Yeast

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.

Here’s a simple formula for making snappy Armenian-style crackers, perfect for breadbaskets, company, and kids. Lavash, though usually called Armenian flatbread, also has Iranian roots and is now eaten throughout the Middle East and around the world. It is similar to the many other Middle Eastern and North African flatbreads known by different names, such as mankoush or mannaeesh (Lebanese), barbari (Iranian), khoubiz or khobz (Arabian), aiysh (Egyptian), kesret and mella (Tunisian), pide or pita (Turkish), and pideh (Armenian). The main difference between these breads is either how thick or thin the dough is rolled out, or the type of oven in which they are baked (or on which they are baked, as many of these breads are cooked on stones or red-hot pans with a convex surface). Some of the breads form a pocket like a pita bread, and some, like the injera of Ethiopia and Eritrea, are thicker and serve as sponges to soak up spicy sauces. The key to crisp lavash, which is becoming one of the most popular of these flatbread variations, is to roll out the dough paper-thin. The sheet can be cut into crackers in advance or snapped into shards after baking. The shards make a nice presentation when arranged in baskets.

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 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.

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.

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.