Real Baking with Rose Levy Beranbaum

Me! Yes—I know I know—people are always shocked when I defend bread machines but here’s the full story behind it.

When I started writing about bread, many years ago, I wouldn’t even consider using anything but my hands. I remember writing something along the lines of “not for me a bread machine that would rob me of the pleasure of touching the bread.” But several years later, when I started working on “The Bread Bible,” I realized how limited my thinking had been. For one thing, when trying to create a bread such as ciabatta, with large holes, the dough needs to be so sticky it clings to your fingers. My temptation was always to add too much flour which closed up those large holes.

It was my friend Brinna Sands of King Arthur Flour, who encouraged me to try a mixer or bread machine, especially for these sticky doughs. She explained that the advantage of the bread machine over the stand mixer is that the gentle mixing action is most similar to that of the commercial spiral mixer preferred by artisan bread bakers. This is because it incorporates less oxygen into the dough, maintaining more flavor and keeping the dough more golden in color. She also shared the invaluable advice that she often uses the bread machine to raise the dough as well. For making single loaves or bread, the bread machine quickly became my first choice, but it is only recently that I have had the pleasure of using a Zojirushi bread machine.

I’ve ridden in a Rolls Royce on several occasions, but my dough never has—that is until now. The Zo, as it’s so fondly nicknamed (partly because people seem to find the full name a tongue twister—it’s pronounced: zo-juh-roo-sh) is often referred to as the Rolls Royce of bread machines. And now I know why. The slow, even whirling action of the two dough blades mixes the dough so gently during the first three minutes that nothing jumps out. After the first three minutes, the speed of the blades increases for kneading, alternating from clockwise to counter clockwise with such perfect motion, scraping the corners and sides becomes all but obsolete. And after kneading, the interior heats and maintains an even 83 to 84 ºF./28 to 29ºC. ideal for raising the bread.

The Zo is easily programmable, with three “homemade” settings making it possible to do an automatic degassing (stirring down of the raised bread) followed by a second rise after which I prefer to shape the bread by hand, the artisan way, letting it rise, and then baking it in a conventional oven. However, if I need some plain white bread for my meatballs, I’d sooner mix knead and bake in my new Zo on the quick setting, and have good tasting bread in 45 minutes than to run out to the supermarket and buy an inferior product in almost the same time!

Here’s how I program my personal settings for my soft white bread:
On Homemade setting 1, I program only a 3 minute knead. After mixing, I allow the dough to rest (autolyse) for 20 minutes. Then I switch to Homemade setting 2 which I’ve programmed for a 13 minute knead, a first rise of 1 1/2 hours, and a second rise of 1 hour. Of course you can adjust this based on which recipe you choose to bake. Simply watch the rise the first time you bake a new bread and if it seems to be ready early reduce the time or if it seems to need more time increase it.
Zo that’s the story!

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i'll be away until july 9 so may not be able to answer most of your questions. thankfully i see that many of you have done a beautiful job in my absence and it is much appreciated.
best,
rose

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I think I’ve told this story before but for those who may have missed it, here’s the background to this photo that I hope you will find inspiring, i.e. I hope you will see how much one can improve with practice and determination!

Elliott and I were not yet married so this was a little over 31 years ago. Elliott’s son Michael was celebrating his 13th birthday and had the good taste to request see ingthe Broadway play Dracula with Frank Langela. I offered to make the birthday cake. This was BG (before ganache) and I wanted a rich dark chocolate frosting if not for the cake itself at least for the decoration. So I kept adding brown food coloring, not realizing that it would darken on its own after several hours.

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Hi,

This was the cake that I made this weekend (with your help!) for my
cousin's wedding.

At the wedding I was asked if I could come teach a class on cake
decorating! I thought they were kidding! This was only my fourth
wedding cake!!! Anyways, I was honoured... but I think I will just
tell them to all go buy your book;)

Thanks again!
Michelle

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Rose,

My fiance and I heeded your sage advice and went with a three, instead of four, tiered cake. Chocolate butter cake filled with orange mousseline buttercream and chocolate ganache and frosted with the orange buttercream. It turned out great, even though we baked, filled and frosted on a 90 plus degree day in a kitchen without air conditioning. I've attached a photo. Thank you for your wonderful recipes and helpful tips.

Best,

Betsy

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One of my very favorite things to eat are fried clams but rarely do I find them worthy of eating. For one thing, if they are just the strips without the bellies, they are more batter than clam. Only if they are steamers (aka piss clams) so they won’t have the right texture variation from plump juicy to crisp chewy. And if the place uses a low grade commercial oil for frying and doesn’t change it often enough, the fried clams become all but indigestible. I have found one place in the world that makes fried clams exactly to my taste—The Clam Shack in Kennebunkport Maine (see below for contact info). (Actually this was a discovery of my eating partner in crime Elizabeth Karmel of Grill Friends). I have driven miles to get there from wherever part in Maine I find myself.

Sadly and obviously fried clams can’t be shipped, but to my delight, The Clam Shack has just started shipping their lobster roll kit! It is shipped overnight in Styrofoam, with icepacks, and despite the 90 degree weather it arrived in perfect condition—the ice still frozen and the lobsters, even the Styrofoam, smelling only of that dreamy briny/sweet sea-breeze aroma.

The kit includes one pound of whole lobster tails and claws which I couldn’t bear to cut into smaller than 1-inch chunks. Also included are 6 excellent top- split hot dog buns that are baked side-by-side, the better to absorb the butter I brushed on them after pulling them apart and before lightly grilling them. Mayonnaise is also included in the kit but I prefer to make my own lemony version (see recipe below). These lobsters deserve it. All in all the kit produces a near effortless and glorious repast.

This kit is designed for 4 to 6 people, assuming one will serve other things such as coleslaw or, as they do in many restaurants, french fries. But I decided that I wanted to indulge in nothing but lobster rolls and to invite two special people to share this luxury with us. Since I started my soon-to- be published book I have invited no one to dinner as the dinning room table became progressively stacked with equipment, ingredients, and unread publications not to mention the box loads of other such things filling the living/dining/work room area. But this windfall lobster kit deserved and prompted a major reorganization effort. I didn’t have to think hard to decide on the guests: Fellow cookbook authors Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg, with whom I’ve been exchanging e-mails over the past several years, and who recently became wine (and food) editors of the Washington Post. I’ve been suggesting, via e-mail, a pot luck supper, reasoning that none of us would ever have time to go the whole nine yards and that we all should, nonetheless, make the time to get to know each other better—and of course over something good to eat. (After all, we had only ever met one time, several years ago, and had never even talked on the phone--but I knew that once we got together it would be like old home week! Great as the internet can be, there’s something to be said for the contribution of a physical presence!)

The pot luck component of our dinner was the lobster kit. I made dessert (surprise!) and Karen and Andrew brought 4 bottles of wonderful wine, including a 20-year-old Taylor Fladgate tawny port when I mentioned how much Elliott loves port. After asking them if it was o.k. just to have the lobster rolls for dinner, and they replied that they had already eaten a salad that week, I joyfully upped the lobster order to 1 1/2 pounds.

In between blissful bites of lobster roll, using our fingers to poke in mayo swathed chunks that threatened to escape the slim buttery rolls, and drizzling on more and ever more lemon mayo, we made a small dent in four live’s worth of catch up, and then returned all the main course silverware to the kitchen, unused. We all agreed that it was the most decadent lobster roll we had ever tasted. And it worked beautifully with both the Lucien Albrecht brut rosé and the glorious Delamotte champagne blanc de blanc 1999 But the pairing of the night was the Dolce dessert wine, with its mellifluous golden grace notes of pineapple and caramel playing against, or should I say with, the bitter orange/caramel golden charlotte. I swear it made me envision angels playing harps in heaven. (Next book…..)

Karen and Andrew left at midnight to get ready for a marathon in Central Park which they never ended up running due to being too happy to contemplate getting up at 7 am! I didn’t have to run a marathon—I lost 2 pounds lugging boxes all over the apartment! It was well worth it on all counts.

Notes on Composing the Lobster Rolls:
You can make the mayo several days ahead and refrigerate it. It’s best to do it by hand (with a whisk). Be sure to have all components at room temperature.
Don’t use more olive oil than called for or it will separate.

Shortly before serving or up to two hours ahead and kept chilled, cut the lobster into chunks and toss it with 2/3 cup of the mayo. Pour the remainder into a gravy boat to add at the table.

Just before serving, heat a grill or large cast iron griddle or skillet over medium heat. Brush each side of the rolls with melted butter, preferably clarified. (You’ll need about 1/3 cup in all)
Grill or fry for about 2 minutes per side, just until golden brown, watching carefully so as not to over-brown.

Cram as much of the lobster as possible into each roll and serve at once.

Lemon Mayonnaise

1 yolk
1/4 teaspoons dry mustard
zest of one lemon
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/16 teaspoon sugar
pinch cayenne
freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup safflower or canola oil
2 tablespoons fruity extra virgin olive oil

www.theclamshack.net
On The Bridge
Kennebunkport, ME 04046
207-967-3321
(Open May through October)

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after leaving normandy, i had only the afternoon and next morning in paris before departing for frankfurt. after a few bouts of phone tag clotilde dusoulier (of the wonderful chocolate & zucchini blog) and i made a date to meet at an ice cream parlor near where i was staying in the 7th arrondisement. i felt as though i knew clotilde but i’m sure millions of others who view her blog feel the same way. as fellow blog hosts and cookbook authors, however, we found we had much in common and endless things to exchange. she complimented me on my french (nothing pleases me more) and i complimented her on the unique charm of her voice on the blog and congratulated her on her upcoming first book. she is even more delightful in person than on her blog! we walked over to a nearby chocolate shop that she is writing about in her next book. the background in the photo is not wall paper—it’s antique chocolate molds. then we visited a cheese shop which also sold goat’s milk butter which i read about in her blog a few weeks later! it’s wonderful to have found another special friend in paris!

the next morning i woke up early enough to walk over to what had been my favorite bakery for croissants in paris: poujerain on rue jean nicot. much to my disappointment the bakery was renamed and under new ownership though the breads and croissants appeared to be the same. they were not—at least not the croissants. though still buttery, crisp, and delicious, the bottoms were close to burnt. none-the-less i bought enough to bring to my nephew and family in germany where i arrived only a few hours later. (sadly i don’t have a photo of the charming rose bedecked bakery as foolishly the sales girl didn’t have permission to allow it. i supposed it’s not a great loss, however since beautiful décor does not great pastry make.)

at the airport i bought a bottle of billecart saumon rosé to go with the foie gras de canard mi cuit purchased at the farmer’s market in normandy and wrapped with an ice pack in my luggage. it turned out that neither alex nor the rest of his family had ever tasted foie gras and to their surprise they enjoyed it immensely. a visiting friend did not so i finished it for him—not about to allow a precious smudge of it to go to waste.
i hadn’t seen my beloved nephew alex since he was 17 so i thought it would be an adjustment to find a grown married man with two kids but he looked like a larger version of his old self and the comfort level was even greater than when he was younger. we always understood each other so naturally, now that our concerns were more similar, it was better than ever.

alex is a jet mechanic in the air force, stationed at ramstein air force base. i had never been to a base before and was astonished how like a small american city it was. we were able to purchase everything needed to make an american butter cake—even baker’s joy! the challenge, however, was that about the only kitchen equipment related to cake baking they had was the kitchen aid artisan i had sent as a wedding present and the lékué silicone spatulas i brought along with me. it was reassuring and empowering to discover that, despite the absence of my usual arsenal of specialized tools, i was able to turn out a perfect layer cake and 6 perfect cupcakes! thank goodness for the good german-engineered home oven.

i used a slightly domed colander as a cooling rack for the cakes and covered a piece of cardboard with foil for the base.

we took a day trip to the belgium city of liege which disappointingly has turned into a mall town—one charmless store after another. this photo of the steep stairs in the old town was about the only charming sight we saw. i wanted to try belgian food, but aside from an apple stuffed waffle at a stand, there was not one belgian restaurant to be found. greek, italian, spanish, french—we settled for tapas which turned out to be amazingly delicious. after much hunting i finally found a chocolate store to purchase enough leonides 60% cacao chocolate to make the ganache for the cakes. the best part of the trip to belgian was the scenery there and back—the mountains lush with green leaves and pine trees. no! the best part of the trip to belgian was getting to speak endlessly with my nephew and his wife haley—when she wasn’t sleeping (two kids in diapers…i had no idea….).

i totally fell in love with their soon to be 3 year old son hadyn, who talked a blue streak and had me watch ant bully with him 5 times. (it was so good i plan to rent it as he talked his way through most of the dvd as well.) i miss his first of the morning hugs and good night kiss.

the highlight of my stay was when alex put some ganache on his finger for hadyn to taste. hadyn likes chocolate but he’s still at the terrible two stage and he said no—emphatically. alex tried again. this time hadyn slapped away his hand and in the process managed to get ganache on his own hand and shirt. alex instructed him to lick it from his finger and he gave a tentative lick. i saw first the dull and dutiful lack of expectation, then the shock of surprise and finally extreme delight, gradually but quickly light up his bright blue eyes--and he proceeded to lick his whole hand enthusiastically. another generation of food lovers is born!

HALEY'S LOVELY YOUNGER SISTER KK AT THE VILLAGE FOUNTAIN

ALEX'S FAVORITE SUSHI RESTAURANT IN NEARBY K TOWN

THE NEIGHBORS' BAVARIAN GARDEN SCULPTURE

here is the story i wrote about alex when he was a little boy, for a column in the l.a. times syndicate.

Alex Let’s Eat
Perhaps the greatest statement ever made regarding food is Brillat Savarin’s often quoted: “Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are.” Our choice of food defines us yet for many, the choice is made for them by habit and lack of exposure. A child can also develop aversions and prejudices which limit his experience and willingness to discover and experiment.

Because food is also my window on the world, one of my greatest pleasures is sharing this delight and interest with my young nephew Alexander. My primary goal was to show Alex how much fun and what an adventure new tastes can be. But I discovered that through food one can impart many other valuable lessons: the joy of sharing, the pride of creating, economy of motion, respect for the ingredients, freshness and quality, to name just a few. I also wanted Alex to be realistic about where the food came from without turning him into a vegetarian due to his fondness for nature and animals. I knew I had an exceptionally worthy student when, at the age of 5, when I praised him for his dexterity and care pouring ketchup from a bottle by saying “You really are an extraordinary child.” His response was: “that’s because I came into an extraordinary world!”

We started with smell, partly because aroma is the most tantalizing part of eating but also because it tells you about freshness and inspires the combination of flavors and creation of the recipe. As I prepared each ingredient I encouraged Alex to smell it. “Um” was the polite response until we came to the coffee, most seductive of all aromas. He used this powerful memory as part of a game later extending his empty cupped hands to me and chanting “smell my coffee.” I knew it would leave a lasting impression.

One summer visit, looking at the cover of my Christmas Cookie book, Alex said: "You really have an easy life. You get to bake all day!" And at his request, I taught him how to make cookies too. I’ll always remember the gleam in his eyes when he shared one with his cousin, giving her the larger half and saying with pride: “I made this myself.”
Another year, I learned a lesson about priorities over cherry pie. I gave Alex a small piece of dough to play with saying I needed to work on the pie myself so it would be perfect for Grandpa. He shaped a ravioli-like pastry, assessed it and stated matter-of-factly “I guess you’re right--I’m no baker.” I quickly promised him that next time I would show him how to do the main pie and meantime helped him to make a little tart with his dough and some jam, demonstrating how the fluted design was created simply by pressing the dough into the fluted mold. It must have seemed like magic and the hug showed me his ego was restored.

Two summers ago we shared Alex’s first lobster. When he started out by kissing the claw, I was a little worried that he would be too sentimental to consider eating it but he explained that he had kissed it “because it’s the saddest part.” It reminded me of the scene in Last of the Mohigans when the hunter asked forgiveness of the deer he was about to kill. (Alex is part American Indian by the way.)

Last summer was the greatest test to date: Soft shell crab at Alex’s request. “I’ve eaten it before” he claimed. “I doubt it; where you’re from it was probably Dungeness.” “That may be, but I want to try it anyway.” Who could resist. The crab was so fresh it moved in the pan. But when he cut into it and the green liver spurted out I was certain it wouldn’t get past his lips. I watched in fascination as he tasted the first mouthful.

“Umm..this is delicious.” But what really melted my heart was that he offered me one of the claws. Never have I been so pleased to have been proven so wrong. I could take this kid anywhere.

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Maison Brossollets à Reveillon

my friend max brossollet is publisher of the scientific american in france, called pour la science, and he reads what he publishes. despite his great appreciation for technology (they even cook by induction in their paris apt.) they claim they will never have a computer so i can assume they will not be reading this blog. therefore i can confide that though i know they love me, they always find some little thing to criticize. last visit it was my running shoes so i made sure to bring more conventional walking shoes this time. max told me he now accepts that running shoes are the fashion. so this visit’s reproach was my lack of capitalization in the blog posting article i printed out for him on their friend the molecular gastronomist hervé this. my dear friend nadège brossollet was especially horrified when she saw her name without capitalization. at least this time i finally got the spelling right (i managed to fail at this in both mentions in two of my cookbooks).

getting back to max, he is a font of fascinating technological and scientific information and a great conversationalist to boot. when driving through the beautiful countryside of normandy for example, he explained to me how this area between le bouce and orléans is the most fertile in all of france and perhaps in all the world. proof could be the crème fraîche into which i went ecstatic over. (this atrocious grammar being a direct result of my over to top delight recollection) nadège is an equally fascinating friend and fantastic cook. she had already purchased some excellent crème fraîche in paris—far better than anything we get in the u.s. because it is made with raw (unpasteurized cream). but i insisted that i wanted to try the crème fraîche or normandy, renowned for its dairy products and she obligingly purchased some at the local market. we were all astonished at just how justified this claim of superior dairy products turned out to be. the crème was yellow with butterfat and the flavor beyond description—o.k.—i’ll try—faintly nutty, distinctly tangy, yet compellingly mellow and coating the mouth with velvety fullness. sorry—that’s the best i can do. moaning is far more expressive.

we spent my entire visit of 7 days in normandy, returning to paris the afternoon before my flight to germany. every glorious day followed a similar routine: breakfast of country eggs soft boiled (oh the flavor!) and bread from the local bakery toasted and cut into rectangles to dip in the yolk, then toasted brioche for nadège’s confitures my favorite of which were the quince and the blackberry—in fact my hardest decision of the day was which one to choose. yes—i was spoiled silly. let me do a quick run down of what we ate over a period of several days:

pâté of hare (hunted by max), lamb chops, magret de canard, bio (organic_ spinach of incomparable flavor, buttery mashed potatoes, grilled tomatoes, haricots vert, oysters, grey shrimp, pink shrimp, scallops, fat white spring asparagus with sauce mousseline (hollandaise lightened with stiffly whipped egg whites), salmon. strawberries for desert were accompanied by a special whipped cream from a dispenser. no—not fake cream—crème d'isigny made with madagascar vanilla. the night we watched the elections we ate a t.v. dinner, i.e. foie gras de canard and grand cru champagne (a first in every respect except perhaps the foie gras of which i have been blessed to enjoy on many occasions). did i mention that no meal other than breakfast went without an excellent wine. (max is the family expert, buy and bottling for his entire family.)

the one lunch we had “out” was on market day in the town of l’aigle at l'auberge de st. michèl. the compatibility of our 25 year friendship was demonstrated perfectly by the fact that we all ordered the exact same things: escargots (fabulous!) followed by pied de cochon in mustard sauce--memorable. but i was the only one who had to try dessert: crèpes filled with caramelized apples then oven crisped, served with vanilla ice cream AND crème anglaise.

MAX PERUSING THE WINE MENU

on the way home, nadège asked max to stop by the town of vernuil where i took this photo of the gothic church known for it’s “dentelle” or lace-like details. then home for dinner.

all i can say is that when i wasn’t eating i was walking—long 2 hour walks. the fields were filled with bright yellow flowers called colza—so bright they seemed to capture the very sunlight. it turned out to be the source of the ubiquitous rape seed oil.

where was elliott you may be wondering? eating himself sick is NOT his idea of a perfect vacation and he doesn’t speak french so he was happily at home and work, awaiting a very special week we are spending with wine friends in tuscany this coming fall.

speaking of future plans, max also pointed out the nearby 13 century church, explaining about the dark stones interspersed throughout that are an amalgamation of materials, including iron, of unsurpassing strength. they are visible in the photo if you look carefully. he went on to tell me that the little graveyard in front of the church would be their final resting place and smiling said that someday i will be able to visit them there. i had an instant image of standing by the church gate tears running down my face. yet—it was a dear thing to say and i cherish knowing that my treasured friends have so beautiful a place in which to spend eternity. (elliott and i plan to spend ours somewhere in the molecular environs of the universe. of course i will have the good fortune also to be found in several million cookbooks!)

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