European

This is the perfect dough for creative shaping, and the one used throughout France for many types of breads sold under various local names. The dough is similar to regular French baguette dough, but it includes a small percentage of whole grain, either whole wheat, pumpernickel-grind or white rye, or cornmeal. This additional grain gives the bread more character and grain flavor, and contributes to the brownish-gold, country-style crust that distinguishes it from white flour French bread. Most important, this is the dough, as I learned it from Professor Raymond Calvel, that opened my thinking to the use of large percentages of pre-ferment. On pages 72–79 you will see a number of shapes you can make from this dough. The most famous are the fendu, épi, couronne, and auvergnat. There are many others that you may also have seen. As always, though, the first emphasis must be on the quality of the dough. There is nothing more disappointing to a bread lover than to see a lot of work go into a shaping technique for a dough that does not deliver world-class flavor and texture. This particular dough never disappoints.

The technique by which this bread is made has tremendous implications for the baking industry and for both professional and home bakers. The unique delayed-fermentation method, which depends on ice-cold water, releases flavors trapped in flour in a way different from the more traditional twelve-stage method. The final product has a natural sweetness and nutlike character that is distinct from breads made with exactly the same ingredients but fermented by the standard method, even with large percentages of pre-ferment. Also, because the dough is as wet as rustic ciabatta-style dough, it can be used in many ways, from baguettes, as Philippe Gosselin does in Paris, to ciabatta, pugliese, stirato, pain rustique, and even pizza and focaccia. This bread shows us another way to manipulate time, and thus outcomes, by manipulating temperature. The cold mixing and fermentation cycles delay the activation of the yeast until after the amylase enzymes have begun their work of breaking out sugar from the starch. When the dough is brought to room temperature and the yeast wakes up and begins feasting, it feeds on sugars that weren’t there the day before. Because the yeast has converted less of the released sugar to alcohol and carbon dioxide, a reserve of sugar remains in the fermented dough to flavor it and caramelize the crust during the baking cycle. While this delayed-fermentation method doesn’t work for every dough (especially those that are enriched with sugar and other flavor-infusing ingredients), used appropriately, it evokes the fullness of flavor from the wheat beyond any other fermentation method I’ve encountered. As a bonus, and despite all the intimidating science, this is actually one of the easiest doughs in this book to make. Without question this is the dough that has gotten the most recent attention from my students at Johnson & Wales, The California Culinary Academy, and around the country in my daylong workshops for home bakers. It is not just the flavor of the bread that excites them, although without it the concept would be interesting but moot. It is the idea of pressing into new frontiers of bread making, of realizing that there are still areas of exploration not charted by even the professional community. We are learning that as we deconstruct the bread-baking process, we are still in the early discovery stage of what is possible. As in any facet of life, this is an exciting place to find oneself, like standing at the end of the world, facing the words, as so often showed up on ancient maps, “Unknown Kingdoms Be Here.”

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.

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.

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

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.

Brioche is the standard by which all rich breads are judged. In fact, whenever rich breads are described, they are often compared to brioche or called a relative. Brioche is actually simple in character: it is enriched with a small amount of sugar, substantial amounts of egg, and lots of butter—at least in excess of 20 percent (butter to flour ratio) but usually 50 percent or higher. I have rarely seen brioche made commercially with more than 75 percent butter, but I have seen formulas that call for up to 100 percent. There are countless formula variations. Some are made with sponges or other pre-ferments, some by the direct-dough method. Some versions are immediately fermented and then shaped and baked, while some require overnight chilling. The anecdotal history of this bread includes allusions to Queen Marie Antoinette, whose last words are reputed to be properly translated as “Let them eat brioche,” and not “Let them eat cake.” There are a lot of reasons to assume that either translation is more myth than fact, but it does beg the question, why would anyone even think to make such a statement? This may be because brioche had two distinct expressions in pre-Revolution France. One version, for the wealthy and thus called rich man’s brioche, was loaded with butter (70 percent or more). The other, made for the huddled masses and therefore called poor man’s brioche, was butter challenged (20 to 25 percent). As so often happens with bread, it makes a perfect symbol for many things, not the least of which is the class struggle between the haves and the have-nots. So, it would make sense that if the queen was about to lose her head because the revolutionaries were, for the most part, have-nots, why not offer them rich man’s brioche. “Yeah, we can do that, sure.” But, alas, it was too late, too futile, and probably too arrogant a gesture. When we examine the formula for rich man’s brioche, one thing becomes evident: it has almost the same flour to fat to sugar ratio as pie dough. The main difference is the yeast and eggs. Most pie dough, whether pâte brisée (plain) or pâte sucrée (sweet), and whether flaky or mealy, is made by some variation of what is known as the 1-2-3 method. This means 3 parts flour, 2 parts fat, and 1 part water (and also, in sweet or sucrée pie dough, sugar). The ratio translates as 66.6 percent fat to 100 percent flour. Brioche, rich man’s brioche at least, has between 50 and 80 percent butter, right in the pie-dough range. This means that brioche can, in principle, be used to make a very nice tender pie or tart dough, which is often done in French pâtisseries. It is a wonderful alternative to the flaky or mealy pie dough under quiche or other custard tarts, as I have witnessed in the clafouti sold in the pastry shop of Paris’s Ritz Hotel. Apparently, they make hundreds of these tartlets everyday for their guests and can barely keep up with the demand. Other applications of brioche include loaf breads for the definitive French toast, tea and café rolls, wraps for meat- or vegetable-filled molds, and, most famously, small fluted rolls with “heads” (petites brioches à tête). Beyond that, there are the infinite regional and holiday expressions of the bread, from the Italian pandoro and panettone, to the kugelhopf of Alsace, stollen of Germany and Switzerland, and the amazing meat- and- cheese-filled Italian version called casatiello. The following versions of brioche give you three options, depending on the amount of butter you feel ready to tackle. In the spirit of Queen Marie, we will call them rich man’s, middleclass, and poor man’s brioche, all of which have valid applications in the bread canon.

When it comes to holiday and festival breads, the varieties and secret family recipes are endless. But when broken down to their basic components, they are pretty much variations on a theme. This is especially evident in the various Greek breads. Artos is the general name for Greek celebration breads, but they are given particular names and twists and turns for specific festivals. It is the twists ands turns that make the breads special, bringing visual drama, history, and family tradition into the process. For instance, the color of the fruit is different for Christmas breads than for Easter since Christmas is a festival of incarnation, while Easter is a festival of resurrection and transformation. The breads are often brought to church by home bakers, blessed by the priest, and then brought to the table or given to the needy. I love the designs of the nativity christopsomos, with its bread-dough cross laminated on top of a round loaf and of the Easter egg–braided lambropsomo, also called tsoureki (a Turkish variation). The orange and brandied vassilopita, served on New Year’s Day in honor of Saint Basil, always has a gold coin hidden in it, not unlike the three kings cake of New Orleans and Spanish cultures. The following master formula can be used as the base for any of these breads, and some specific holiday variations follow. The formula uses a wild-yeast starter, along with a spiking of commercial yeast, to create an authentic-tasting, yet manageable, bread. Nowadays, most versions are made completely from commercial yeast, but this is only a recent innovation. If you do not have any barm on hand, you may replace it with an equal amount of poolish. The fermentation and proofing times will remain the same.

Add a touch of Provence by applying a rub of thyme, marjoram, rosemary, and sage to sirloin steak.

Even though this fancy-sounding stew (pronounced boor-gen-YUN or boor-ge-NYON) takes a while to prepare, it’s well worth the time. Packed with beef and vegetables, it’s a complete meal in a bowl.