naan, a simple flatbread from India by way of Afghanistan, was created for this book. Filled with a combination of flavor-packed herbs and richly flavored cashews, it’s wonderful!

Peter Reinhart is a well-known cookbook author; his Crust and Crumb, The Bread Baker’s Apprentice, and Whole Grain Breads have been graced with prestigious awards. At Ramekins, where he occasionally teaches bread classes, Peter and I baked bread and pizzas together in the wood-fired oven after his last class. This recipe came from his The Bread Baker’s Apprentice. It is an amazing formula that can be turned into baguettes, ciabatta, focaccia, and pizza. That baking session was about a lot more than the recipe. It was about the primary message of this book: joyfully cooking and sharing with others at the fire.

Though pita bread is made throughout the Middle East, we have come to identify it with Greece. When baking, it puffs up like a small balloon and then deflates when removed from the oven. This version has a bit of whole-wheat flour in it for extra nuttiness and added flavor. Make a batch or two ahead and freeze some to use later; these pita reheat easily. Try these filled with strips of roasted Mustard and Lemon Chicken (page 92) and topped with a dollop of Greek yogurt.

These stuffed flatbreads are shaped much like meat-filled galettes. Lamb is the meat of choice in many Mediterranean cuisines, and here it is combined with other key ingredients of the region—eggplant and pomegranate—along with the warm aromatics often used in Turkish cuisine.

Tim Decker and his wife, Crystal, are the owners of Bennett valley Bakery in Sonoma County. A former apprentice of Peter Reinhart’s, Tim makes artisan breads with a beautifully browned crust by baking them in a wood-fired oven at unusually high temperatures. You can also make this bread successfully in a conventional oven, with the heat as high as it will go.

Focaccia is one of the easiest flatbreads to make: No shaping is needed because the dough is stretched and spread out in the sheet pan. This recipe uses a very wet dough, resulting in a moist flatbread about 3/4 inch thick. You can substitute shavings of Parmesan for the ricotta salata cheese, if you like. Focaccia is best eaten the day it is baked.

Every baker has a favorite pizza recipe, and this one is mine. This is one of the easiest pizza doughs you can make, and it can be used for calzones, too.

Chocolate mousses were of this general type before the popularity of chocolate ganache (page 102), and the ganache is far quicker and easier, being only melted chocolate and heavy cream. You can make a ganache even more attractive when you fold in beaten egg whites, and you go to even greater heights when you blend in Italian meringue (page 102). However, the following smooth, rich, velvety classic continues to be my favorite of all chocolate mousses.

My ongoing quest to find new ways to eat butter, sugar, and nuts together resulted in this happy discovery: sbrisolona. A regional specialty of Mantova, Italy, this cookie gets its name from its crumbly texture. The dough is worked together by hand into a dry, coarse meal, pressed into a cake pan, and baked until it’s very firm. I follow the Italian tradition and break the giant cookie into rough, jagged pieces. Like biscotti, its dense, nutty quality makes it the perfect vehicle for scooping up zabaglione. This old-fashioned Italian custard is traditionally made by whisking egg yolks, sugar, and Marsala wine over simmering water. In this festive version I’ve substituted slightly sweet sparkling Moscato d’Asti for the Marsala.