Homemade Sourdough Co-blog

My sister wasn’t lying when she said bread baking is a labour of love. Sometime around 15 days or so ago—could be more, certainly not less—I went over to her kitchen bubbling over with anticipation (that’s a sourdough starter pun, for y’all uninitiated). “It’s sourdough day!” I texted her first thing in the morning. Of course, I was a little disappointed when I realized our first “sourdough day” consisted of adding some flour to some water, stirring it, and then watching approximately 19

This was days and days ago it seems

episodes of ER. However. We persevered.

Well rather, Bailey persevered. She dutifully fed the starter every day. She took its photo, tended to its temperature, sniffed it often, and generally cared for it with at least as much attention as one would give a newborn. After a week, it was “sourdough day” again.

Unfortunately, we picked a weeknight for baking and I made the grave error of getting the sponge going at 5:30 in the afternoon. By 9:30, after what in hindsight seems like the most grievously hasty leavening ever attempted, we thought we’d just give it a go and throw it in the oven.

TBF.

If you don’t know what that is, you’re not ready to make bread. You’re probably not even ready for the starter. You need to go read Pollan’s book. 

So we fed the starter again, cooed to it, coaxed it, and decided to wait until a Sunday for our next attempt so that we could truly devote an entire day to the process.

Unfortunately, we read ever so slightly too late that the sponge should sit overnight, and that even after that, there are at least six hours between making dough and turning on the oven. So we were thwarted on Sunday night, and instead let our shaped boules sit in the fridge until Monday.

Which is probably for the best. At this point, we had been working on the bread for about thirteen hours straight, not including starter cultivation of course. Every bowl Bailey owned was either filled with starter, a back-up sponge, a water float test, rising boules, or some other manner of living, breathing, goddamn finicky business. Our flour was long gone. Like addicts, we shook the last of the white powder from the crevices of the bag. “Just another gram or two is all we need,” our inner monologues hissed with the fervor of the obsessed.

And so finally, after a seemingly interminable wait, we were able to finally put the loaves into a blazing 500 degree oven and await the next bout of dejection in a long and bitter process.

And yet……

It smelled like bread at the end. It had a crispy and golden exterior like bread. A noticeable crumb, and even a pleasantly toothsome texture. This, by God, was really bread. “So we will keep the starter?” We asked ourselves. “Let’s not throw it out after all.”

There must be something to the bread thing. Stay tuned.

Pain for le pain. 

Homemade Sourdough

Bread baking, it would seem, is not without its distinct challenges. I can see why it's given such biblical and, in fact, pre-biblical importance. 

It's almost god-like, actually. The creation of this little microbial world. The cultivation of cultures— requiring your undivided attention and true devotion for the better part of a week— is akin to something between raising a colony of sea monkeys and owning a Tamagotchi. With one misstep, your time, patience, effort, and love are all for naught. Your anticipation of crumb, the exact-right chewiness, and the hope for perfectly-formed ears all deflate as unequivocally as your sadly-flat loaf. The disappointment is monumental. As you might feel if the child who at one point in their preteen years was filled with the promise of being a prima ballerina, or a hockey star, or perhaps a physicist (the type of occupation that would certainly bring their parents a comfortable retirement in a sub-tropical locale) and instead emerge in adolescence as slightly stupid, or maybe a little dim-witted, or wholly lacking ambition.  

Bread that emerges from the oven and doesn't meet your expectations seems slightly selfish, lazy even, and the personification of baked products and their various motivations sneak up on you. This past week, two of the LadyGirls' emotions have been tethered to the whims of said baked good, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. If you haven't yet read or watched Michael Pollan wax rhapsodic about the eroticism of leavened dough, or its ability to sustain human life indefinitely, I can't expect you to understand. But if you have seen this, or if you yourself have attempted the trials and tribulations baking your own wild yeast bread provides, then I know I don't need to explain this feeling to you. You understand, because you have attempted. You understand, because you have nurtured a subculture of your very own. You understand, because you have tasted. 

It begins with starter. Ironically-simply named; as it takes over five days to complete, has entire forums devoted to how to “raise” a starter, and houses a flourishing community of thousands of lactobacilli. Some starters are kept in the family for years, others still offered as a gift of welcome to a new neighbour, and now even Williams-Sonoma is ready to make you pay $30.00 USD for a twee card and something that costs you all of $0.30 to make.

How do you make the starter? You need flour and water. You need to be patient and you need a warm-ish spot. You need a vessel for your mixture to set up roots. Beyond that, it’s personal choice. My favourite recipe was TheKitchn, and they’ve got a great recipe for the actual bread after your starter gets going, too.

If you’re ready to make the leap into what seems to be the Iditarod of baking, you need to allot roughly 6,039 hours for it. This exercise of patience goes against every fibre of my being, particularly the desire to attain the highest amount of achievement in the shortest amount of time, but baking sourdough is a labour of love.

Secondly, I do not have a kitchen scale. My only encounter with them has been for an herbaceous measurement of sorts, and thusly I am not the proud owner of one. Further to the aforementioned desire to do things quickly, I also have never attempted to make something that required a measurement so precise it comes down to grams. However, you can still do this, even without a kitchen scale or a proofing basket, or dough hook. Your hands are better (they have all that fabulous bacteria with which to feed your fermenting mixture), you would possibly have better results with a scale but it’s not imperative, and you will need a Dutch oven. (You should own a Dutch oven anyway. It’s worth it between this bread and any coq au vin you’ll ever make.)

When your starter is ready, it will be a frothy mixture similar to something between a crepe and a pancake batter. This is just one of many moments of truth. You’ll also smell it— it will have a distinctly fermented smell, like a mild cheese. If your starter isn’t frothed, it isn’t alive. You have failed to properly harness and nurture the wild yeast from the air around you, and you’ll have to try again. Or try troubleshooting.

Then you must make the sponge. Do not drink so much wine the night before you plan on starting the bread that you simply cannot function, much less attempt other various fermentations besides the one in your gut, so that you have to leave making the sponge until the morning you want to eat the bread. Listen to me carefully— I wasn’t exaggerating when I said it took a million years to do this. Start it the night before, let it sit all night.

Instagram does wonders for a TBF

In the morning, you will now begin what will become an entire day of tinkering in your kitchen, with various cycles of rising, kneading, pulling, resting, dusting, proofing, folding, and finally baking. It is not to be rushed. If you were a pioneer, you would probably start this at some time around 4 a.m. You are not a pioneer, so starting around 8 a.m. is okay, but if you plan on eating bread before breakfast the next day, get moving.

I can’t detail for you the stages of bread making. I’ve done it twice now, with a TBF (total bread failure) the first time and a mildly successful outcome the second. Check out the demigod of country bread baking instead, Chad Robertson. We have a long weekend coming- if you start tomorrow, you can have fresh bread in your lunch on Tuesday.

You can do this. It’s a week-long project, but like most things that take time to build, it’s worth it. Even a failure is worth it, if for no other reason than next time You. Will. Want. To. Succeed. Like learning a skill like knitting, or skiing, or riding a bike, your innate desire to achieve will be activated, and you will find yourself on sourdough forums at 2 a.m., wondering if you didn’t feed your starter enough (Did I let it go hungry? Did it suffer?) Or, if maybe you let it get too cold (Did it take on a chill? Did it suffer?) Like a new mother, you’ll be asking your peers, “What’s your feeding schedule?” “Do you find 72 or 73 degrees to be better?” “How many times a day do you check on it?” Until one day, you nail it. Perfectly formed ears, the exact amount of crumb, that perfect chewiness, the subtle sour taste. A labour of love, and a monumental achievement.

Falafel with Turmeric-Tahini Sauce

Today I read an article that said we are “clean eating our way to a new eating disorder.” You know what that is? Bloody ridiculous. Everyone needs to take their intensity level down about 10 notches. Clean eating is supposed to be good for you- don’t go to hell with everything! Eating clean should make you feel well; it should help you eat a balanced diet in which you don’t stuff 5,000 grams of sugar down your gullet everyday. It should not be taken to an extreme in which you convince yourself you’re just “eating clean” while you whittle your calorie intake to 400 a day.

For example, all of a sudden people are using cauliflower for everything. What is that all about? I mean, I can handle the cauliflower macaroni and cheese thing, but today I saw a link for cauliflower steaks. I am down with meat replacement these days, as you know, but that seemed a little ridiculous.

Steak will only ever be steak. It is a delicious and wonderful thing. It is a treat, enjoy it once and a while as such. The end. Don’t try to make cauliflower be steak. That’s not fair to cauliflower. I’m not sure it’s even fair to steak. Just let food products be their own selves, and enjoy vegetarian cuisine for what it is. There are tons of delicious options that are celebratory of vegetables, legumes, and the flavours they have all on their own. Respect cauliflower for its cauliflower flavour. Eat clean, don’t give yourself a disorder about it, and have a poutine once and a while too. Let’s just all enjoy our lives and try not to be extreme in any kind of eating. It’s easy.

 

Falafel is one of my favourite vegetarian meals. I love it. So instead of trying to coerce vegetables into tasting like meat, try honouring the humble chickpea in something other than hummus.

Here we go.

My falafel recipe was adapted from the Food Network. It’s quite an ingredient list, but most of it you should have in the cupboard to begin with. You’ll also need a food processor for this recipe; although it’s possible a blender would work too, as long as you don’t go so far you end up with a chickpea smoothie. 

Ingredients

• 1 can of chickpeas (unless you use dried, but then you may as well start making this 8 days before you want to eat it so you can soak your beans)
• 1 chopped shallot
• 1 large clove garlic, coarsely chopped (I actually used a big scoop of jarred garlic/ginger puree) 
• 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
• 1 1/2 teaspoons ground coriander
• 3/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• Generous 1/4 cup coarsely chopped parsley
• Generous 1/4 cup coarsely chopped cilantro
• 1 egg (I replaced the egg with 1 tbsp of ground flax with 3 tbsp of warm water, soaked for 1 minute- this is a great replacement option for egg as a binder if you want a vegan option) 
• 1 lemon, juiced
• Kosher salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/3 cup flour, plus 1/4 cup flour for shaping patties
• Vegetable oil, for frying

Directions (Directly from the Food Network site- If I credit, it isn’t plagiarism, right?) 

In a food processor combine your chickpeas, shallot, garlic, cumin, coriander, cayenne, parsley, cilantro, egg (or egg replacement), and lemon juice. Pulse to combine and season with salt. The mixture will not be smooth, but it should not have large chunks.

Add in the baking powder and 1/3 cup of the flour and pulse to just combine. Remove to a bowl and chill in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

Remove the chickpea mixture from the refrigerator. Add enough oil to a large sauté pan so it reaches 1/2-inch up the sides and heat it over medium-high heat until an inserted thermometer reads 360 degrees F. (Ed.’s note: That’s from the Food Network. Just have enough oil in a pan that you aren’t deep-frying, but you’ve got enough to keep them from sticking. And who measures temperature of oil? No one. Just drop a small amount of the mix in and see if it sizzles right away. If not, the oil isn’t hot enough). 

Meanwhile, drop spoonfuls of the chickpea mixture onto a plate with ¼ cup flour. Roll into balls on the floured plate and press gently into patties. Fry in batches of hot oil for about 3 to 4 minutes each side and drain on paper towels.

I served mine with a beautiful turmeric-tahini sauce. You can also serve them in pitas with lettuce, onion, tomatoes, and pickled peppers.

Eat real food. Enjoy real food. That’s all you really need to know. 

Cuban Sandwiches

Have I ever told you how much my family loves to take a concept and run wild with it until it's been exaggerated to death? And of course you know we love NFL football and betting and eating snack and drinking beer. So imagine the fun we had combining the two this week! So my sister and I were discussing our football tickets for this week. And then from there - and I don't know quite how it evolved, we got to talking about the different cities that have NFL teams. And which cities we liked the most and which ones we'd like to visit some day. And being as we are, we decided to do a Sexy City ticket. That's right. We chose what we decided were the 6 sexiest cities in the NFL and bet on them. And since Miami was deemed to be one of those sexy cities, and won the Thursday Nighter, I was inspired to make Cuban Sandwiches for snack this week. That is one sexy snack for two sexy sisters, and a sexy city 6 pick ticket! So let's have some fun with that.

You'll need:
A 1 or 2 pound pork shoulder roast, depending on how many sandwiches you want to make. I used a 2 pound to make about 10 sandwiches. The roast is really the key to give your sandwiches good flavour and I slow cooked mine the day before.
Salt and pepper to season
1 tablespoon of ground cumin
1 tablespoon of dried oregano
1/4 cup olive oil
4 cloves of smashed garlic
1/2 teaspoon of dried red chili flakes
1 sliced onion
1 cup of orange juice
zest and juice of a lime
1 cup of chicken broth
2 bay leaves
Bread. Not a baguette. If you can't find a Cuban roll, I used Portuguese buns
10 slices of Swiss Cheese
Bread and butter pickles
10 slices of Black Forest ham.
Salt and Pepper and olive oil to brush on the bread
A Panini or sandwich grill if you have one. Otherwise use a skillet and smash the sandwich down with a plate with a brick on it. And flip after 3 or 4 minutes on medium heat. Just to golden and your cheese is melted.

So let's get at that pork roast. Just of note, this is an amazingly delicious way to cook a pork roast and I would use it as main if I wasn't in the mood for Cuban Sandwiches.
Heat the olive oil in a Dutch oven on medium heat and add the garlic and chili flakes. Season the roast with the salt and pepper and rub in the cumin and oregano. Brown it in the oil on all sides and add the onion, bay leaves, lime juice and zest and orange juice and broth. Cover and place in a preheated 300 degree oven and cook for about 3 1/2 hours. Remove the meat and set aside. Boil down the remaining juices in the pan until they're reduced by half or a bit more. You want it to be like a gravy consistency. Press it through a sieve and let it cool down. Put it in a squeeze bottle and refrigerate it. And you just made you own homemade sub sauce! Imagine that! Let it come back down to room temperature before you make your sandwiches.

To assemble your sandwiches, slice open the bun and add some of your sub sauce to each side. Layer the sliced pork, then cheese, then pickle and the ham. Season with a bit of salt and pepper. Brush each side of the bun with olive oil and heat in the sandwich press for about 5 minutes. Let all of your ingredients come down to room temperature before you assemble them. That way they'll be warm from the grill, but your bun won't scorch. And that's a sexy tip right there! Mustard or Dijon is an option to serve on the side. But not traditional to the sandwich. So that's your call. And that, my friends is the way to enjoy a Sunday in the sexiest possible way. Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

Shrimp Po' Boys

I would marry me. 

Well, there’s been quite a lot of chatter around sandwiches in the blogosphere this week, hasn’t there? Stephanie Smith, New York Post writer and creator of 300sandwiches.com decided to share with the world the perhaps ill-thought out “hilarious and cute” story of how her boyfriend said she was 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring. As in, “Isn’t this story so funny? Eric woke up this morning and questioned why I hadn’t made him a sandwich yet, since I had already been up for 15 minutes!” We all have that friend. You sort of laugh, and shift uncomfortably in your seat while thinking to yourself, “Oh sweet Jesus.” (Full disclosure: I cannot get past this man’s hair. Something about it disturbs me deeply, so I’m actually probably even more judgmental about it than I should be.)

I have friends who insisted this was clearly satire. I have friends who insisted this set the woman’s movement back 100 years. I’ve read the hilarious responses, I’ve analyzed the critiques. Now, we all know I identify myself with the f-word, so my thoughts tend to lean towards to “WHAT THE HELL?” side of the argument, but again, I also have that hair bias.

This one is not 300 Sandwiches worthy, because the lettuce is dangling out, and that's a no-no.

Smith has since responded, which crushed my dreams that this was perhaps an incredible art commentary on feminism and culture, and has in fact confirmed that she really is planning to marry a man who calls her “babes” (ughhhhhhhhh) and does, in fact, intend to make 300 sandwiches, (and probably thousands more, since this Eric fellow she wishes to spend a lifetime with has an insatiable appetite for various buns and breads) and all for a man who obviously charms himself with his own jokes a little more than he ought to. He is wildly amused by the feedback they received, because he says this was a “tongue planted firmly in cheek” joke. But I suspect he is just doing damage control because in the first article, we are told he is a man who likens sandwiches to sex, and sees them as love (“To him, sandwiches are like kisses or hugs. Or sex.”) I like a good prosciutto as much as the next girl, but let’s not confuse palate pleasure with lust. (Okay, feel free to insert a good salami joke here).

In her response, she states that OBVIOUSLY he was just JOKING when he asked her to make him hundreds of sandwiches in order to get a big, shiny, rock; but of course she is going to do it and blog about it ANYWAY because that is LOVE, people. HA-HA-HA-HA. Right? Love! So cute. I personally am looking forward to the current saccharinely sweet sandwiches to fade to sarcastic and sardonic sandwiches after years of having to slice tomatoes and assorted cheeses, but don’t get me wrong- this is not some embittered old hag thing (well not and old hag thing, anyway). I like love just as much as the next person. I love to cook, and I certainly love to cook when in the presence of male company. The end-goal is not marriage however. The end-goal is a full stomach, many compliments to feed my already over-sized ego, and perhaps someone to load the dishwasher after. (Ha-ha not really! Do not touch my dishwasher. I am the only one to touch the dishwasher.)

One thing the Internet does agree on however is that this blog has some seriously gorgeous sandwiches. The food porn reigns on this site, that’s for sure. I may even be a little jealy.com of her food photography. So, despite the backlash over her basically living as a meme, I have been inspired to make a sandwich for dinner today. (NB: The only lucky recipient of my sandwich skills will be me. And maybe my dog if there is any leftover.)

Remoulade ingredients

Let’s make Shrimp Po’ Boys. I used the BonAppétit version of the sandwich and this recipe for the remoulade. But of course we all know I can’t follow instructions to save my life, (so, future suitors, do not instruct me to make you any amount of sandwiches for a ring). There were some amendments to each recipe.

Start by making your remoulade first. You’ll need:

            1/4 cup mustard

            1 1/4 cups mayo

            1 teaspoon lemon juice (my addition- this recipe needed some citrus)

            1 teaspoon hot sauce (I used Frank’s)

            1 large garlic clove, minced and smashed

            1 Tbsp sweet paprika

            1-2 teaspoons Cajun seasoning

I clearly did not measure mine, I am just telling you what the Simply Recipes people suggest. I also added a good-sized dash of Old Bay. Whisk up all those ingredients in a bowl and put it in the fridge. You are welcome to let it mellow for a few hours before you assemble the sandwiches.

Now for the shrimp batter. Start by seasoning your shrimp with the following:

Salt

Cayenne

Garlic Powder

Paprika

Oregano (this is optional because I didn’t have any and     it turned out just fine)

Thyme

Onion powder (also I had none of this, but life went on)

When deep frying in the most dangerous way possible, I recommend keeping everything close. 

Then, I made the shrimp batter with beer, flour and Old Bay, plus a little panko for texture. Mix this together until it’s the consistency of pancake batter. Too thin will not work, so add your beer slowly.

Shrimp and beer. 

Heat some oil until a drop of batter will sizzle right away in the pot. They only need to be fried for about two minutes, until they come to the top of the pot of oil. Give them a quick flip for colour on all sides. Then drain on a paper towel.

Slice a nice bun and put your remoulade on both sides of the bun (Stephanie Smith credits this revolutionary technique in her first sandwich ever, aka the Sandwich That Ruined Feminism.) Serve with iceberg lettuce (I realize this has the nutritional equivalent of Styrofoam, but it has a great crunch) and some tomato. A little hot sauce on the side and a squeeze of lemon, and you have yourself a sandwich which should at least get you a fourth date (you surely are not cooking at home for a first or second date- what kind of girl are you?!). Bow down, bitches.