Braised and Infused

UnKneaded

The topic of no-knead bread reappeared in the Dining and Wine section of the New York Times last week in an article by Harold McGee, the author of On Food and Cooking. McGee baked loaves of differing wetness (hydration) with and without kneading and provided an explanation for why kneading is unnecessary to produce rustic style breads with irregular hole patterns.

What he didn't mention was the success possible with sourdough starters. McGee used commercial yeast, but I’ve been consistently making no-knead bread with my own wild yeast starter since I posted a recipe on this blog at the end of 2008. Commercial yeast can yield a great loaf of bread, but wild yeast makes sublime bread with unmatched depth of flavor and nuance.

The photo above is from a recent loaf of bread I made a few days ago from my original recipe. I’ve experimented with kneading the dough in the past, but it never turns out as well. Instead, I mix my dough and let it sit overnight for about nine to twelve hours (nine for the recent loaf). I shape it and put it in my baking pan, letting it rise until it is ready (less than hour this time). I bake the loaf until the crust turns dark and crisp. The interior, well you can see the yeast’s work. I eat it plain; no need for butter.

My loaves do not taste like San Francisco sourdough. They are not sour. My starter is mild, more like a French levain. The sour flavor, isolated by USDA researchers in the 70’s, comes from a specific type of lactic bacteria. By controlling the temperature and feeding of a starter you can control the acidity. Maintaining starter temperatures in the upper 70’s promotes less acetic starters. If you are interested in more details, post a comment and I will reply.

Starters are not mystical, delicate creatures, although I almost killed my favorite starter last Autumn. I had been keeping it in the refrigerator when I wasn’t making bread regularly, but I neglected it for a few weeks, maybe a month or so. When I finally looked at it, the starter had a quarter inch of ill-colored vinegar smelling liquid on top. I’m not sentimental, but I felt a tinge of guilt and couldn’t throw it out. I refreshed it and refreshed it, nursing it back to health. Even if you don't plan to make bread, try making a starter. Seeing it bubble and froth and shouting, “It’s alive!” is worth the time. Show your kids; get them extra credit in science. You don’t even need the squirt of honey I mentioned in my recipe. Just flour and water.

Recently, I’ve created a new starter from a recipe in an article by James MacGuire in The Art of Eating  (Winter 2009). He writes a fascinating story about the history and current state of pain au levain in France and his bread recipe involves minimal kneading by folding the dough at hourly intervals. The folding benefits his dough, which is dryer than mine, and his rising times are shorter. The dough has great oven spring and the finished bread is another example of the beautiful harmony of wild yeast and lactic bacteria.

Pithy Solution

 All those years of trying to remove the pith from oranges* and I never realized how easy it comes off when it's wet. Just put the orange under running water - warm or cold. Use your fingers and scrape it off. The orange in the picture is an heirloom orange from Florida.

*(Actual orange. Orange was not asked to suck in its pith for the "after" shot.)

First Sign of Spring

 Thin Mints have returned. Unfortunately, they have predators.

Consider the Oyster

I am concerned about the nation’s economy, of course, but there is an approaching catastrophe linked to the economic crisis that frightens me more. It is the inevitable arrival of hordes of cookbooks, websites, and food articles devoted to making meals on the cheap. I fear titles like “Ten Dinners in Ten Minutes for Under a Buck,” and “How to Save Money by Omitting Flavor.” I have offered to appear before Congress and testify to the necessity of a rescue. I took a number and I am waiting my turn. 

But there is hope. Hope because the foundations of great cooking do not rest on slabs of foie gras or shavings of truffle. Great cooking is about transformation and it rests in part on the backs of chickens. Literally. That humble, essentially free, cut from the chicken carcass renders stock and treats us to oysters. 

If you’re not familiar with the chicken oyster, it’s what I was eating as I carved the chicken before I brought it to the table. You were none the wiser. The oyster is also the piece of meat you surrender to your spouse for suffering your cooking habit because it took a bit longer than you expected to make dinner and all the while she was creating a demilitarized zone between your two daughters. 

Chicken oysters are the ultimate nugget of rich dark meat. They come from the back of the chicken near the hip joint. After I’ve roasted a chicken, I pry them out with my fingers. This is probably the best way to eat them given the effort-to-enjoyment ratio of the task. To remove them raw, I use a small knife with a sharp point. Once I’ve freed the oysters from the back of the chicken, I will use the back to make either white or brown stock for soups and sauces. The oysters can be coated or uncoated and roasted, sautéed, or deep-fried.

For an elegant preparation, hack up several chickens and save the legs, thighs and breasts for future meals. Make a brown or white stock from the backs and use the oysters in a first course preparation, three to a plate with some root vegetables. Use some of the stock to make a sauce or jus to accompany the oysters.

Let one humble part of the chicken show you the way through the recession. You’ll be a better cook and your family will enjoy the food you’ve put on the table.