Friday, July 30, 2010

Pane Siciliano

Sicilians!  The futbol that Italy's boot is kicking!  The largest island in the Mediterranean!  Birthplace of Empedocles!

So, obviously, this bread has a lot of things it potentially must live up to.

First, though, here is a picture of Kid Cudi in honor of the cute kid with similar style I just saw on the street.  I <3 this look, peeps!  Recognize.

Should I write a missed connections?  Bahaha.

Anyway.  Sicilians!  Started with our BFF, pate fermente TWO days ago.  That's right, I neglected to write this over time.  Rather, it'll probably be all at once.  Ah!

Day two: bread flour + semolina flour + salt + yeast =

+ pate + olive oil + honey + water =

La la.  I got out some odd aggression on this dough.  Kneading is good for the soul, people.  STOP fighting, start kneading.  Maybe I should bring some dough to work.  Those kids be crazy.

Two hours and some pizza later [I know, another dough experience not recorded for you, my fans and friends!]:

It's a monster!  Today, I played a game with a kid and she pretended her sister was a monster [partly because her hair wasn't done -- problematic] and the monster was a "poisonous mushroom."  I know, I'm confused too.

So, now, this bread needed to be shaped.  Normally, the recipe makes three loaves, but since I halved it, I just decided to make one MONSTER one.  Monsters are all over this blog, lovers!


Idk if that's twenty-four inches.  I figured it was about two rulers, but idk.

And this was the cool part.  I had to shape it like an "S."  Check it!

Benz, too bad I didn't make this at home/ when you were here.  It's yours!

With Sesame Seeds!  Ses galore!

And so now we say


Dude, I forgot I bought soda yesterday!  Yay!  Obviously I didn't need to spend those three dollars though, if I effing forgot about it.  Ah!  I need a DOG.

In the marnin', in the marnin'.  Well, in the afternaan.  Bahahaha.

Looks the same size, but it got way huger.



Bread resumes.  Bread resumes.

And this is obviously what I get for interrupting the bread.

UGH.  I don't understand why my bread BURNS.  It was in the oven half the time it was supposed to be, and it still came out looking like this.  WTF.

Wait for 40.  See how gross this burnt ish tastes.

Not bad.  I mean, it's okay.  Not too burny.  I'm sick of these "normal" breads though.  I need something with like STUFF in it or something.  3/5 <3

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Pain de Campagne

Makin' this ish.  Like for real for real.  Like the whole recipe.  We are dinner partying TONIGHT, bitches. Yesterday, I made some pate fermente to start this off, then took a really involved nap from which I did not wake up until loud rapping on my door reminded me, yes, you have to go watch Twilight now.  Oh yeah.  Sorry.  My cell phone alarm failed me.

Anyway, it is now today and the pate is all fridged out.  So, we start.  Bread flour + rye flour + yeast + pate =

+ water! =

Does anyone know how to get rid of fruit flies that seemingly aren't interested in any one location?  WTF.  OMG.  Moving in a month and a half anyway.  Guess it doesn't really matter.  Mixed and kneaded.

Even Eminem thinks being famous sucks.  Dude, who doesn't?  Apparently, living a normal life is the best thing ever.  So, please, don't share this blog with your friends.  I know it has such potential.  Also, Eminem, you are constantly angry.  I would be much more sympathetic to your situation if you made a Behind the Music.  Most likely.  Unless you are like Lil Wayne and shot yourself when you were eleven on accident and that's like the most traumatic situation in your life and I'm like, dude, I'm not going to suffer along with you because you're stupid and played with a gun and drink cough syrup out of a cup which has to be the least gangsta way of getting high ever.

Anyway, this is supposed to double over two hours and is probably going to double sooner and even though it should still sit for two hours, I'm going to fudge this part because I need to go grocery shopping for the rest of this cheese-filled dinner party.  Cheese like actual cheese.  So, once it doubles, I ATTACK:

Shaped and ready.  This bread can be shaped into various shapes.  I am shaping it into a "fendu."  I know, you're excited.

Here we go!  Separated into batards!

And now fendus, which are basically pressed down batards.

Whoa.  I have a new upstairs neighbor (brown man) who just went to check his mattress airing outside while shirtless.  Forgive me.  Earlier, when I came home from grocery shopping he was texting shirtless by his window.  Yeah.

Anyway.  Yeah, I don't remember what I was talking about.  Here's another picture.

So, these bake for about 20 minutes.


Fendu, how do you do?!

And there we are, sweethearts.  4/5  <3

PS: Sorry if that got a little boring at the end there -- I'm attempting to make pavlova and blog at the same time.  Not really working out.

PPS: Dinner party time.  Out of this bread, I made some [what I thought was] delicious garlic bread.  Chris and Kate fight over one spare piece:

Friday, July 16, 2010

Pain a l'Ancienne

Um, so this bread is such a big deal.  As Peter notes, "The technique by which this bread is made has tremendous implications for the baking industry."  And, importantly, Peter discovered it.  And by discovered it, I mean he went to this little French and/or Italian bakery (it's been a while since I read the beginning of the book, in which Peter explains some bready stuff and talks about how awesome he is) and was like, hey, cold water, that's interesting, and brought it back and was like, hey important Americans, look at this.  And yeah.  About this bread, Peter writes: "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.'"  Fucking colonizer.

So!  Ingredient-wise, this is pretty simple.  Bread flour + salt + yeast + ice water =

Parent and baby!!

Peter, if you couldn't tell, is obsessed with manipulating time.  This bread gets him even more excited b/c it involves time and temperature.  I know.  You're practically wetting yourself right now.

We gotz dos cups.

And, per the temperaturealongwithtime obsession, the dough sits in the fridge overnight, during which I will brb aka see Eclipse, sleep, and go to a potentially lame/cool work picnic.  Yeah.  Either that or I don't get paid.  That's the infinitely lame part.  Getting paid to swim or boat?  That doesn't seem fair, esp when I could be at home baking for my large fan base.

Okay, brb.

Back!  Eclipse = less sexy than the book (how is that possible?!), work picnic = thirty minutes of eating veggie burgers and cake and walking (yay B for being my C-bus family aka coming with me! -- only family members were allowed -- I came up with an elaborate story about how he's my "brother": I grew up in India and my father was a drug lord, who insisted on having only Aryan (like-original-Aryan)-looking servants.  When the authorities finally caught on to his actions, he told my mother and I to flee to America.  Worried for her young boy's life, my mother's servant-in-waiting begged her to bring B to America with us, where my mother raised him like her son.  Unfortunately, I didn't get to use this story at the picnic.), sleep = good, too short.  I know you're interested.

Or, you're probably more interested in the dough.  Well, then, here:

After a one-night stand with the fridge, we have three cups, which must wallow away, separated from their potential true love as they wake up, lose chill, and ferment for 2-3 hours.  I know, we've all been there.

I don't want to leave the house, but I have to.  Bah!  I know, I live a horribly difficult life.


You may not be able to read that.  It's basically 3.5 cups.  It's supposed to be at double its previous unrefrigerated amount, which, if you will remember, was two cups.  At this point, I was like, eff this.  Time to shape.  Like Jazzercising.  Or liposuction.  This dough was remarkably fleshy.  Very glugly (which I should start an urbandictionary entry for -- okay, done).

And separated into baguettes.  I always want to spell separated seperated.

Yeah, not too professional-looking.  Also, they were very poorly scored.  These are in the oven for eight-nine, then ten-fifteen.

AND.  Peter sucks with his TIMINGS.  Even though he's obsessed with TIMINGS.  These are effing BURNT.  And I took them out five minutes EARLY.

Waiting twenty minutes aka hating myself for letting these burn aka reading John Green (books, not blog) aka wallowing in teenage-esque misery.  Yessssssssss <3.

After twenty minutes:

All of the world remains nothing, save for me.  Me and my bread.  Alas!  The darkness, the darkness!

The burntness ruined this.  But, as B said, "it tastes ancient."

3/5.  Dumb timings.

Will probably make a decent sandwich though.


Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Multigrain Bread Extraordinaire

Extraordinaire, people!  Extra-fuckin'-ordinaire.  It's like the multigrain bread of your dreams.  Or effing NIGHTMARES, PEOPLE.  Get ready for an extraordinaire ad-fuckin'-venture.

Starting with our soaker.  Polenta + rolled oats + wheat bran + water =

So, I def <3 bulk dry goods.  I bought these at a quaint little community place, and was like, oh, nice, cheap and good since I only need like one tablespoon of all this shiz.  And then I was like, oh, I can buy spices here too.  And so I got some.  They fake you out with the dry goods.  The spices are like a million dollars, which I didn't realize until after I checked out and the guy was like 15 bucks and I was like damn, five bucks for some scant ounces of chili powder?!

Anyway, back to the main plot, the Romeo+Juliet, Bella+Edward, Sookie+Bill, Harry+Voldemort shiz.  Get out of our LIVES, Horatio. This sits overnight.  See you on the morrow.

Oh no!  I didn't take a picture of the soaker afterwards.  Well, it smelled bad.  I can tell you that.

Flour (don't ask me why in a multigrain bread that is supposedly "extraordinaire," bread and not wheat flour is used) + brown sugar + salt + yeast =

Then, per you-zh, the wet ingredients.  The pals.  The confidants.  The everydayshoesandjeans.

+ soaker + brown rice (yes, I made a whole pot of this stuff even though the recipe needs 1.5T.  Normally I only tolerate brown rice, but I was also craving a Northstar Buddha Bowl, and wanted to recreate it at home.  I failed) + honey + milk + water =

Stirred and oh-so-ready.

PS: Is it wrong that I bring in breads via sandwiches to work and I really want someone to ask me why I'm bringing in all these different types of bread?  No one ever does.  It makes me sad.  Don't you want to know about my LIFE, people?!  Aren't I interesting to you?!  No, instead, you, six to fourteen year old kids who want me to sit next to them on the bus, tell me vaguely interesting stories about water parks when I'm just trying to sleep and/or read.  (No, but I do -- fingers crossed -- like my job.  I understand you are starved for cool authority figures' attention.)

Anyway.  Don't know if you can read this:

Two cups.  Ninety minutes.  1.5 seasons of The Tudors.  One Bollywood dance workout video.  A couple phone calls.  Many questions about nikah ceremonies.  This is my life.

OMG.  Drake, get out of my head.  I need to stop listening to that album.  Hi, Band of Horses!  Hi!

So, this dough def rose faster than ninety minutes.  About an hour in, and were were already at five cups!  Whoa.

I know it looks like seven, but don't let that liar FOOL YOU.

Bored of loaves, I'm making rolls!  Plus, they take less time in the oven.  Yay.


Waiting might not make us better people, Drake, but in this case, it makes us better bread.  Another ninety.

And these looked really good before I took the plastic wrap off and realized I forgot to spray the tops with spray oil, so they ended up looking like this:

So it's like a huge flat lump of dough.  Sigh.

After 35 minutes:

A flat lump of cooked dough!  Congratulations, me!  Hurrah, hurrah!  Wait an hour aka one episode of The Tudors before tasty-tasty.

Separated!  They were easier to rip apart than I thought based on the blob-mass.


OMG.  THIS bread was delicious.  Seriously.  I scarfed down the whole effing roll.  5/5!!

Bahahahahhaha.  Could this picture be anymore amazing?  Oh, The Tudors.  How I love your oddly airbrushed weird cast portraits.