The Kitchen Counter Cooking School (23 page)

Armed with their knives, the women found their loaves and exchanged murmurs. “It's so soft!” and “Look, it's starting to look like bread.” Most carefully sliced slashes in theirs; Sabra branded hers with a star. Jeff waved everyone away from the oven and pulled open the doors. The heat blast felt almost like a physical punch. I slid the two sheets of bread into the oven. Earlier, I had set a small pan in the bottom. I poured water into the hot pan. As it hissed and steamed violently, I slammed the door shut. The steam helps the dough “spring” in the oven with a sudden burst of heat.

As it baked, we moved on to a basic tomato sauce. Many jars and cans of spaghetti sauce include significant amounts of added sodium and sugar. Also, given that a sauce is little more than some aromatics, seasonings, and tomatoes, it's often less expensive to make at home. During the Alfredo lesson, Jeff had set up five portable electric and propane burners from the kitchen's inventory around the table; it was simply too hot to keep cooking over the big stove.

“Who wants to demonstrate?” Gen raised her hand. She skipped around the table and grabbed the spoon. “Okay, Gen, warm some olive oil in a pan. Add some garlic, onions, and herbs until the onions are soft.” While she stirred I opened a can of diced tomatoes, and when the vegetables were ready, Gen plopped them into the saucepan along with a couple of pinches of red pepper flakes and salt, some water, and a bay leaf. She brought it to a boil and then reduced the heat to a simmer. “And let's have a big hand for Gen and her sauce!” I said. Everyone clapped. Gen took a bow.

As the sauce bubbled lightly, we shifted to another burner for a quick
pomodoro,
or fresh tomato sauce. I took off my watch and asked Cheryl to time the process. The sauce started with heating olive oil, then adding chopped garlic, sliced cherry tomatoes, and a splash of the pasta water. We let it simmer briefly and then added two handfuls of cooked linguine to the sauce along with a toss of chopped basil. Start to finish, the sauce clocked in at less than five minutes. By the time it was done, so was the spaghetti sauce.

“Now it's your turn.” I waved my hand over the center of the worktable, where bowls sat holding the vegetables chopped at the start of class, along with some cream, various cheeses, cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, cilantro, parsley, and lemon. Lisa brought over bowls of cooked spaghetti, penne, and macaroni. Everyone shifted into action, grabbed a pan, found an empty burner on the table or stove, and settled in to work.

I observed their selections. Each person made something completely different. Terri faithfully replicated the
pomodoro
sauce. Sabra made creamy macaroni and cheese. Jodi sautéed all the vegetables quickly, then added the penne, chopped basil, and olive oil and lovingly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese over the top. With a graceful, seemingly practiced move, she dropped it into a pasta bowl, then she stood back to admire her work. “Wow, look at this,” she said to herself. Then she turned to Shannon. “Can you believe that I made this? It's so pretty.”

Ding! We retrieved the dark blond loaves from the oven. Although it's best to let bread rest and cool, the smell insisted that we try one loaf almost immediately. Steam escaped as Mike held a hot loaf in a diaper and broke open the crust. “I like to rip bread,” he said. “It's not the same if you slice it.” The kitchen went quiet as everyone lingered, dipping the still-hot bread into small bowls of olive oil laced with herbs and garlic. The crusts of the other loaves crackled as they cooled on a nearby counter. “I could do this, I could really do this,” mused Jodi. “I bet my son would eat this, too.” Jeff brought out a bottle of white wine and poured short glasses. Everyone sampled one another's pasta sauce, plus the
pomodoro
and spaghetti sauces. The room erupted into a series of “mmmm's” and “yumm's.”

“It's all good, I mean really good,” Dri said. “It's kind of surprising, really, all the different dishes you can do with a few ingredients.”

The group collected their pasta and still-warm loaves to take home. Sweating under my own apron, I wished everyone a good night. Mike took my hand and led me across the street. We sat on the curb cloaked in shadow in the cooling night air. Late on a Monday, the normally busy thoroughfare was quiet. A waning moon lit the sky. “It's amazing,” Mike said. “Last week we were on the other side of the world looking up at the moon, remember?” I leaned my head on his shoulder.

Then we heard a voice, a familiar one. “I made bread. Yes, me. Yes, really.” Donna emerged, balancing her cell phone on her shoulder, holding a box of pasta and a loaf of bread in her arms. “I have pasta, too.” Pause. “No,
I
made it. Yes,
me
. Don't sound so surprised!” She got into her car and drove off into the night.

This recipe is adapted from the master recipe in the excellent book
Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day
by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoë François. It's simple to prepare and the dough keeps in the fridge for up to two weeks. I often add a tablespoon of dried thyme, rosemary, or herbes de Provence to the water to infuse the bread with extra flavor. The recipe was designed to work on a baking stone, but I get similar results with a shallow cast iron skillet. A cookie sheet will work, but your loaf may not get quite as brown and crusty. You can find the original recipe plus helpful photos and variations at
www.artisanbreadinfive.com
.

 

 

 

3 cups lukewarm water (about 100°F)
1
tablespoons yeast
1 tablespoon kosher salt
6
cups (32 ounces/900 grams) unsifted unbleached all-purpose
white flour
Additional flour to create loaves
Cornmeal

Combine the water, yeast, and salt in a 5-quart bowl or plastic food container with a lid. Stir to mix. Add all of the flour at once and mix with a wooden spoon until the dough is wet and sticky with no dry patches. Cover with a lid or plastic wrap, but do not seal airtight. Let it rise for about 2 hours at room temperature. If you are not using it immediately, refrigerate the dough, covered, for up to 2 weeks.

To make a loaf, lightly sprinkle some flour onto the dough's surface. Scoop up a handful the size of a grapefruit, and cut or tear it away from the remainder. Rub the dough with a layer of flour while gently stretching the top around to tuck the sides into the bottom to form a round, smooth loaf. Put the loaf on a pizza peel or cutting board dusted with cornmeal to prevent sticking. Let it rise, uncovered, for at least a half hour or as long as 90 minutes. The loaf will plump but not change radically in size.

About 20 minutes before baking, preheat the oven to 450°F. Place a broiler tray or other metal pan on the bottom rack of the oven. Put the baking stone or cast iron skillet on the middle rack.

Dust the loaf liberally with flour. Slash the top with a cross or three lines with a sharp knife and slide it onto the preheated baking surface. Carefully pour about 1 cup of hot water into the broiler tray or metal pan and close the oven door to trap the steam. Bake for about 30 minutes, until the crust is browned and the loaf feels light and hollow. Cool to room temperature.