Bread

I use only a few store-bought products. But this one, when wrapped in prosciutto or rolled in cheese, makes for a great-tasting and super-easy antipasto. And when you are making a large meal from scratch, a few shortcuts are always welcome. Your guests will thank you when the entrée is on time because you didn’t have a meltdown trying to bake your own bread.

I know! I know! Refrigerated dough? But this dish works beautifully as a side, and when you’re making the rest of the meal from scratch this recipe will come in very handy. You can use any cheeses and herbs, but this is my favorite combination: The Parmesan and Gruyère make the bread sticks perfectly cheesy, and the rosemary gives them a hint of freshness and color. Don’t tell anyone about the refrigerated dough, and they’ll never know.

When I was a child, we went to Chuck E. Cheese’s for our birthdays. In addition to all of the cool games and the characters, I loved that they cut their pizzas into squares instead of wedges. Not only could you get more crust or less crust as you like (I’m a less-crust girl), I got to eat a number of pieces, since they’re petite. Here, I’ve cut the flatbread into squares to distinguish it from other pizzas . . . and because it just feels more decadent. If you’re making this pizza on a charcoal grill, heat the coals until they are hot and covered with gray ash. Then place the pizza on the grill about 5 inches from the coals for best results. Cover and grill for 3 to 4 minutes.

Pat: A cast iron skillet is, far and away, the best pan for cooking this cornbread. In fact, we don’t prepare it in anything else. Preheating the skillet in the oven creates a crispy golden crust, and it really seems to help the batter pop up and rise beautifully during the baking process. We serve the warm cornbread straight from the skillet with a big ole wooden spoon.

Traditionally, in Italian-American restaurants, garlic bread entailed lots of chopped garlic mixed with butter and a little oil. This version, struffinato—or rubbed—with a smashed garlic clove, is more subtle, and is the right match for the Arugula and White-Bean Salad (page 60) or the Escarole and White-Bean Soup (page 86).

This flatbread is a riff on the classic focaccia from Recco, Italy. Unlike the traditional yeasted focaccia, this bread is two layers of unleavened dough separated by cheese. The dough is made by first adding the oil to the flour, mixing it in to coat the starch, and then adding the water. This method keeps the flour from clumping and facilitates a well-blended dough. This flatbread is a great way to start a dinner party with everyone congregating in and around the kitchen, cocktails in hand as the flatbread comes out of the oven. It’s a graphic illustration of the power of steam leavening. After the bread is cut it deflates into a truly flat bread. It’s beautiful and delicious, a sure conversation piece as people relax and settle in for the evening.

We love the dark, rich flavors of the classic dessert bananas Foster. One time when we had an overabundance of bananas we decided that creating a bread featuring these flavors would be ideal. We used muscovado sugar, an intensely flavored sweetener, to help mimic the caramelized notes of the original dish. We combined baking powder and baking soda to maximize our leavening and ensure a light, tender bread. It’s darned good all on its own, but we’ve also used it for French toast and bread pudding with fabulous results. Leftover bread can be toasted or grilled and slathered with butter for an excellent breakfast or snack.

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.

These sticky buns can be prepped in the skillet the day before, stored in the refrigerator, and baked in the morning for a decadent weekend breakfast indulgence—although they are so good that sometimes we just make them for lunch and ride the sugar high into the afternoon. Soft raisins make a big difference. If yours are dry you may want to soak them in water at least overnight. Instead of rolling out individual buns, we score the top of the bread for easy cutting and bake it as a whole. That way you can control the portion size and the bread itself cooks more evenly—no more doughy centers. We love that.

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 I ate dinner at the Home of Nathalie Berrebi, a Frenchwoman living in Geneva, she served this savory quick bread warm and sliced thin, as a first course for a dinner attended by lots of children and adults. For the main course, Nathalie prepared rouget (red mullet) with an eggplant tapenade on top, something all the children loved. The entire dinner was delicious, but I especially liked that savory bread with the unexpected flavor combination of goat cheese, apricots, and fresh mint. Now I often make this quick bread for brunch or lunch and serve it with a green salad.

The French love their bread, but they usually buy it in boulangeries. In many homes I visited, though, people would make a quick bread like the goat-cheese-and-apricot bread on page 145. When they had a bit more time, on a weekend morning perhaps, they would make a heartier bread and eat it throughout the week. This recipe, which I tasted at a friend’s house in Paris, is very forgiving and can withstand additions and variations. I often add bits of leftover nuts and dried fruit. Great for breakfast with goat cheese or preserves, it is also a wonderful sandwich bread.

Most Jews in France prior to the twentieth century used handwritten cookbooks passed down from mother to daughter. And since Alsace-Lorraine was under German occupation between 1871 and 1918, the majority of the Jews living there read German, using many of the dozen or so kosher cookbooks published in Germany in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Combing through these German books and her mother’s handwritten cookbook, Agar Lippmann, a caterer in Lyon, came across a recipe she had been trying to track down for years. Hutzel wecken, which literally means hat- or dome-shaped little rolls in German, is a very old Hanukkah and To B’Shevat (the new year of trees) fruitcake rarely made today. I prefer it treated more as bread, sliced very thin and served with cheese or really good butter. My guess is that the peanuts were a later addition. If you don’t have all the different dried fruits and nuts, just use what you have. The recipe is very flexible. Once, when I made it for a party, some of the guests liked it so much that, unbeknownst to me, they took home little slices hidden in paper napkins for their breakfast!

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.

Like many Moroccan Jews who came to France after Morocco became independent in 1956, Deborah Lilliane Denino, a psychologist, and her family were welcomed by the Jewish community in Strasbourg. Down the street from her apartment is a kosher bakery, grocery, and butcher shop called Délices Cacher, where she buys merguez lamb and beef sausage and other Moroccan items on which she grew up in Marrakesh. When she is busy, she asks one of her three children or the American students with the Syracuse University Junior Year Abroad program who live with her to fetch the groceries. She teaches those not familiar with a kosher kitchen about the color- coded forks, towels, and other utensils, to identify and keep separate the meat and milk dishes she cooks in her apartment. For Shabbat, this great cook with a fun- loving family always makes Moroccan challah. But because her children, who were born in Strasbourg, like soft pretzels (as do most Alsatian children—they call them bretzeln), she sets aside some of the dough, forms long fingers out of it, twists them into pretzels, and bakes them as a snack.

On a recent visit to the Marais, I stopped in at Florence Finkelsztajn’s Traiteur Delicatessen, as I always do. The quarter has two Finkelsztajn delicatessens, one trimmed in yellow (Florence’s ex-husband’s) and one in blue (Florence’s—now renamed Kahn). According to Gilles Pudlowski, the gastronomic critic of Polish Jewish origin who writes the popular Pudlo restaurant guides, Florence’s store is the best place to satisfy a nostalgic craving for eastern European cooking. In addition to Central European Yiddish specialties, like herring, chopped liver, and pastrami, Florence also sells Pudlo, baked in the back of the shop. I have made her recipe, which she gave me a few years ago, and I can assure you it is delicious. Pletzl, short for Bialystoker tsibele pletzl, refers to a circular eastern European flat onion bread, often studded with poppy seeds, that came from the city of Bialystok, Poland. The bread is known in America in a smaller version as the bialy. Try it as a snack hot from the oven, or make a “big pletzl sandwich,” as Florence does. Her fillings vary as much as the different ethnicities of Jews living in Paris today: Alsatian pickelfleisch (corned beef), Romanian pastrami, Russian eggplant caviar (see page 34), North African roasted peppers, and French tomato and lettuce.

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.