The Recipe in My Head

Photo by Matt Korahais.

There's an essay in Mouth Wide Open where John Thorne talks about seeing a recipe printed on the back of a pasta box as "a dish wildly signalling me from the other side, begging to be let out," rather than "instructions for making a dish." I feel like somehow that's the way I approached this week's Tuesdays with Dorie cake, which was supposed to be an apple coconut cake but somehow wound up a cranberry chestnut cake. It was less of my usual substitution and more of the process described above for one reason--I went shopping twice with this cake in mind, and both times stubbornly refused to buy apples. And I really like apples and wish I had some in the house right now. But something didn't want this cake to be made as specified.

Photo by Matt Korahais.

 It may be because it has similarities to my favorite yogurt cake, which I frequently make with cranberries. The (local!)chestnuts were leftover from a late batch of stuffing. The cake was good, though probably drier than Dorie was going for.

BBA "French" and "Italian" Breads

Last night I went to a little event at a downtown bookstore that featured Amanda Hesser (NYT Food Writer), Julie Powell (Julie & Julia, and Judith Jones (Editor for Practically Everyone I Can Think Of) speaking about the enduring legacy of Julia Child. Hesser was concise and incisive, Powell voluble and mobile--intensely thoughtful, and Jones warmly patrician, with practiced delivery and a well-developed sense of humor.

I enjoyed the opportunity to listen to these three ladies, to hear the 'real' voices of the literary voices I've read eagerly. I was a little disappointed in the quality and quantity of the questions ("Did you really eat aspic?), but since I didn't ask any myself, can't really complain.

The event did make me confront an issue I've been wrestling a bit with, which is the focus and style of this very blog. I know food blogs are a dime a dozen, but I do enjoy mine (and enjoy my cooking more), and I want to spend some real time working on the quality of the writing here. It's going to take attention, and time. Ideally, each post would be a well-thought-out, honest, mini-essay, with something new to say or instruct, possibly some good links, and connected to an overarching goal or writing persona that is uniquely mine. Writers like John Thorne and Julie Powell have raised the bar in their different ways, daring me to engage with the food I make on a visceral and intellectual level, to examine it from the vantage of appetite and history and my honest understanding of self and family. Perhaps tellingly, neither of these writers use photographs or pictures on a regular basis. They rely on the quality of their prose and the urgency of their interest and passion. I could read John Thorne's work forever, and while he comfortably fills his own niche, he makes me believe there might be a niche for me as well.

This is just to say, look out for some longer musing and hopefully some material more probing than 'I made this! It was good!" though there will be those as well.

By the way, as a part of the Bread Baker's Apprentice Challenge, I made these French and Italian style breads. They were good. I present the recipes together because they are essentially the same. Both begin with a prefermented dough to simulate the leftover dough that would be used in a similar bakery recipe (Once again I wasn't on top of it enough to just save some of the French Bread dough to make the Italian...go me). The method continues exactly the same (the Italian gets a little sugar and oil enrichment along the way) until the shaping. For the French, I made one baguette, one batard, and one little round loaf. I turned the Italian dough into a pile of picturesque little rolls.

Both formulae produced sturdy, flavorful sandwich breads. Matt's happiness as being able to have a simple turkey sandwich was a firm reminder to make this kind of bread more often. I preferred the Italian style, in as much as there was a difference, but that might just have been my fondness for the little roll shapes.

Weekly Bread

From San Francisco to the deep South to Ireland, I made three breads this week; San Francisco sourdough loosely based on Daniel Leader's recipe in Bread Alone, and skillet corn bread and Irish soda bread from John Thorne's recipes in Outlaw Cook and Serious Pig. It was a big week for buttermilk, especially with the (upcoming) Tuesdays with Dorie recipe. Each of these in its own way was so simple, and so delicious. It's bread month over at The Brooklyn Kitchen, and I guess they've either got the season pinned or are exerting an unhealthy influence over my flour consumption. Or every month is bread month here.

The Hungry Ghost

In my ongoing effort to prove the obvious fact that Northampton, MA is, alongside Brooklyn, one of the greatest places on earth, I'd like to take today to highlight two of the town's wonderful features: The Hungry Ghost Bakery and its early morning employee, the food writer John Thorne.

The Hungry Ghost, run by Jonathan Stevens and Cheryl Maffei, is every hippy's dream. It's a tiny building with a huge orange oven, everything flour-dusted, warm, and wonderful-smelling. It's named for a Buddhist spirit of insatiable appetite, and more pertinently, for the yeast that resembles that spirit. I think I could cheerfully live there. Instead, I just linger around their doorstep hungrily when I pass through town, and have little fantasies about being one of their regulars and bigger fantasies about working there. Forever. Many people have written articles about them, many of them good, so I won't go into detail, but in case anyone was wondering, this is one of the things that fills my dreams before I go to sleep. Good bread, little town, invisible spirits.

And, as if good bread and perfect DIY ambience were not enough, The Hungry Ghost and others have started one of the most wonderful projects ever, the Little Red Hen. Longtime advocates of local flour, Stevens and Maffei have been working for a while to encourage local farmers in Western MA to grow wheat again. This year, as a combination publicity stunt and actual venture, they have asked their customers to do the same, in small plots in backyards and back fields. They will test out wheat strains and growing methods, and the whole will be scythed and collected by bicycle (and in case you were wondering, the downtown garbage collection contracts in Northampton are held by the same cyclists, the Pedal People). This is so good. So Good! I could spend my life dreaming up projects like this one. I hope I do. (See: finding my calling--to be continued).

There is one more debt that I owe (indirectly) to The Hungry Ghost, and to my mother, who found the article. A long article in Hampshire Life, the weekend magazine of the Daily Hampshire Gazette, the paper that records whatever it feels like and to hell with the rest, introduced me to John Thorne. Whenever I read up on a subject, in this case food, I start to find that there are classics of the genre or subject that everyone refers to and that I simply must read immediately.

My interest was piqued by the article, which focused on the fact that the well-known food writer works the early shift at The Hungry Ghost. I was intrigued enough to check out a few of Thorne's books from the library, and to subscribe to his newsletter, Simple Cooking. It soon became clear that not only was Thorne (who collaborates with his wife, Matt), one of those semi-hidden classics, a food writer's food writer, and an addictive essayist.

He's so smart, so non-elitist, and so curious. I can't do him half justice in the writing of this blurb, but my recommendation is unequivocal. Even if you are not a foodie reader, he's worth it. Most of his books are at the Brooklyn Public Library, or reasonable to buy. I especially recommend the Irish potato chapter in Pot on the Fire.

In sum, The Hungry Ghost and John Thorne. A match made in heaven, I'm glad I've come to know both of them, they inspire me to live simply, and to make good bread as a part of a community. Read his work, eat their bread, and revel in the happiness that comes when the perfect thing is graced with the perfect name. And admit it, Northampton MA may be one of the greatest places on earth. Paradise, maybe?

P.S. For those of you following my career, please note that Matt Lewis Thorne (John's wife) appears to work as a librarian at Forbes Library. As usual, I must be on to something.