Farine

Crazy for Bread

Deb’s Apple Sharlotka

I was mournfully contemplating a bowful of apples and pears dating back to the waning days of the old year and trying to guesstimate whether or not they were in good enough shape to survive another day without my doing something awfully boring to them when the thought occurred to me that I might as well multitask while I was thinking. So I let my fingers walk to the nearest keyboard and wander to the Web and lo and behold, they took me almost directly to Smitten Kitchen where the most appealing cake was frantically beckoning.
It looked much too gorgeous to be anything but unhealthful and there was no way I was going to let myself be tempted, not when the new year was just one week old but as I continued scrolling desultorily, I saw apples appear, so green they couldn’t possibly be sinful and these apples got peeled and sliced and chopped and I read the list of ingredients and I got hit as if by lightning by the absence of the word “butter” (which I try to avoid in my baking) and I knew this cake had come to me for a reason.
Thank you, Deb! I love you, your blog and your Russian mother-in-law. I imagine my own late MIL, who was born in Russia in 1911 and didn’t leave the country until 1917, ate her fair share of sharlotka in her early childhood but I don’t recall her mentioning it.
My version is less Russian than Deb’s: I used only 150 g of sugar and replaced half of the all-purpose flour with Fairhaven Mills‘ white whole wheat flour. I also used half pears and half apples. Everything else stayed the same. It is a festive and beautiful cake and I am delighted to have this recipe. I intend to play with it a bit and since I am always on the lookout for more uses for leftover levain, maybe next time, I’ll skip the flour and replace one or two of the eggs by ripe starter. Why not?
For tonight though we’ll savor it as it is, still warm, the slight acidity of the apples and pears marvelously showcased by the sweet vanilla-scented dough. My mind will travel to faraway Russia and cozy datchas tucked away in birchtree groves and I’ll be happy, knowing for a fact that procrastination is the way to go!

Meet the Miller: Kevin Christenson

Except for a natural food store which had probably known better days, there was no source of organic flours of any kind in or near the little town where we used to live in the Northeast. I bought 50-lb bags of wheat, spelt and rye whenever we visited more baker-friendly places and relied on my little mill to supply me with whole-grain flour on demand. If kept at cool temperature, grains will last forever, so I never ran short of the essentials but access to more “exotic” grains such as barley, buckwheat, millet, etc. was another matter. I had no choice but to turn to the natural food store where freshness was sometimes an issue, even in the bulk section where everything looked a bit sorry for itself. So imagine my delight when I heard about Fairhaven Organic Flour Mill, an actual mill located in the Skagit Valley, about one hour away from where we now live now in the Northwest, a mill milling organic whole grains and run by a miller who is a real person, not a corporate entity.
I had liked the various Fairhaven flours which I had tried (our local grocery store carries them bagged and the nearby PCC Market has some of them in bulk) and I thought I’d like to take a closer look. So I contacted Kevin Christenson, the miller, and told him I would love to come and meet him if he was up to a visit by a serious home baker and bread blogger.
We drove up by a beautiful December morning. In the valley, the fields were a patchwork of green and brown (having lived for so long in states where the landscape tends to be monochromatic from early December to the end of March, I marvel at how much color the winter landscape still offers here in the winter). Mount Baker was visible in the distance, snowy and majestic.
The mill is located inland in a new-looking industrial zone but Puget Sound is only a few miles away as we discovered when, after our visit, we drove north along the coast to Bellingham, a quaint little college town with an awesome bookstore and good eateries.
Puget Sound and the San Juan islands
Kevin Christenson was born and raised in Minnesota and has lived and worked in Manhattan for seven years but he is the only miller for miles around (the other organic mill in Washington State, Blue Bird Grain Farms, is located way to the east). As such, he has established strong ties with the local farmers and bakers and if working in close collaboration with those who till the land and feed you, your family and your community doesn’t make you a local, what does?
The mill’s front entrance
The mill’s backyard
Becoming locals was exactly what he and his wife Matsuko had in mind when they decided to move to coastal Washington State to raise their two boys. They had visited the area several times and fallen in love with it. Now they needed to find jobs that would make them bona fide actors on the local scene, jobs that their kids could understand and relate to. It took a while. They bought a house with a garden and lived on what they grew (Kevin had been a home gardener all his life and still grows most of their food) and they relied on their savings for the rest. When he found the mill up for sale on Craigslist (of all places!) in 2007, he had already spent two years researching a business he could try his hand at but everything he found was of the run-of-the-mill (no pun intended!) variety, jobs he could have done just as well in New York or in Minneapolis. Not what he was looking for. The mill was another story.
Then located in the 5,000 foot basement of an old building in Bellingham, it had started in the mid-70’s as a cooperative to provide whole-grain organic flour to the local bakers and homemakers when nobody else was doing it and it had been bought in the 80’s by one of the coop members. The owner was now ready to retire and eager to sell.
From the start, Christenson’s idea was to encourage local farmers to grow more grain. With the support of Stephen Jones, director of the Mount Vernon Northwestern Washington Research and Extension Center (where the first Kneading Conference West took place last September), contacts were established and fair price agreements worked out. Today the mill buys 60% of its grain from Washington State (compared to 20% when the Christensons bought it). The wheat (which used to come mostly from Montana) now comes from Washington farms which Christenson has visited many times: spring red wheat and buckwheat from Walla Walla; barley, soft white wheat and hard red wheat from nearby Lynden. Millet still comes from Montana as do spelt (although Christenson is trying to get some from Eastern Washington), rye, oats and some light barley; brown rice comes from California (none is to be had locally); corn from New Mexico (the 2011 crop didn’t yield enough in Washington). The mill stopped milling soy in 2010 because the source could no longer guarantee it would be free of GMOs.
Thanks to the move to the 7,200 square feet new facility in the fall of 2010, the mill could conceivably double its output of 80 to 100,000 lb a month. But the kids are still young and family life remains top priority, especially with both parents employed at the mill although Matsuko works there only part-time.
Trevor filling buckwheat flour bags
Altogether the mill employs two full-time and two part-time workers. Kevin never went to milling school (if such a thing exists in the United States) nor is he a baker. He had to learn literally every aspect of the job as he went along (the previous owner stayed on for two months to help with the transition) and, as he sees it, he is still learning every day.  He likes machinery and has always enjoyed fixing whatever broke down. That’s a big plus. He has a business degree. That helps too. Finally he enjoys engaging with people and he is an indefatigable listener: he has frequent contacts with farmers and bakers; he consults with Stephen Jones; he participates in as many grain-related programs and field trips as he can.

His is strictly a whole-grain operation. The organic all-purpose flour sold under the Fairhaven brand actually comes from Central Milling in Utah. Fairhaven isn’t simply not equiped to produce such flour. Christenson is currently working with Snohomish County farmers who are seeking a grant to finance the installation of an organic white flour mill. It would cost over $1.5 million. Fairhaven still uses its original stone mill but only to make coarse meal (which some local bakers order every week). All the other flours are hammermilled.

I bought bags of grain and some flour and on our way out, we saw old posters on the walls of the office. They belonged to the previous owner who was of the back-to-the-earth hippie-ish persuasion. Although Christenson kept the posters, he is more attuned to our times. Intent on making sure his community remains relevant in the global economy, he is keen on doing what he can to foster a sustainable way of life in the Skagit Valley. Listening to him I kept thinking: “This is what it actually means to act locally and think globally. That’s it. In action. With no rhetoric, embellishments or flourishings. Simple as can be.”

Almond-Orange Honey Cakes

In my family, nothing whispers “I love you” more tenderly on the breakfast table than a plump little honey cake fragrant with anise and ginger, so when I stumbled upon an orange-almond paste “pain d’épice” (literally spice bread) on Alter Gusto, a French blog with a myriad of attractive recipes, I decided to make it for New Year’s Day.

There is something inherently happy about spices, don’t you think? They are as old as time itself (nothing faddish about them); because of their medicinal value, most of them are considered beneficial; and finally they are wickedly delicious (the expression “to spice up your life” says it all). In other words, they offer the perfect paradigm for a New Year’s resolution by making it easier to eat well.

Pain d’épice in France is traditionally made with rye. Carole (Alter Gusto‘s owner) used chestnut flour (which she had in abundance) because she couldn’t find any rye flour. I had wholegrain rye flour and that’s what I used (I have yet to find a good chestnut flour in the US). Also traditionally pain d’épice is made without fat or eggs and this one is no exception. Which is a huge plus in my book.
Pain d’épice is customarily sweetened with honey and here a word of caution seems appropriate. According to this article in Food Safety News, some of the honey sold in the US isn’t honey at all and many of the big chain stores we’d think we could trust actually peddle junk under the honey label.
Ingredients: (the recipe was slightly modified to take into account the greater absorption capacity of the American flours compared to the French ones. I also added salt).
  • 160 g whole grain rye flour
  • 80 g unbleached all-purpose flour
  • 70 g almond paste (make sure almonds are listed as the first ingredient on the label)
  • 10 g baking powder
  • 40 g powdered milk (I had none and used whole milk instead to supplement the orange juice)
  • 2 untreated oranges
  • 160 g honey
  • 4.5 g of ground ginger (2 teaspoons)
  • 1.2 g ground cardamom (1/2 teaspoon)
  • 3 cloves
  • .6 g grated nutmeg (1/4 teaspoon)
  • 1 pinch of salt
  • a handful of roughly chopped almonds (optional)
Method:
  1. Wash and dry the oranges. Grate the zest of one of them and set it aside
  2. Squeeze the juice out of both oranges. Add enough milk (or water if using powdered milk) to obtain 200 g of liquid
  3. In a saucepan, heat the honey, the blend of juice and milk (or water), and all the spices. Mix until honey is well incorporated and the liquid hot. Remove from heat. Let stand for 30 minutes then drain out the spices
  4. Pre-heat the oven to 350°F
  5. In a food processor or a blender, mix flours, almond paste and orange zest until powdered. Transfer to a bowl. Add powdered milk (if using) and baking powder. Blend well
  6. Drain the orange juice infusion. Stir the liquid into the dry ingredients until just well combined. Do not overwork
  7. Divide into mini-molds or pour into a bread pan
  8. Garnish with chopped or sliced almonds if desired
  9. Bake for about 30 minutes (a bit longer if using a single large pan)
  10. Cool on a rack.
Happy New Year everyone!

Printable recipe

Salmon Koulibiac

Funny how memory works! You make a dish which has been a family favorite for many many years and suddenly all of those who ever shared it with you show up in your mind and heart as if they were ready for a chat and a hug.

The recipe was given to me by my friend Cricri who lives in a village near Paris in a tiny yellow house with blue shutters. Her small kitchen opens onto a walled old garden where the scent of her baking mixes with the fragrance of the nodding lilac. My friend Nicole, who also lives near Paris, likes it so much that the year she turned 50, I made sure our yearly trip to France coincided with her birthday celebration and I baked two of them for her party: I still remember the assembly line she created on her dining room table (her kitchen was way too small) and the arriving guests milling around us, glasses of sangria in hand. My friend Do (who lives in a 17th century house in Versailles and whose father was Russian-born) bakes a mean koulibiac too but she uses fresh salmon fillet and I always liked the smoked salmon version better. Sorry, Do !
My mother-in-law (who hailed from Denmark but whose mother was Russian and who grew up in St-Petersbug) loved it because it brought her back to her early years in czarist Russia: the swishing noise of the sleds in the street below, the jingling of the bells, her niania (nanny) with her towering bonnet and her grandpa sitting at the head of the table, a large white napkin tucked under his flowing beard. Magic tales of yesteryear to one who had been brought up on Russian novels!

Before Cricri baked this recipe with me, my own most memorable experiences with koulibiac were with the ones my parents ordered for very special occasions from the Italian caterer on Avenue Victor Hugo in Paris, near our home. It was shaped like a log, not like a fish and the hard-boiled eggs were always left whole and lined up in a single file in the middle of the spinach filling, so that each slice of the koulibiac featured a beautiful yellow sun against a dark green background. Lovely! Personnally, however, I still think the fish shape is more spectacular but if you decide to stick to more traditional koulibiac shapes, just google the term and dozens will appear.
I don’t make the dish very often (usually only once a year for New Year’s Eve) because the process is rather time-consuming. Even when all the ingredients are ready, it usually takes me two and a half hours to assemble it. But it is creative and fun and I get to visit in my mind with all the people I ever baked it with or for and that’s a big plus.
I wasn’t planning to blog the recipe so I wasn’t set up to take any pictures. But almost half-way through, I though, why not? Maybe some of you would enjoy making it as much as I do and starting a new family holiday tradition. So here we are. The pictures are from my phone and they are not very good. Also since I thought of taking pictures kind of late in the game, I don’t have any from the beginning of the process. Still I think they give a good idea of the assembly process, don’t they? Happy New Year!
Ingredients (for 8 people):

  • 735 g puff pastry (3 frozen puff pastry sheets)
  • 340 g smoked salmon, sliced
  • 8 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
  • 1 big bunch of parsley, chopped
  • 4 shallots, minced
  • 2 garlic cloves, minced
  • 250 g cooked rice (I use brown basmati rice)
  • 750 g leafy greens, steamed and squeezed dry (I use a mix of spinach and Swiss chard leaves)
  • Egg yolks (for egg wash)
  • For the sauce:
  • 450 g sour cream (you want the regular one, not a low fat or no-fat one containing thickening agents)
  • 2 lemons (if they are juicy, you actually only need one and a half)
Method:
  1. 30 minutes before starting, take the dough out of the freezer
  2. Flatten the dough (patching one whole sheet and a half-one together) using a rolling pin and cut out the shape of a fish (remembering to leave a 2-cm border all around). This will form the bottom crust
  3. Using the bottom sheet as a template, cut out the other sheet and a half, leaving a wider border (at least 4 cm) to provide for the filling. This will form the top crust. Do not throw away the leftover scraps of dough as you will need them for the fins, the eyes and any other decoration you might wish to use
  4. Incorporate the chopped eggs in the rice
  5. Incorporate the minced shallot and garlic in the chopped parsley
  6. Place the bottom fish crust on a semolina-dusted parchment-lined half-sheet baking pan (I forgot to do that one year and had to transfer the assembled koulibiac from the countertop where I had rolled out the dough to the baking sheet without the assistance of any paper or liner. Not a mistake I am likely to make twice!)
  7. Keeping 2-cm away from the edge on the bottom sheet, start building the different layers spreading half of the rice and egg mixture first, then the greens, then the salmon, then the shallot-garlic-parsley mixture, then the remaining rice, making sure the fish is entirely covered save for the border
  8. Salt and pepper to taste (be careful with the salt since the salmon might be rather salty)
  9. Make sure the edges are clear of rice, egg or parsley and paint them all around with egg wash
  10. Carefully position the top sheet of dough over the bottom and press all around the edges so that the top and the bottom fish are firmly stuck together
  11. Add fins, eyes (when there are little girls around, I like to make it a she-fish with long eyelashes, mouth, etc.)
  12. Paint all over with eggwash, draw scales and tail as desired and crimp the edges all around
  13. Bake in preheated 350°F/177°C oven for about an hour, checking frequently to make sure it is baking evenly. You may need to tent foil over it at some point to prevent overbrowning.
  14. While it is baking, squeeze the lemons and, using a fork, incorporate the juice into the sour cream until the cream liquefies a bit
  15. When the koulibiac is ready, bring to the table to slice so that your guests can decide whether they want a piece of the tail, or the eye, or a fin. My oldest grandchildren – who were always adventurous and appreciative eaters – liked to be able to choose.
  16. Serve hot with the sauce on the side. (Over the years I have found that the best way to pair the sauce with the fish is for each guest to gently lift the crust on his or her slice of koulibiac, pour a generous tablespoonful of sauce over the steaming filling and fold the crust back over the whole thing.) Blissful!

    Printable recipe

The Salmon Koulibiac is going to Susan for Yeastspotting, her weekly roundup of breads and other baked goodies.

Swedish Thin Bread

I have had a (huge) soft spot in my heart for Scandinavia ever since my beloved late mother-in-law Sigrid -who hailed from Charlottenlund near Copenhagen- introduced me years and years ago to the magic both of white summer nights and of Nordic Christmases. Juleaften (Christmas Eve) was her favorite holiday. She didn’t bake or cook but she filled our house with lights and love and I will cherish these memories for as long as there’ll be Christmas. So when Eva and Valter, our Swedish friends, invited us to a pre-Christmas bake party, my imagination (never idle) brought me back to these winters of long ago when I used to dream of snowy lakes and red cottages with glimmering windows and my heart immediately skipped a beat.

The thin breads are not part of the Danish tradition (at least not as I know it through Sigrid) but the elves (julenissen) very much are and the minute I stepped inside the Swedish bake house and saw these little creatures on the wall, I knew I was in the right place. Turns out, the elves were not only on the wall. They were rolling out dough, talking, laughing, snacking, tending the oven, counting seconds (it takes exactly 11 seconds to bake a thin bread in a wood-fire oven) and sipping glögg (mulled wine).

We joined right in and a few hours later, with floury aprons and much good cheer, we all emerged from the baking house with armfuls of flatbreads. These will be enjoyed with smoked salmon, lox or crab paste, cheese, jams or just plain butter all through the holiday weekend and even later since the habit is nowadays to freeze whatever isn’t eaten immediately.
In the old days, families and friends met a few times a year to bake this bread, not only at Christmas time. So when the owner’s family moved from northern Sweden to the Northwest, they had a brick oven built in a little house in the backyward and it became a tradition for the neighborhood Swedish immigrants (there were quite a few in the old days) to meet there and bake. The tradition has survived the generations and today the bake house is still very much in use.
The thin breads can only be made one at a time in a woodfire oven. They are never flipped, just rotated to ensure an even bake. The dough is typically mixed at home and brought to the bake house at the appointed time (families book oven time long in advance).
It is then scaled, rolled out (with lots of extra flour as it is pretty sticky), flattened into round pancake-shaped loaves, thinned out with specially grooved rolling pins, brushed to remove any flour which might still be clinging to the dough and then deftly lobbed onto the oven sole in front of the flaming wood. They are folded immediately while they are still hot. (I hung a few on my pasta drying rack to dry out completely when we got home as condensation had accumulated in the Ziploc bags. As soon as they were perfectly dry, I packaged them again).
What follows is Eva’s recipe. Thank you ever so much, Eva! I used a blend of light rye and white whole wheat flour but I’d be tempted to add oat, barley or buckwheat flour next time or maybe use dark (whole) rye, just to vary the taste as the Swedes apparently like to do.

Ingredients (for 30 large thin breads):

  • 2.5 liters of milk
  • 19 g instant dry yeast (28 g active dry)
  • 5 g baking powder
  • 56 g butter
  • 130 g sugar (I might skip the sugar next time and that may sound like heresy to a Swede! I’ll have to ask Eva)
  • 210 g syrup (I used maple but you can use any pancake syrup or a mix of molasses and syrup)
  • 13.5 g salt (I will use 2% of the flour weight next time as we like our breads a tad more salty)
  • 1815 g unbleached all-purpose flour
  • 913 g light rye flour (or a mix of rye and whole wheat flours)
  • 11 g ground fennel seeds (Eva leaves some fennel seeds whole or barely crushed)
  • 11 g anise seeds
Method:
  1. Mix all dry ingredients with hand or a wooden spoon
  2. Warm milk, butter and syrup to 120-130°F/49-54°C
  3. Mix everything together in a large shallow bowl
  4. Let it rise, covered, until needed (I gave it one fold as it looked really batter-ish)
  5. Divide into 30 pieces and proceed with the shaping and baking as per video above.
Happy Holidays!

The Swedish Thin Bread is going to Susan for Yeastspotting, her weekly roundup of breads and other baked goodies.