Meal Prep

Kofta can be prepared up to 30 minutes before serving; place the patties on a baking sheet, cover with aluminum foil, and keep warm in a 250°F oven.

There are some terrific baking books that focus on 100 percent whole-grain bread, and this style of bread has a fanatically loyal, and growing, following. I began my bread journey thirty years ago as a devotee of organic whole-grain bread, mainly for philosophical and health reasons. Though I’ve branched out to explore the entire bread kingdom and its infinite permutations, I still have a soft spot for what we used to call “pure bread.” The challenge a baker faces in making such breads is extracting the best of the grain flavor while overcoming some of the grassy and bitter tones of the bran and germ. Another challenge is attaining a crumb network that opens up both flavor and texture. The best way to evoke flavor, as we show in many of the formulas, is to give the enzymes enough time to break out sugars trapped in the starches. One way to do this when working with whole grains is to use a large amount of pre-ferment, such as a poolish or soaker. In this version, we will use both methods. A soaker is especially effective when coarse grains are part of the formula, and it also leaves open the option of substituting other grains, such as corn or oats, in place of the wheat to vary the texture of the finished loaf. Using a poolish to extend fermentation time contributes more flavor by developing acidity, balancing out the grassy flavor of the bran and germ in the process.

White bread is known under many names, including pullman, milk dough, pain de mie (bread of the crumb), and just plain old white bread. It has many uses, including dinner and knotted rolls, sandwich bread, burger buns, and hot dog buns. This style of dough is often referred to as milk dough because in most versions the hydration is primarily from fresh milk (or powdered milk and water). These white breads fall into the category of enriched breads, as they are made with the most often used natural dough conditioners: fat (butter or oil), sugar, and milk. These cause the crust to caramelize quickly and, when fermented correctly, give the finished bread a light-as-air quality with a very soft texture. The internal temperature need only reach just above 180°F for rolls and 185° to 190°F for loaves. Because of the enrichments, it is best to bake full-sized loaves at 350°F and small rolls at 400°F, but never at 450°F, as you would with lean hearth breads. The three variations that follow give you some flexibility regarding ingredients. You may substitute powdered milk (DMS) for the liquid milk and vice versa, and you may also substitute in equal measure low-fat milk, buttermilk, or skim milk for the whole milk. Making these substitutions will affect the final outcome slightly in both flavor and texture, so try making the breads with the variations and see which version you prefer (I tend to be a buttermilk guy). You can also freely substitute margarine or shortening or even liquid oil for the butter. Again, the type of fat you use will affect flavor and texture, but they all tenderize the bread. Shortening gives the softest texture, butter the best flavor.

With all the emphasis on French and Italian rustic breads these days, it is easy to overlook the fact that the real center of the bread and pastry universe for hundreds of years was Vienna. Most of the great French breads that we love today, including baguettes, croissants, and even puff pastry, came to France a couple hundred years ago via the Austro-Hungarian empire, where they found a hungry audience willing to support these Austrian (which included Polish) bakers. Nowadays, the main distinction in American (and even European) bakeries between French, Italian, and Vienna breads, is the presence of a few enrichments in the latter. A little added sugar and malt causes the crust to brown faster, and a small amount of butter or shortening tenderizes the dough by coating and “shortening” the gluten strands. The shape, as with all culturally based bread, is determined by the baker based on function, but we usually think of Vienna bread as typically twelve inches long and weighing one pound. It is often scored down the middle to make a nice “ear,” but does not have quite as hard a crust nor as open a crumb as French bread. This dough makes exceptional pistolets (torpedo rolls), similar to the hoagie rolls made from the Italian bread on page 172, and it can be baked in loaf pans for excellent sandwich loaves. One of the best applications for this dough is to make Dutch crunch bread, as discussed on page 264.

A technique that is unique to this bread is the use of a cooked flour paste, made the day before. The gelatinized starches release flavors, giving this bread a distinct quality.

For twenty years I have been fascinated by, and have experimented with, rye breads in their many manifestations, but pumpernickel has always impressed me as the definitive rye (maybe it’s just that it has the best name). There are countless versions of pumpernickel bread. Many Americans think the name simply refers to a dark rye, made dark by the addition of caramel coloring. What the name really refers to is a loaf made with coarsely ground whole-grain rye flour, the distinguishing characteristic of this particular type of rye bread. Some versions, though not the one that follows, are extremely dense, what I call cocktail rye, which needs to be sliced very thin. People who love this dense rye really do passionately love it, but it has a rather small following in the United States. In some eastern European villages, this bread was, and still is, made by adding the bread crumbs from previously baked loaves to the new dough. This gives the bread a wonderful texture. You can make the following formula with or without rye-bread crumbs, but it’s a great way to use up dried-out leftover slices from the last loaf.

I love anything with sunflower seeds, and this bread is loaded with them. The seeds are nutritious, taste good, and are “loyal” (that is, they leave a long, nutty finish that fills the mouth so that you enjoy the bread long after you eat it). This is a variation of a formula developed by Craig Ponsford and the Coupe du Monde team in 1995. This new version utilizes a firm wild-yeast starter instead of pâte fermentée. The dough requires the starter, commercial yeast, and a soaker, so it entails a commitment, but the results are so memorable that it is well worth the effort.

The most famous bread baker in the world is probably Lionel Poilâne, whose boulangerie in Paris’s Latin Quarter makes only a few products. The most famous is a round, two-kilo, naturally fermented (wild-yeast) country bread that he calls a miche but that everyone else calls pain Poilâne. His system (described on pages 18–19) is simple—each baker, Poilâne’s personally trained apprentice, is responsible from start to finish for his loaves. This entails mixing and baking as well as stacking his own firewood and stoking his own fire. Poilâne teaches his apprentices to bake by feel as much as by formula, so there is no thermostat in the oven. The baker must determine when the oven is ready by holding his hand in the oven or tossing in a piece of paper to see how long it takes to turn to parchment and then burn. Poilâne critiques a loaf from each batch daily to keep abreast of the work of his men, since there are nearly twenty bakers in his stable, most working outside of Paris at his manufacture in Bièvres. The key to the Poilâne method is comprehending the craftsmanship of hand work, including understanding the fermentation process and commitment to the finest ingredients. Poilâne’s flour is organically grown and is sifted to a partial whole wheat, a 90 to 95 percent extraction rate (this means that much, but not all, of the bran is still in the flour). The finished bread is somewhat dense and very chewy, its flavors changing in the mouth with each chew, and it keeps for about a week at room temperature. Bread pilgrims come from all over the world to buy a Poilâne loaf (this includes those who visit Lionel’s brother Max, who makes similar loaves at his own bakeries scattered around Paris). When I visited Boulangerie Poilâne on rue du Cherche-Midi, I noticed some very attractive gift boxes, complete with cutting board and knife. Apparently, many visitors buy these and have them shipped to family and friends. It speaks volumes that one man can become so iconic because of a commitment to his craft. Of course, it’s fitting that in France this craft is bread baking. The following version of the Poilâne-style miche utilizes a long fermentation and a three-build system (the barm counts as the first build). It makes creative use of common kitchen bowls to replicate the difficult to find banneton proofing baskets of Poilâne’s operation. As always with baking, necessity is the mother of invention, and a home kitchen can always be modified to imitate, on a small scale, a commercial bakery.

There are many ways to make rye bread, but very few versions contain 100 percent rye flour. Rye has so little of its unique type of gluten (6 to 8 percent) that it is hard to develop the structure and lift necessary for a decent crumb without the addition of a fair amount of high-gluten wheat flour. However, there are many people who love dense rye bread, and there are others who eat it because they can tolerate the gluten of this bread but not the gluten in wheat breads. A lot of drama goes on inside a sourdough rye bread. Rye flour is high in natural sugars and dextrins and contains pentosan, a gum protein that causes the dough to become gummy if it is mixed as long as wheat breads. Also, the wild-yeast starter creates an acidic environment that slows down the enzymatic release of sugar during the mixing cycle, but at the same time allows for the sugars to emerge from the grain during the fermentation cycle as the enzyme activity kicks in. If properly mixed and fermented, the result is a sweet, creamy, yet chewy texture quite unlike that of any other bread.

I grew up on two definitive deli sandwiches: roast beef, chicken fat (schmaltz), and onion; and corned beef, coleslaw, and Russian dressing. Both sandwiches had to be served on onion rye to complete the experience. At least twice a month our family would head out to either Murray’s Deli, Hymie’s Deli, or the Chuckwagon on City Line Avenue (the delis are still there, but the Chuckwagon is long gone), and the big decision for me was which of the two sandwiches I should order. I never tired of either and years later, after emerging from a long vegetarian period, the first meat dish I sought out was a corned beef, coleslaw, and Russian dressing sandwich on onion rye. These days I limit my intake of corned beef, and especially of schmaltz, but I still chronically yearn for those sandwiches. However, I do continue to enjoy onion rye whenever I can get my hands on some, often making it myself.

Here’s the answer to what to do with cauliflower besides covering it with cheese sauce. Serve this alternative with Pork Chops with Herb Rub (page 196) and cinnamon applesauce.

Is this recipe for a side dish or a dessert? It’s your call—either way provides a serving of fruit for each diner. You might want to make a double batch of the walnut crunch and use the extra to top fat-free yogurt or hot cereal for breakfast.

Full of mushrooms and carrots, this dish tastes great with Herbed Fillet of Sole (page 118).