Yeast

If you haven’t bought a deep-frying thermometer yet, this is a good time to do it. A few of the pizzette may “spring a leak” while they fry—you can minimize the risk by not overfilling the pizzette, and by wetting and sealing the edges well as you form them.

If you love thin-crust pizza (I am one of you), after you taste this version, you will never buy premade crusts again. Once baked, these crusts hold well at room temperature for several days if lightly covered with a tea towel—and hold very well in the refrigerator, covered with plastic wrap, for up to a week. Make a batch on Saturday for later in the week. Please note: This is a very generous portion—you might be full after eating just half of one personal-size pie.

This pizza is so good, I could eat it every day—and at 218 calories per serving, that wouldn’t be a bad thing! It takes more effort than most of the dishes in this book, but few things are as satisfying as making your own pizza from scratch. If you are deterred by the concept of making your own dough, there are alternatives. Boboli makes a very good prepared whole-wheat crust (although it is loaded with sugar and is made from a mix of whole-wheat and white flours, unlike this all-whole-wheat version). Mix and match the toppings for variety.

The tang of these doughnuts provides an excellent counterpoint to the cinnamon sugar that coats them. Beware; these doughnuts tend to disappear quickly, especially if there are people in the kitchen when they emerge from the fryer. The doughnuts can also be dipped in warm ganache made with equal parts chocolate and cream. We’ve even been known to turn these into bomboloni by filling them with vanilla pastry cream and serving them with chocolate dipping sauce. Lemon curd or good jelly, perhaps lightened with a little whipped cream, are also nice fillings. A little caramel sauce is never an unwelcome accompaniment, whether the doughnuts are stuffed or plain. But really, the cinnamon sugar does pretty well all by itself. Warm doughnuts are one of life’s special pleasures, and once you experience them, you’ll want to make these again and again.

We like to make whole wheat sandwich bread at home. We use a pain de mie bread pan, a French loaf pan that comes with a lid so the finished bread has perfectly square slices (although whether or not we use the lid depends on our mood). Sometimes perfect squares are desirable; sometimes we prefer a slightly bigger piece of bread. This dough will work either way. As for flour, we are partial to the King Arthur white whole wheat for its flavor, but you can use the whole wheat flour of your choice. This is a wet dough that will bake up into a moist, cakey loaf, excellent for toast and sandwiches.

These are the perfect dinner rolls. Light and tangy, they are delicious eaten out of hand, dragged through a bowl of sauce, or slathered with good butter. Leftover rolls can be kept in a plastic bag and reheated in the oven or they can be split and toasted for breakfast. They can be sliced for bread pudding or diced for stuffing. If you prefer, you can shape the dough into two long loaves instead of small rolls, or you can shape it into the traditional wide, flat slipper loaf that ciabatta is named for. Either way, it makes for excellent sandwiches or grilled crostini.

Good brioche is an amazing thing. The bread is light, buttery, and full of flavor. It can be somewhat labor intensive in its original form, so we were immediately intrigued by the idea of creating a no-knead version. Normally the butter is beaten into the dough, but here we melt it and add it to the wet ingredients. The long resting period allows it to be fully absorbed into the dough without all that extra work. This may seem like a large recipe, but the dough can be used to make various sweet breads like the sticky bun recipe that follows, and the plain loaves freeze beautifully.

Good pizza is all about the crust. In our mind great pizza is thin and crisp on the bottom. It has a tender crumb with a complex flavor from a long, slow fermentation. There are usually large, irregular air bubbles that hint of the resiliency of the crumb. Biting into a slice, you experience the contrast between the shattering crust, the soft chewy crumb, and the sweet, complex flavor.

Before I get into this recipe I want to be very clear about something. While this is my fail-safe bread dough recipe, I don’t guarantee that it will be a fail-safe recipe for everyone, although your probability for success is very high. I can make this bread in my sleep and fashion it into almost every flavor under the sun with a tweak here or a twist there. Substitutions for ingredients are provided in parentheses. Try it once the way it is written to get the hang of things and then have fun with the possibilities. Any leftover rice or cooked grains can be added to the dry ingredients before mixing the dough. They will provide flavor and moisture to the finished product. A raw chopped onion mellows beautifully in the finished loaf. Chunks of cured meats, cheeses, olives, or herbs can be added when forming the loaves. Just flatten the dough into long rectangles. Sprinkle your chunks onto the middle three-quarters of the dough, leaving a space at the top and bottom. Roll up the dough, lengthwise. Make sure the seam is on the bottom of your sheet tray. Let proof and continue as the recipe indicates. Use your imagination here because the dough is very forgiving and will accept most additions with grace.

When the writter Marcel Proust was a little boy, he played a game with Jeanne Weil, his mother. She would read one line from her favorite play, Esther by Racine, and Marcel would read the next. In the play, the Jewess Esther marries Ahasuerus, the good king of Persia. Proust’s mother also married a non-Jew, a Catholic doctor named Achille Proust. Madame Proust’s love of Esther may have extended beyond the text— a favorite sweet was these doughnuts from her childhood, eaten by Jews at Purim, which celebrates Queen Esther. The doughnuts are the same as the beignets de Carnaval eaten by Catholics around the same time of year, just before Lent. These doughnuts and Butterkuchen (see page 351) probably evoked more memories for Proust than did the madeleine dunked in tea in the fictional Swann’s Way. Curiously enough, in an early version of the opening pages of the manuscript, the madeleines were biscottes (dry toast, zwieback, or rusks). The change to madeleines was made later by Proust.

Baba is the yeast pastry that became familiar in Lorraine in the early nineteenth century and is eaten, as described above, by the Jews of Alsace for Purim breakfast; it was sometimes confused with Kugelhopf. The French gilded the lily, dousing the dry baba with rum—a novelty from America. Today babas are baked and served two ways, in either a large or a tiny bulbous mold. I adore baba soaked in rum and order it whenever I can. After tasting an especially light baba in a tiny sixteen-seat restaurant called Les Arômes in Aubagne, I asked the chef, Yanick Besset, if he would give me his recipe, and here it is. As you can see, a good baba dough itself contains very little sugar, the sweetness coming from the sugar-rum bath spooned on after baking.

Kugelhopf, seen in every bakery in Alsace, is the regional special-occasion cake par excellence. The marvelous nineteenth-century illustration by Alphonse Lévy shows how this tea cake, which he calls baba, was also revered by the Jews of Alsace. Kugel means “ball” in German, and hopf means “cake” in Alsatian. This cake is found all over Germany, Austria, Hungary, and parts of Poland. According to food historians Philip and Mary Hyman, a Kugelhopf is first mentioned in German texts in the 1730s, where it is described as a cake baked in a mold shaped like a turban. I suspect that this cake went back and forth throughout the Austro-Hungarian Empire with travelers and cooks, and possibly came back to Lorraine as baba, also a turbaned cake in its original form. Sometimes kugelhopf is raised with yeast; some later versions use baking powder. It may contain raisins, or a combination of raisins and almonds. Kugelhopf molds are as varied as the myriad recipes. You can easily find kugelhopf molds at fine kitchen-supply stores, or you can use a small-capacity Bundt pan. Be careful to watch the cake as it cooks, since baking time will vary depending on the size and material of your pan, and you do not want to let the cake dry out.

No bread form is so complety identified with Jews as the bagel, which came from eastern Europe with immigrants, mostly from/Lód´z, Poland, at the turn of the last century. Unlike American bagels, French bagels were rather like rolls that were baked but not boiled. When Euro Disney and the United States Army in Europe wanted bagels in the late seventies, they asked Joseph Korcarz, whose family ran a bakery in the Marais, to go to the United States to learn the commercial technique of boiling the dough before baking. Two older bread forms, however, might shed new light on the origins of the bagel. In the mountains of Savoie, near the Swiss border, an area with few if any Jews today, there is a specialty of the region—an ancient anise-flavored bread called riouttes, which were boiled before baking, a technique that kept the bread fresher a longer time. Riouttes might have come to the mountains with Jews or with Arabs, who make ka’ak (“bracelet” in Arabic), small, round, crispy rolls with a hole, flavored with anise and sesame seeds. Probably the oldest bagel-like roll in France, however, dating back to antiquity, is the Provençal brassado, also called brassadeau. Sweet and round, with a hole in the center, they are also first boiled and then baked, much like bagels. The word brassado is related to the Spanish and Portuguese words for the physical act of an embrace or a hug. The unusual inclusion of floral scents like orange-flower and rose water could be the influence of Jews involved in the perfume industry in Grasse. This particular recipe is an adaptation of brassados found by Martine Yana in her Trésors de la Table Juive.

When Huguette Uhry married a local butcher from the town of Ingwiller in Alsace, her sisterin-law lived with her, helping with the cooking. They usually had eighteen people for lunch and dinner, including children, friends, and workers. Today, retired and living in nearby Bollwiller, Madame Uhry is known throughout Alsace as a great cook. Some of her recipes appear on the Web site judaisme.sdv.fr. Here is her brioche, which she starts one day and bakes Rosh Hashanah morning for breakfast, before the family goes to synagogue.

Once, I asked two-star Michelin chef Thierry Marx of Cordeillan-Bages in Pauillac, the greatest wine-producing area of France, why he uses beets in so many of his dishes—beets for color, beets for sweetness, beets for texture, and beet borscht purée. He replied that he likes to play with the flavors and shapes of his childhood, reminding him of his Jewish grandmother from Poland, who raised him in Paris. “Cooking is a transmission of love,” he told me. One wouldn’t necessarily think of the food Thierry serves in his stunning restaurant as particularly Jewish—it is so molecular, so Japanese (because of where he studied), and so French (because of where he grew up). The dining room of the château, decked out in sleek blackand-white furniture with hints of red, looks out on a vineyard laden with ripe dark grapes ready for picking. But when the bread basket arrived, it contained what looked like a miniature chocolate or poppy-seed babka. My first bite, though, told me that I had still been fooled. This trompe l’oeil was in fact a savory babka, filled with olives, anchovies, and fennel—a delicious French take on a sweet Polish and Jewish classic.

Daniel Helmstetter lives his life by the sign that hangs above his bakery in Colmar: “Le talent et la passion.” A fourth-generation baker, he told me that he “fell into the mixer and never came out.” The Helmstetter Bakery was started by his grandfather in 1906 in the central square of Colmar, a town once known for its large Jewish population. Each Thursday and Friday, Daniel still makes barches au pavot, an oval-shaped challah with poppy seeds and a thin braid on top, for his Jewish clientele. Barches (also spelled berches), which means “twisted,” is also a derivation of the Hebrew word birkat (blessing), from the verse in Proverbs 10:22, Birkat Adonai hi ta-ashir, “The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich.” “A local rabbi said that the braid represents the tribes of Israel,” Daniel told me over coffee and pastry at his home near the bakery. “And the poppy seeds, the manna in the desert.” Poppy seeds, once grown in the region, may have disappeared from the fields, but the taste from them lingers on. For his barches, Daniel makes a dough that is tighter than his baguette dough, so that it can be easily braided. In a few nineteenth-century versions, boiled potatoes were substituted for some of the flour in the dough, perhaps to help preserve the loaf over the course of the Sabbath.

In the Middle Ages, pain pétri (kneaded bread) got its name because women kneaded and formed the bread at home and then baked the loaves in public ovens, a tradition that remained in Morocco until recent years. Even in the late Middle Ages, when bread could be easily purchased from a baker, Jewish women still made the pain pétri as one of the three mitzvoth that a woman performs for the Sabbath. (The other two are to light candles, and to go to the ritual bath, or mikveh.) The Sabbath tables of even Reform and Liberal Jews have two loaves of bread. These represent the double portion of manna that was gathered on the eve of the Sabbath during the forty years of wandering in the wilderness. Except on the eve of the Sabbath, manna had to be gathered daily, for it spoiled overnight. Madame Hamier made her recipe using cake yeast, something not readily available in the United States these days, so I have substituted dry yeast here.

Kalonymus Ben Kalonymus, a Provençal Jewish philosopher, writer, and translator who wrote in the early part of the fourteenth century, satirized the Jewish community of Arles for dreaming, while at synagogue, about the honey, milk, and flour that they would use to make their ladder breads for Shavuot. Although fougasse was and is usually made with oil, at this Jewish holiday celebrating the giving of the Torah and the abundance of dairy products at the time of the barley harvest, the Jews used milk. The fougasse was baked in the shape of a so- called ladder, with holes, and candied cherries or candied orange peel hung or embedded in the dough. Ladders to heaven are a common metaphor for holiday breads in Judaism. The fougasse, kneaded and shaped by hand at home for the Sabbath and holidays, was then carried on a board to the baker, sometimes Jewish and sometimes Christian, depending on the size of the Jewish community in the town.