White Bread World

It all started with a message on my voice mail from Arnold Swartzenegger.  “Cawll me bawck,” he demanded. 

Needless to say, I called back. Luckily it wasn’t actually Arnold. It was my sister, and she was just kidding around. Her actual business was way more serious than most of the work of our favourite Austrian export.

 

“Do you know why the bread I made didn’t rise?”

“Well . . . it could be a lot of things . . ."

What followed was pretty much an interrogation.

Me: “Did you proof the yeast first?”

Brooke: “Uuuhmmm...”

Me: “Well, did the recipe tell you to mix the yeast with warm water before adding other stuff?”

Brooke: “Nope. I just mixed it all in.”

Me:“Okay, well that’s what Rhonda’s cousin does. It might help next time. Do you store your yeast in the fridge?”

Brooke: “No, it’s in the little packets.”

Me: “Did you check the expiry date?”

Brooke: “I just bought it!”

Me: “Oh, well that’s good then. So where did it rise? Is your house warm?”

And on it went for a little while, until we had exhausted most of the variables, and discussed many of the finer points of bread making in great detail. To be honest, we weren’t really able to get to the bottom of it, but the conversation really inspired me.

I have been making bread for a while now, but I can’t say I have ever been truly successful. I mean, I can do a pretty good job of the no-knead method, but it’s not the kind of bread you want to make a sandwich with, and it doesn’t really fit in the toaster. I decided it was time I really made bread right. And this time, I finally succeeded.

Before I get into the chemistry of bread, I want to tell you why bread is so fascinating to me.

First of all, bread is the stuff of life. It has been part of the human diet for thousands of years, ever since someone put flour and water together and cooked it over a fire. Since then, humanity has been working to perfect the art and science of bread. Somewhere along the line, they added yeast to the dough (probably in some other form, but who am I kidding, I am not a historian!), and found out it could really make that bannock more palatable! And the rest is history.

Of course, I doubt that the bread I make looks anything like the bread that was made by my ancestors, but I guess that’s the beauty of modern life. It’s true, I didn’t harvest the wheat or mill the flour myself, nor did I haul the water from the well, or even do whatever it is people to do make yeast. I guess that’s a lesson for another day. Still, I feel a lot closer to my ancestors, and the earth itself, when I mix those ingredients together and knead the bread into existence. So that’s why bread making appeals to me, and that’s why I think it belongs in this blog about living and eating closer to the earth.

White Bread (makes 2 loaves)

The most important thing to know about this bread recipe or any other is that the success of your bread has much more to do with environmental factors and accurate measurement than it does to do with the recipe itself. There is no such thing as the perfect bread recipe. It just doesn’t exist. If you want to make really good bread, read up on it, figure out the dos and don’ts, and then test yourself. Make basic white bread again and again until you get it right. Then, and only then, should you move on to something more advanced. Or so they say in the cookbooks. I always try the hardest thing first. So now I’m reverting to the basics.

Ingredients:

2 cups warm water (110 degrees Fahrenheit)
1/3 cup white sugar (feel free to use less- about 2 tbsp is standard)
1 ½ tbsp dry active yeast
1 ½ tsp salt
¼ cup olive oil
6 cups of hard white bread flour
flax seeds

Step 1: Water

It’s important to start with water at the right temperature. I know, it seems annoying and over the top to actually measure the water temperature, but I promise it’s worth it. The dough needs to be at the right temperature for the yeast to grow at the right speed—not too fast, not too slow. I don’t actually have anything better than a meat thermometer, but I figure that’s better than nothing at all. And I have to estimate where the 110 degree mark is because meat definitely needs to be hotter than warm water... but I measure! And that’s what matters.

So try to get the water to around 110 degrees F or 45 degrees C, and dissolve the sugar into it. Then stir in the yeast and let it sit for 10 minutes until it forms foam on the surface. This means the yeast is active. (If no foam forms, try again or use different yeast). Add the salt and the oil and combine.

Step 2: Mix it up

Now for the hard part. Start adding flour, one cup at a time, and mix with a wooden spoon until you have mixed in as much flour as you can. If you have a hook extension for your electric mixer, you can use that to help save you a bit of sweat. Once you get about 5 cups of flour mixed into the liquid, you’ll probably have a hard time adding any more. At this point, I transferred the dough to a floured surface and tried to knead in as much of the remaining flour as possible. Don’t fret if you don’t get it all to knead in, just do as much as you can. When you start kneading it should be a firm ball of dough.

Step 3: Do What you Knead To D

Kneading is weird. What you are technically trying to do is break down the bonds in the strings of gluten so that the bread is not too tough and chewy. The more you knead, the softer the bread should be. Simply push the dough into the counter with your palms repeatedly, fold, give the dough a ¼ turn, and do it all over again. If this seems awkward or if you wonder whether you’re doing it right, that’s normal. Like it said, kneading is weird. Just do what comes naturally. There is no right or wrong amount to knead, but generally recipes say to knead until smooth. I try to get as much flour in there as I can without making the dough too tough (it should retain some elasticity). The more you knead, the softer the bread is supposed to be, so don’t worry about kneading too much. If you are kneading by hand it is almost impossible to overdo it. 

Also, while I was kneading the bread in the pictures (which takes two hands, by the way-- it's hard to take a picture of that), I gradually added some flax seeds to the dough. You can do the same with a multigrain mixture, some nuts, or virtually any other dry ingredient you want in your bread. Keep in mind, however, that wet or moist ingredients may change the moisture content, which will inevitably change the overall consistency of the bread. So approach those ingredients with a little caution.

Step 4: The Long Rise

Once you’ve finished kneading, grease up a mixing bowl and put the dough inside, turning it a few times to get the oil to cover it. Now, place the bowl in a warm, draft-free place to rise. My house is pretty cold and drafty, so I put the bowl in the oven with another bowl of warm water beneath it, and I cover the bowl with a damp, warm towel. I also replace the bowl of warm water a few times during the rise. This really seems to help speed up the process.

Still, the recipe said it should only take 1 hour to rise, and I have to wait 2. The goal is for the dough to almost double in size, so let it take as long as it needs. If it doesn’t rise as much as you’d like, leave it a bit longer. If it still hasn’t quite doubled, it’s not the end of the world.

Step 5: The Short Rise

After the long rise is over, you get to punch the dough down. This is fun and kind of silly. The point is to try to get the bubbles and air out that have been formed by the yeast doing its chemical reaction thing. So it’s also a good idea to knead the dough a few more times at this point to make sure there are no bubbles in there. Then separate the dough into 2 loaves and shape them to fit 2 loaf pans (for this recipe, 9x5 pans work perfectly). If you want to roll them in flax or bran or whatever, now’s the time. Otherwise, place them in the bread pans and put them back in the oven for another rise.

Step 6: Baking

After about ½ hour, the bread should rise to about level with the top of the pan. At this point, you can remove the dough and preheat the oven to 350. Bake for about 30 minutes, or a bit longer if you like a crunchier crust. Once it’s finished, let it cool on a wire rack for a little while before removing it from the pan, in order to ensure that it maintains its proper shape.

And, voila!! Delicious, homemade white bread.

As previously mentioned, this is the first time I have been really successful, so don’t be fooled by how easy all of this sounds. But don’t be deterred, either. I learned today that making bread is really just the art of nursing a really fragile chemical reaction, and since there are so many variables, it’s hard to write perfect recipe for that reaction.

And finally, a note about flour, aka How to Make this Bread Whole Wheat

If you are bound and bent on making really good home made bread, a word of caution. The reason this bread turned out so well is because I used hard bread flour. This is flour that has more protein than All-Purpose or Cake and Pastry flour. As soon as you start playing with flour, you start playing with the amount of protein. And protein is what holds it all together, so you want to be careful doing this. The reason the bread you buy at the store is so soft is because they use dough conditioners and commercial equipment to make it. If you want to make home made whole wheat, start with adding some whole grain mixtures to your dough as you mix. If that works, try substituting a small amount ( 1 or 2 cups) of the hard whole wheat bread flour. You don't want to use much more than 50% whole wheat flour though, or you won't be happy with the result. 

If you want to try other kinds of bread, read up on the flours before you buy them. Hard white bread flour contains about 10% protein, so try to aim for that.

Good luck!

A Little Bit of Summer, in February

There’s nothing like enjoying the flavours of summertime in the middle of the winter.

Recently, in a deliciously warm cottage located on a pristine lake somewhere in the Muskokas, some friends and I were talking about pie. Pie is the greatest, we agreed, although we weren't complaining about the delicious chocolate cake we were gobbling down. Among the topics touched upon were the hilarious cake vs. pie debate we all agree is the best episode that the CBC Radio’s The Debaters has ever made, and a discussion of our favourite types of pie.

I, personally, have lots of favourite types of pie. My choice pretty much depends what season of the year it is. Lemon meringue is that all-season favourite that everybody loves (or so I thought, until I found out that my good friend Rhonda hates it!). Pumpkin is a fall favourite for sure... there is nothing like a delicious slice of spicy pumpkin pie after a thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. In the heat of summertime, any type of berry pie with [homemade] vanilla ice cream tastes like heaven. But for me, the ultimate pie is strawberry-rhubarb. I love the tangy tartness of the rhubarb, sweetened by fresh strawberries. To me, it is an icon of summer. And if the ingredients were harvested the same day that the pie was made, all the better.

This time of year the rhubarb and strawberries are all hiding under the snow, but luckily frozen rhubarb and strawberries work just as well. Of course, the taste is not quite comparable to fresh rhubarb and strawberries straight from the garden or local strawberry farm, but I’ll take frozen rhubarb and berries over no pie at all! Last summer, I managed to acquire an unnecessarily large quantity of rhubarb from a friend at work. I was making a rhubarb dessert for a workplace snack making contest, but ended up with way more rhubarb than I needed. The extra rhubarb was okay with me—and it’s even more okay with me now that I get to reap the benefits from the freezer in the middle of winter.

Unfortunately this year I didn’t have a freezer full of strawberries (unlike last year—I think my sister and I overdid it), so store bought berries had to suffice. Still, I think it turned out to be a pretty yummy pie!

Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie

Use your favourite pie recipe. Everybody has one, and if you don’t, my mother recommends the recipe on the Crisco box. I prefer shortening, but word on the street is that lard makes the best pie. I don’t notice the difference enough to care.

If there is one thing my mother definitely taught me about making pie, it is that you must not handle the crust too much. Mix it until it is just combined, and roll it as little as possible. If you have to roll it twice, the crust will not be flaky. But don’t fret! It will still be delicious, delicious pie.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Filling:

- 3 cups of fresh or frozen rhubarb
- 3 cups of fresh or frozen strawberries (my pie had a few other types of berries mixed in)
- ¾ cup of sugar
- 1/3 cup of all-purpose flour
- ½ tsp brown sugar

Mix the filling together, making sure the berries are well coated in sugar and flour. With frozen filling, it’s a good idea to let the fruit thaw a bit before baking. If you don’t want to wait, adjust cooking times accordingly—it will take a pie made with frozen fruit a bit longer to bake through.

Top the pie with pastry or a crumbly streusel topping. Your choice! If you choose the crust, make sure to brush it with milk or egg whites. This looks pretty, and will help fix any little flaws or mistakes in the crust, too. Bake at 375 degress for 25 minutes, then increase temperature to 425 for another 20 minutes or until the crust is golden and the filling is bubbly.

Voila! A little taste of summertime. This should hold me through until at least mid-March (but it probably won't last that long!). 

I’ve Come Here to Lose the Fog

The phrases, “living off the land,” “homesteading,” and “country living” usually bring to mind images of the abundance of the harvest and the beauty of the land. Me, I immediately recall my parents’ farm. I see lambs frolicking in the pasture, hay being combined and bailed, and asparagus growing in the garden. What I don’t imagine is snow and ice in the driveway and larges piles of wood that need to be stacked in the garage and brought in to the house regularly so that we can stay warm.

So far, winter maintenance has been the biggest chore we’ve enjoyed since living in the country. I’ll be honest: I have definitely not been bearing the brunt of the work. That joy has belonged mostly to my better half, who is the only one who knows how [and enjoys] to operate the tractor. Therefore, he has been blessed with the title of Head Snow Plow Operator and Wood Mover.

Still, I have enjoyed moving the wood that the tractor magically drops on the porch into the cold room so that it is located at a more convenient distance from the stove. There is something romantic not only about being warmed by a glowing fire, but also about knowing that the wood that is warming you got there by the fruits of your hard labour. Of course, it’s nothing like what the real country-folk do: we don’t spend our summer weekends felling trees and splitting wood, but until you’ve helped move a gigantic pile of firewood from the middle of the driveway into the garage and then into the house, you aren’t permitted to judge!

The point that I am making is that the act of keeping warm is yet another way in which we are connected to the earth beneath our feet. It’s not just the hard work that we crave. Those logs that go on the fire are trees, and the trees grew from the ground and were warmed by the sun and watered by the rain—just like our food. Even the oil or natural gas that you might be warming your house with is a product of the earth. It’s all just energy, cycling around and keeping us moving. It keeps you warm and alive, whether you are conscious of it or not.

So today, as I throw another log on the fire and sit at my table to tap out another one of these journal entries, I take a moment to remember that I am “just a cog in something turning.” Small, and yet significant.  I think it’s important that we don’t forget where we came from. It’s the same place everything came from. And it means we are all connected, whether we like it or not.

[10 points to the first person who can name the song and the artist quoted above]

Homegrown's All Right with Me

Environmentally, it just doesn't make sense to eat meat. We can get all of the nutrients we need from fruits, vegetables, and grains which require much less energy and water for production. However, in colder climates, produce must be transported from the South, and that takes energy too. I am Canadian, and this is winter: you can't get much more local than locally produced meat. After all, that is the only way our ancestors were able to survive through the winter.

My family does not produce their own food because of the "locavore" trend or because they decided to live off the land. For my father, farming is a way of life. As a boy, he and his brothers hunted rabbit, deer and partridge to help their family of 11 survive. My grandfather raised various types of livestock on their rural Peterborough County farm. Farming is in my heritage. Today, my father farms lamb, beef, and chicken on our Hastings County farm, and in the summer my sister cultivates a vegetable garden in a converted section of pasture.

Living on the fruits of my family's farm is the truest way for me to eat locally. After all, I can't get much more connected to the earth than this! I know where these lambs were born, how they were raised, what they ate, and that they were killed in a humane manner. I can eat meat and truly feel safe, because I know exactly where it came from.

I wanted to do something fun with lamb, so I found yet another wonderful recipe from my favourite cook book, Simply in Season by Mary Beth Lind and Cathleen Hockman-Wert. This is a fragrant, spicy, warm North African stew that you can heat up with spice as much or as little as you like.

Marrakesh Lamb Stew

1 1/2 lbs boneless lamb



Brown the mean in 1 to 2 tablespoons of cooking oil and set aside.

1 large onion
2 cloves garlic

Stir the onion and garlic into the meat drippings until translucent and tender. Return the meat to the pot.

5 medium carrots, chopped
2 cups of stewed tomatoes
2 medium turnips or 1 rutabaga
1 medium potato
1 cup of beef broth or tomato juice
1 cinnamon stick
1 teaspoon each: ground cumin, coriander, cloves, turmeric
crushed hot chilies to tastes
a pinch of ground allspice and nutmeg


Add all of the above ingredients and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 40 minutes.

Then add:

2 cups of cooked chickpeas
1/2 cup of pitted prunes
1/2 cup of raisins

Cook until everything is tender and then stir in some fresh parsley. Serve with couscous or rice!

Cookies!

Reverse chocolate chip cookies: probably the only kind of cookie that can compete with good old chocolate chip. My dear friend Rhonda was kind enough to share with me her secret recipe for chocolate chip cookies, which she honed to perfection a few years back. Recently, I decided to whip up a batch for the holidays, but to my chagrin, I discovered that my supply of baking ingredients had somehow depleted. As usual, I was forced to get creative!

Here's a picture of the original recipe that I copied out in lime green marker:

I made two minor alterations to this recipe: instead of semi-sweet chocolate chips, I used white chocolate chips, and instead of using 1 3/4 cups of flour, I used 1 1/4, replacing the remaining 1/2 cup of flour with cocoa.

As with any cookie recipe, I can't stress how important it is to use butter, unless the recipe specifies otherwise. Cookies made with margarine will obviously have less fat, but they will also be less moist and chewy. I make cookies so infrequently, I feel that it's important to make the product worth all of that work! If you're desperate, the best substitute for butter is shortening.

Here are some shots of me mixing up the batch.

Note the awesome hand-knitted wool sweater (with a tag that says, "Made with love by Grandma." Seriously. It really does. And it really was.), and festive Christmas socks. I was really pumped for the holidays.

In case you're wondering, that's homemade butterscotch ice cream in the background. I didn't make it, my boyfriend did, but combined with cookie dough, it's to die for. Even in the winter!

The finished product! Or at least some of it. This recipe makes at least 2 dozen big cookies, so make sure to share with some cookie monsters near you.

Vegetarian Peanut Stew: Local Veggies with a West African Twist

For those not schooled in the joys of turning ho-hum local vegetables into delicious masterpieces, a stew for which the main ingredients are cabbage and squash might sound anything but adventurous. But a few exotic flavours can make a huge difference! I used the last of my delicious local organic vegetables to produce this West African delight based on a recipe from my very favourite cookbook: Simply in Season, by Mary Beth Lind and Cathleen Hockman-Wert. The tomatoes, cabbage, squash, garlic, and onions were all locally grown.

This is a rich, almost meaty vegetarian stew. I find that the cilantro and red pepper add some important flavours, and I’d recommend the crushed peanuts—they provide a delicious crunchy texture. I love this recipe so much that I double it so that I have some in the freezer for later. 

The only downside is that you wouldn’t want to serve this stew to your calorie-counting friends, or those who have nut allergies. 

Ingredients:

2 tbsp peanut oil

1 chopped onion

2-3 cloves of minced garlic

2-3 cups of chopped cabbage

3 cups of squash, cubed (you can also substitute sweet potato here)

fresh or dried hot red pepper, to taste

1 tsp of grated ginger root

1 cup of liquid (apple juice, tomato juice, broth or water)

1 apple, chopped (optional)

3 cups of tomatoes, chopped

1/2 cup of peanut butter

Toppings:

ground or crushed peanuts

fresh cilantro

fresh green onions

Fry onion and garlic in oil until soft. Add cabbage, squash, ginger, pepper and liquid. Simmer until squash is softened. Add apples, tomatoes, and peanut butter; heat through. Keep warm until ready to serve. Serve with toppings optional. 

* A note on heat: I have read that West African dishes are notoriously spicy. So if you want to be authentic, spice it up! If you don't have a spicy tooth, don't worry. This dish is still delicious when only mildly spiced.

A Gift, A Celebration

There is something in the way the wind catches the leaves—something about how the sun falls on the tall yellow grasses and they glow, almost as if the energy of the sun is captured momentarily and turned back toward the world, rippling in the breeze like liquid gold. It is a gift, and it is not for me alone.

Forgive me while I wax poetic, but every once in a while, I have a moment in the outdoors that reminds me of all it is that I have come to know (or at least think I know). On a recent October morning, having taken the day off, I put on my jacket and enjoyed my hot breakfast out in the autumn sunshine. Sitting there, sipping my coffee, something struck me. I think it was the beauty that is always occuring in the right now. So I struck out, to walk around the field that is my back yard. Up until that point, I had been unsure whether or not we would regret the decision to move into a country home. But that morning I remembered why I was there. It’s been so long since the sun has touched me like that. Somewhere deep inside of me, something was stirring. I’m waking up.

We moved here for various reasons, a big one for me being that we would finally be able to grow a large garden and live off of the fruits of our labour. I’m a farmer. It’s in my blood. And this summer, as a member of a local CSA, I was reminded of how pleasurable it is to be nourished by, and connected to, the earth under my feet. I had forgotten, in the 7 years since I left the farm, how much that meant to me. I haven’t lived in a place where I could be alone in the wind and the sun for a long time. I feel as if I have come home again.

To date, this blog has been about cooking. But I think it will go deeper than that. For me, cooking is a celebration of the earth and the nourishment that it provides. I think that is what this blog will come to be—a way to share that celebration with you.