Molasses Whole Wheat with Hazelnuts and Raisins

For the last few weeks I've been fooling around with a soft, dense whole wheat bread flavored with seeds, nuts or fruit. The first, English brown bread, was salty and satisfying; the second, a part whole wheat loaf studded with sunflower seeds was nice but heavy; but the third batch, flavored with blackstrap molasses, hazelnuts and raisins is currently the winner.

I got the idea from an amazing whole grain bread made at Whole Foods that contains at least a dozen nuts and seeds and a sweet smattering of raisins. It's hearty, and perfect paired with something savory like lox and cream cheese. Normally I dislike raisins in baked goods, but there's something about the winy fruit mingling with the rich seeds and bitter whole grains that I love, especially when matched with sharp cheese.

The basic recipe this time comes from the one for Robin's Bread in the wonderful Home Baking by husband and wife team, Alford and Duguid. This recipe is incredibly flexible. Like the brown bread I wrote about a few weeks ago, Robin's Bread dough can be left to a slow rise and then retarded in the fridge for a day until you're ready to shape and bake the loaves. The actual recipe takes 15 minutes to put together and makes 3-4 generous loaves. I usually cut it in half and make two, freezing the second for later in the week (or for our friend Joe, who occasionally demands bread). You can also fold in whatever types of nuts, seeds or dried fruit you like, and I imagine that if you omitted the molasses in favor of a tablespoon of sugar, you could turn this into a glorious cheese bread or a swirly cinnamon raisin loaf.

As it is, this bread is the perfect antidote to rainy Portland winters. It makes me happy just to look at the brown hazelnut halves nestled into each slice, interrupted once in a while by sweet tart raisins. Each bite is soft and toothsome, with a subtle sweetness. Tonight I ate a warm slice alongside a beet and avocado salad with feta, fearing the combination would be awful, but it held its own even with a light vegetable supper. The molasses flavor doesn't dominate the meal; it sounds strange, but the heady flavor of the bread is limited to each bite. Rather than overpowering the taste buds, it just punctuates the meal with moments of wholesome sweetness.

So here it is. Bake it and then look at the pouring rain--or sifting snow--and give a quiet thank you for the winter.

Molasses Whole Wheat with Hazelnuts and Raisins
adapted from Home Baking

3 Cups white flour
3 Cups whole wheat flour, plus extra
1/2 tsp yeast
1 C milk
2 C warm water
1 T plus 1 tsp salt
1 T blackstrap molasses (or honey, for a lighter flavor)
1 T vegetable oil or softened butter
1/2 - 1 C hazelnuts, halved
1/2 C raisins

Combine yeast and water. Add milk, molasses, oil, salt and 3 C whole wheat flour. Mix until incorporated. Add 3 C white flour, plus nuts and raisins. Knead by hand or in your standing mixer until the dough forms into a ball. Add more flour or water as necessary to achieve a moist but not sticky dough, kneading for 6-10 minutes. Oil a large bowl and place the dough ball inside, rolling it around to coat the dough with a light layer of oil. Cover with saran wrap and set aside to rise for 8-12 hours. The risen dough should double in size, and be spongy and very moist.

Turn the dough out onto a floured counter top and divide into two pieces. Shape each piece into a loaf and place in a greased loaf pan. Set aside to rise for 40 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Bake loaves for 10 minutes, and then lower the temperature to 375. Bake for 20 minutes, rotate loaves, and bake for 20-25 minutes more. The loaves are done with the bottom corners of each loaf are firm and the bottom sounds hollow when tapped. Remove from the tins and let cool completely before slicing.

English Brown Bread

It's been a long time since my last post (indeed, since any merry baker has posted here) but the days are dark and dripping now with rain and fog, and it's well past time to bake bread again.


This bread is a sturdy English Brown Bread, courtesy of Nigella Lawson's book How to be a Domestic Goddess. It isn't fancy, but rather a more wholesome version of plain white bread, with some whole grain flour thrown into the mix. This is a bread for peanut butter sandwiches, or a bit of salted butter and jam. More importantly, it's the kind of forgiving bread that can be put together in a couple of very busy days. I broke all of the rules with this bread: I left it to rise overnight, shaped it and threw it in the fridge for a day and a half, and then left it on the counter for a scant 30 minutes before tossing it into the oven. It should have deflated. It should have become pungent with alcohol and dying yeast, and then turned into a dense log of inedibility. But it didn't and wasn't; it is perfect.

It isn't as exciting as the baguettes and ciabattas I started making earlier this year, but truth be told, it's been long enough now that I feel intimidated by my own achievements. I figure this year we'll start humble and proceed to croissants and sourdough in due time.

Like the ciabatta of five months ago, croissants and sourdough are my new goals for 2011. By this time next year I want to be able to turn out flaky golden pastries and have a homemade starter bubbling in the fridge. I might even get crazy and try to attract local yeast.

But I'm digressing from the sturdy brown bread. Another beauty of this recipe is that you can add as much or as little whole wheat flour as you like. Be aware that the more whole wheat you add, the denser the loaf will be (you'll also probably need to add a touch more water). I like a rough ratio of about 2/3 white to 1/3 wheat; using a little rye flour would not be amiss here, either.

You can bake this bread in a loaf tin or in its birthday suit on a baking stone or sheet. If you choose the latter, as I did, try to first shape the loaf into a boule before elongating and slashing it. I have yet to turn out a perfect boule--mine is a bit bulgy and the slashes have gone awry--but in this case I think practice really will make perfect.




BROWN BREAD: Makes 1 loaf

1 packet yeast
2 C white flour
1 1/4 C whole wheat flour
1 T salt
300 ml warm water
1 T butter or olive oil

Mix flour, salt and yeast in a large bowl (or the bowl of your mixer). Add the warm water and knead until smooth and springy, around 10 minutes. I had to knead for quite a while, adding a little extra flour and water, in order for the dough to pass Reinhardt's window pane test.

Lightly oil a large clean bowl and let the dough rise until doubled in a warm place. Punch the dough and shape the loaf. Let rest until puffy and almost doubled again, about 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 420 degrees F. Bake for 35 minutes, or until the bottom of the loaf sounds hollow when tapped. Cool before slicing.

Baguettes

It's late, I'm exhausted, and I have to get up early to enter grades, but I had to show you my baguettes.

I'm skipping around Reinhardt's book now, completely against the Merry Baker project's initial game plan, but I feel confident enough now to eschew structure in favor of desire. And this weekend's desire was for baguettes.

Baguettes to go with a Father's Day/ Parents' 34th Wedding Anniversary Feast. Fennel-Honey pork loin chops, mashed potatoes with caramelized onions and fennel, a roasted beet and carrot salad, and a green salad. Plus my father-in-law's wickedly strong martinis, Manhattans, and whiskey sours. I began wishing I hadn't macerated the strawberries in brandy.

This recipe was popular with the crowd and ridiculously easy to make: you mix up a basic lean dough recipe on day one, let it ferment in the fridge overnight, make (almost) the same recipe again on day 2, combine the doughs, and voila! Crusty, chewy baguettes with a moist crumb and pleasing, caramelized flour taste.

The hardest part of this project, as always, was the shaping and slashing. I thought I'd cut my dough into three equal parts, but as my father pointed out, it ended up being more of a Papa Bear, Mama Bear, Baby Bear affair. I'm pleased with the slashes, but they should be more dramatic; I hesitated, concentrating more on the perpendicular nature of the slash than its length or depth, resulting in very shallow cuts.

My father-in-law called them formidable.

My mom called them delicious.

And I'm calling it a night.

Cinnamon Raisin Bread--Hold the Raisins

First, I'd like to dedicate a moment of silence to my baking partners, Glenna, Jonathan and Kate, who have abandoned me to pursue non-yeast-oriented weekend activities. Yes, the Merry Bakers is a smaller band (of one) now, but like the heroes of yore I will persevere against the armies of darkness.

By which I mean, of course, the vast minions of Cooked Raisins.

Cooked raisins are an abomination. Bloated and squishy, cooked raisins are the zombies of the food world, resurrected from a pleasant dessicated existence to wreak havoc on your mouth. I know that some people like them, take pleasure in the way cooked raisins burst between the teeth, coating the tongue in rotten grape, but for me, raisins are the surest way to ruin a baked good. Almost like whole walnuts in a brownie, but that's a contentious issue for another occasion and, truth be told, I'll eat pretty much anything if it's surrounded by chocolate. Even, perhaps, a cooked raisin (it has happened; and woe betide my mouth).

Knowing that I would dislike the results of Reinhardt's original Cinnamon Raisin Bread, and not being charitable enough to bake it anyway and give it to friends, I switched the raisins for dried cranberries.

(I know what you're thinking: dried cranberries are just dried raisins of a different hue. Here, however, you are wrong. Dried cranberries cooked are tart and bright in flavor, unlike the sweet earthy cooked raisin. They also don't spray juice into your mouth when you bite down; instead, you get a chewy, fruity note that complements the subtle spicing in the bread.)

And the bread, true to all of Reinhardt's recipes, is really delicious. The cinnamon and sugar in the dough add enough sweetness to make this a nice breakfast loaf, but I just as happily ate the toasted slices with sharp cheese or almond butter. It would even make a nice turkey sandwich, especially with a thin layer of cream cheese. I did alter the formula slightly, by substituting roughly 1 1/4 C whole wheat flour for the white. That ended up being the right amount, as it didn't alter the density of the dough too much (though I did have to add more liquid) and it intensified the toastiness of the walnuts. I also felt a little better getting some whole grains into my system after a winter of Reinhardt's decadent white flour recipes.

However you cut or slice it, raisins or no, all white or partially so, this is a very lovely bread. Perfect for the Portland rainy season, when you just want to sit with a cup of chai and smell something delicious in the kitchen.

(Note: I'm not hiding a picture of the finished product out of shame; my camera needs batteries!)--Rhianna

Cinnamon Rolls

Okay, I have no picture because we ate the rolls too fast.

This was my second time around with the rolls (I cheated and made them for Christmas morning, before the Merry Bakers began) and they were super delicious. Reinhardt is right: these buns are the only homemade cinnamon rolls I've ever had or made that approximate the gooey sugar bombs you can buy at Cinnabon. But they're so much better--yeastier, more velvety, with a subtle citrus flavor--and eating one isn't a precursor to coronary arrest. If you drizzle them with a generous amount of the fondant and eat them warm with the last dregs of your coffee: heaven.

My only warning is that I don't think making smaller rolls (12-14, rather than 8-10) is the best choice in terms of roll shape. The first time around I made big mama rolls and they were so gorgeous, sweet golden high-rises that had to be shared. This time I made them as an accompaniment to Mother's Day brunch, and figured that personal rolls would provide a snappier meal finish. The fact that each person got his own roll was a hit (especially with my 10-year old brother) but I didn't care for the flatter, square shape of the buns. I probably just needed to cut the rolls a bit thicker, but next time I'm sticking to the big guns.

The Holiest Bread

Do you see that woman over there, doing the booty-shaking dance of baking triumph?

That's not me.

But I'm next to her, doing the slightly more subdued ciabatta cha-cha.

You see, this whole baking project has been (still is, will forever be), for me, about ciabatta. The giant silky holes in the golden crust that breaks into shards when you cut a slice. The slightly sour taste of the chewy, soft bread. The way olive oil pools through the crumb, leaving tiny, shiny puddles on your plate. I love ciabatta, like PeeWee Herman want to marry it love it. And until last weekend, it seemed an impossible goal for the home baker who lacks bread ovens and, quite frankly, a great deal of skill.

But that skill is growing, thanks to Reinhardt, and ciabatta is well within my reach, if not yet in my grasp.


I'm happy with the bread you see here. Toasted it's lovely, and it made an amazing addition to meals of pasta with chicken sausage and squash, warm lentil salad with pork fennel sausage and homemade croutons, goat cheese and tomato, and just plain almond butter. And I practically peed in my pants when I saw those holes! (I didn't believe they would materialize. They seem way too magical to be the result of simple dough folding.)

But in the end the loaves taste too bland to me, despite the careful fermentation process. Next time I'm going to substitute some whole wheat or rye flour for the white to increase the flavor punch. I also want to work on my stretch-and-fold maneuvering to get even bigger holes, and I definitely need some shaping practice.


I laughed as I pulled the finished loaves from the oven: they've definitely got some rockabilly pompadour action up top.

Still, this is the first recipe to get me really and truly excited, which is saying a lot given that my heart does happy dance every time I pull a fresh bread out of the oven. I can't wait to try this again, next time with mushrooms.

And then cheese.

And then caramelized onions. Mmmm.

Brioche (or, Gimme Some of Your Sweet Buns)

Oh baby, look at those buns.

Weeks after Glenna and Jonathan baked their brioche, and Kate experimented with alcoholic dough, I finally got around to making my own. After deliberating with Kate (or, to be truthful, listening to her long voicemail message--which I love) I decided upon the Middle Class Brioche, as the Rich Man's scared me (80% butter?) and the Poor Man's seemed like a lame concession to guilty-minded bakers.

Given the high butterfat percentage (50%) I decided to splurge and use imported Kerry Gold butter, which is wonderfully yellow and creamy tasting. It took a fair amount of time to incorporate the softened butter into the dough, and then spreading the sticky mass onto parchment paper was challenging. My hands smelled like butter for hours! The other challenge was scraping the chilled dough off of the parchment, but this is probably due to the fact that I don't own spray oil (which Reinhardt recommends) and so my parchment was drier than the recipe called for.

The only element I tweaked was to turn the soft dough into cinnamon rolls, which Reinhardt discusses in his commentary. There's really no pastry I like better than a warm cinnamon roll (without the gook that comes on commercial rolls), and so I leaped at the chance to convert the brioche. The dough's stickiness made rolling the pastry difficult, but one bite of the golden yellow, flaky, not too sweet roll was enough to make want to go through the whole mess again. Once I digest my roll, of course, which should be in a few days.

I have to admit, I'm glad Tom and I went to the gym this morning, because these buns are intense. Even now I'm wondering about bringing the rest to our matinee because having them around the house is a waistline liability (or an incentive to work out? One should be positive about these things). This definitely isn't an everyday dough, but it is a marvelous treat.