European

This dish can be prepared several hours ahead and served chilled or at room temperature. Peel and slice the cucumbers just before serving.

We used morel mushrooms, a spring variety known for its nutty flavor and pitted flesh, but any wild mushrooms, an assortment, or even cultivated mushrooms will also make a nice sauce. You can prepare the popover batter in advance, and refrigerate it for up to one day. Let it stand at room temperature for 20 minutes before baking. The sauce can also be made one day ahead. Let it cool completely, then refrigerate. Reheat over medium-low heat, adding heavy cream to thin, if necessary. If you have leftovers, keep them in an airtight container for up to one day.

Fill a tiered platter with just as much seafood as it can hold comfortably; refrigerate the rest until you are ready to replenish the platter.

Allow this robust dip to mellow overnight in the refrigerator. Before serving, bring it to room temperature, or reheat it gently in a saucepan.

You will need a metal brioche pan that measures 8 inches across the top and 3 1/2 inches at the base. Be sure to fit the plastic wrap into the curves, smoothing it as much as possible before filling.

What makes this version of rye different from the more popular German and deli ryes is the use of licorice-flavored aniseeds and fennel seeds, along with orange peel and a touch of cardamom. Nutritionists are now quantifying the therapeutic benefits of orange peel, licorice-flavored spices, and bitters as digestive aids that various traditional cultures have espoused for centuries. By making the bread with a combination of wild-yeast starter and commercial yeast, this formula creates an even more complexly flavored version of the bread than the more customary versions leavened only by commercial yeast. The lactic acid not only conditions the flour, predigesting it to an extent, but it also gives it a longer shelf life and better flavor. Think of this bread as a baked version of anisette.

A technique that is unique to this bread is the use of a cooked flour paste, made the day before. The gelatinized starches release flavors, giving this bread a distinct quality.

With all the emphasis on French and Italian rustic breads these days, it is easy to overlook the fact that the real center of the bread and pastry universe for hundreds of years was Vienna. Most of the great French breads that we love today, including baguettes, croissants, and even puff pastry, came to France a couple hundred years ago via the Austro-Hungarian empire, where they found a hungry audience willing to support these Austrian (which included Polish) bakers. Nowadays, the main distinction in American (and even European) bakeries between French, Italian, and Vienna breads, is the presence of a few enrichments in the latter. A little added sugar and malt causes the crust to brown faster, and a small amount of butter or shortening tenderizes the dough by coating and “shortening” the gluten strands. The shape, as with all culturally based bread, is determined by the baker based on function, but we usually think of Vienna bread as typically twelve inches long and weighing one pound. It is often scored down the middle to make a nice “ear,” but does not have quite as hard a crust nor as open a crumb as French bread. This dough makes exceptional pistolets (torpedo rolls), similar to the hoagie rolls made from the Italian bread on page 172, and it can be baked in loaf pans for excellent sandwich loaves. One of the best applications for this dough is to make Dutch crunch bread, as discussed on page 264.

When you look at recipes for European holiday breads like panettone, stollen, tsoureki, and christopsomo, it seems as if they are all related, often sharing similar ingredients and proportions of fat and sugar. Often, the main difference is in the shaping and in the history and symbolism of each bread. But heaven help any of us if we propose that thought to someone who grew up with any of those breads. I once made stollen, panettone, and kulich (Russian Easter bread) from a recipe for multipurpose holiday bread for a group of chefs and explained my theory of their similarities. Later, one of the American chefs told me I had offended some of the Germans who grew up on stollen and who were adamant that stollen is nothing like panettone. So I will resist the temptation to call this formula a multipurpose holiday bread (though I have made many types of bread from it) and instead limit it to its application as Dresden stollen. Dresden is considered the spiritual home of this traditional Christmas bread. The bread symbolizes the blanket of the baby Jesus, and the colored fruits represent the gifts of the Magi. As in nearly every festival bread, the story aspect of this loaf is culturally important, for it is a way parents teach their children about their heritage. When such a story is accompanied by the flavor memory of a particular food, you have a tool much more powerful than didactic or pedagogical teaching. I’m convinced this must be the reason I offended those Germans that day when I implied that a stollen was like a panettone. Perhaps in taste and ingredients, yes, but never in association.

Pugliese refers to the southeastern Italian region of Apulia (Puglia in Italian), but the variations on loaves with this name are endless. Many of the versions I’ve seen in the United States are similar to ciabatta—sometimes they actually are ciabatta, but are called pugliese just to differentiate them from the competition. What is the same is that both of these breads, along with many others, fall into the category of rustic breads, which we define as hydration in excess of 65 percent, usually approaching 80 percent. In Italy, where the flour is naturally more extensible than the very elastic North American flour that we use, there is no need to overhydrate. But here we need to pump more water into the dough in order to stretch the gluten strands, giving the loaves their distinctive big-hole structure and delicious nutlike flavor. One distinction between ciabatta, which originated in the Lake Como region of Lombardy (northern Italy), and pugliese is that pugliese breads are usually baked in rounds rather than in the slipper shape of ciabatta. The French version of a rustic bread, pain rustique, is also slightly elongated, but more of a bâtard than a slipper shape. Those, along with the pain à l’ancienne baguette (page 191) and the very elongated stirato and stubby pain rustique (pictured on page 135, made from the ciabatta dough), are all rustic breads, each with its own shape and ingredient makeup. An important distinction of the true pugliese bread, and one not often seen in American versions, is the use of golden durum flour, finely milled and packaged as fancy or extra fancy durum flour. Fancy durum is milled from the same strain of durum wheat as the sandy semolina flour that is sprinkled underneath hearth loaves and used in pane siciliano (page 198), but it is milled more finely. There are bakeries in Apulia that make this bread with 100 percent fancy durum flour and some that use a blend of durum and regular bread flours. In the following formula, I suggest a blend, but feel free to play around with the proportions, moving even into a 100 percent durum version when you feel adventurous. The challenge for anyone tackling this bread is getting comfortable with wet dough. Once you do, you will find it difficult to resist the desire to make rustic bread all the time; the softness and pliability of the dough give it a wonderful feeling in the hand. Combined with the flavor enhancement of long fermentation, this formula brings forth a loaf that is so dramatic, so delicious, and so much fun to make that it will forever change your standard of what constitutes great bread.

Bernard Ganachaud, in the early 1960s, made the poolish baguette the first legitimate alternative to the 60-2-2 baguette of the Parisian masses. When he retired thirty years later, his la flûte Gana was a licensed commodity, and bakers who paid for the right to make it were allowed to charge an extra franc above the government-controlled price. In the Coupe du Monde bread competition, the poolish baguette is now the standard that all countries must replicate. In my visits to the boulangeries of Paris, the poolish baguette made at the original Ganachaud Boulangerie was the second best baguette I ever had (the first being the pain à l’ancienne of Philippe Gosselin). Ganachaud has a special medium-extraction flour (with his name prominently displayed on the bags, naturally) from which he makes his baguettes, and there isn’t any flour quite like it in America. It is slightly higher in ash content and bran than regular bread flour, more like clear flour (whole-wheat flour that has been sifted only once instead of the usual twice to remove the bran and germ). The closest I’ve come to replicating that flour is described below and it makes a wonderful baguette, perhaps as good as can be done outside of the magical environment of Paris and without true Ganachaud-endorsed flour. Some people prefer it to the Gosselin baguette. See what you think.

Pizza is the perfect food, or so I’m so often told. When I moved to Providence, Rhode Island, I’d heard that there was great pizza to be had, so I asked everyone I met to recommend his or her favorite place. They all seemed to have a different style that they preferred, not unlike the diversity I’ve found in similar explorations into barbecue and chili. There is Sicilian thick-crusted pizza and thin New York style (the kind where the nose of the slice has to be flipped back into the center of the slice to keep all the cheese from running off). At least two-dozen franchise pizza shops exist within a three-mile radius of my home, some with prebaked shells, others with house-made crust. There are double-decker pizzas, cheese-in-the-crust pizzas, and a very popular twice-baked crust, recently dubbed Argentinian pizza in some regions, but here it is mysteriously and incorrectly referred to as Neapolitan. The best pizza I’ve had in recent years was in Phoenix at Pizzeria Bianco, a small restaurant run by Chris Bianco and his friends and family. Chris grows his own basil and lettuce behind the restaurant, makes his own mozzarella cheese, and hand-mixes his pizza dough in large batches (I mean really hand-mixes, on a bench and by hand). It is wet dough, like ciabatta, and sits for hours slowly fermenting. His is the closest I’ve had to pizza made in the style of Naples: simple, thin crusted, and baked fast and crisp. Pizzeria Bianco serves only about six kinds of pizza, a house salad, house-made Italian bread (from the pizza dough), and three or so desserts made by Chris’s mom. They can’t keep up with the business, and getting a seat in the pizzeria is like winning the lottery. Naples is the birthplace of what we today call pizza. Genoa has its focaccia, Tuscany its schiacciata, and Sicily its sfincione, but true Neapolitan pizza is the perfect expression of the perfect food. Every other style may also be crust and topping, but life would be better if only this superior version were allowed to call itself pizza. More to the point, it is possible to make a great pizza at home even if your oven cannot reach the heat levels used by the very best pizzerias that burn hardwood or bituminous coal and reach between 800° and 1200°F! Jeffrey Steingarten wrote a wonderful piece in the August 2000 issue of Vogue in which he told of trying dozens of ways to generate enough heat to replicate a pizza oven in his home. He nearly burned down his house in the process. Unfortunately, most home ovens will not go beyond 550°F, if that, but the following dough will produce an amazing pizza even at that relatively low heat. It has long been my contention that it is the crust, not the toppings, that make a pizza memorable. I’ve seen some expensive, wonderful ingredients wasted on bad crust, or, even more often, a decent dough ruined in an oven that was not hot enough to bake it properly. For many years, cookbook instructions have been to bake at about 350°F or maybe at 425°F. Rarely do you see instructions that suggest cranking the oven to its fullest capacity, but that’s what you have to do to make a great pizza at home. The single biggest flaw in most pizza dough recipes is the failure to instruct the maker to allow the dough to rest overnight in the refrigerator (or at least for a long time). This gives the enzymes time to go to work, pulling out subtle flavor trapped in the starch. The long rest also relaxes the gluten, allowing you to shape the dough easily, minimizing the elastic springiness that so often forces you to squeeze out all the gas. Lately, there’s been a controversy regarding what type of flour to use. Unbleached is a given. It simply delivers more flavor and aroma. For the past few years the trend has been toward high-gluten or bread flour because it promotes oven spring and holds together better during handling (this is called dough “tolerance”)...

Now that I’m living on the East Coast, I am in the center of Portuguese sweet bread universe. When I lived in California, I knew it as Hawaiian bread, but upon closer reading of the label, I learned that even the Hawaiians give credit to the Portuguese for this big, soft, sweet, round pillow of a loaf. One man I know from Los Angeles who summers on Nantucket told me he was in love with the sandwiches made on this bread from a small shop on the island. He was the first person I met with the same passion for this bread that many people feel toward rustic and wild-yeast breads of the artisan movement. When I began teaching at Johnson & Wales University, I found that each of my classes included at least one student who shared my friend’s passion for the sweet bread. Each of these students vows to improve upon the general formula, and this version is a result of the many tweakings the students who grew up with the real deal gave to the original version in an effort to make it conform to their childhood memories. The most distinctive aspect of this bread, besides the softness and the shape, is the flavor imparted by the powdered milk. I have tried making versions with whole milk and buttermilk, but once you get the taste of the powdered-milk version in your mind, no other taste will do.

Panettone is a traditional, rich Christmas bread originating in Milan. There are many folktales about its origins, the most popular being that it was created a few hundred years ago by a humble baker named Tony to woo his beloved, the daughter of a rich merchant. More importantly, he had to win over the father to the idea of his daughter marrying a baker, so he pulled out all the stops, filling his bread with the baker’s equivalent of the gifts of the wise men: butter, brandied dried and candied fruits, nuts, and sugar. The merchant was so impressed that he not only gave his daughter in marriage, but also set Tony up with his own bakery in Milan with the promise that he would continue to make his bread, pane Tony. For many years the standard panettone found in most bakeries and cookbooks has been one made with commercial yeast, a good but not great rendition. The best and most traditional versions are made by wild-yeast fermentation, augmented by a small amount of commercial yeast. Recently, one of the largest panettone bakeries in Italy changed its formula from commercial yeast to wild yeast, returning to the more traditional method that had all but been abandoned. The bakers discovered that not only does the bread have a longer shelf life due to the increased acidity, but it also outsold the commercial-yeast version. This added up to a huge increase in profits and, more importantly, to happier customers. The following formula will produce a long-keeping loaf that could easily become a perennial favorite at holiday time. It is more time-consuming to produce, but that’s the price of world-class quality. You can also make a perfectly good panettone by following the Stollen formula on page 252, shaping it in the round panettone style.

This is one of the breakthrough breads that taught me the value of combining large portions of pre-ferment with overnight cold fermentation. Semolina is the gritty, sandy flour milled from durum wheat. (Durum is the strain of wheat most closely identified with pasta.) It is a hard, high-protein wheat, but it is not high in gluten. The golden color is mainly due to a high proportion of beta-carotene, which contributes both aroma and flavor as well as the appealing hue. You may substitute a finer grind of this flour, called fancy durum (sometimes labeled “extra fancy durum”). When it is labeled “fancy durum,” the flour is milled to the consistency of regular bread flour. This is the grind used in pasta and also used in the 100 percent durum bread called pugliese (page 222). This version of pane siciliano consists of 40 percent semolina flour and 60 percent high-gluten or bread flour. The finished loaf has a beautiful blistered crust, not too crackly, and a crumb with large, irregular holes, open to the same degree as good French or Italian bread. The sweetness and nutty quality of the semolina, and the complementary flavor of the sesame-seed garnish make this one of my absolute favorite breads.