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On Fresh Baked Bread
 
From:   Messingm@aol.com
 Subject: On fresh baked bread
 Date: November 17, 2003 8:53:59 PM EST
 To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info
 Reply-To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info

This past weekend a friend stopped by, obviously a good friend, with a two pound loaf of freshly baked bread and left it for us to discover on our return.  I stored it in the microwave (which makes a great bread box) overnight, and when I opened it in the morning I was enveloped in the incomparably rich aromas of yeast bread (or starter dough?), dark flours, and embedded spices (cardamon?).  Cutting through the thick crust revealed a chewy dough of wheat and rye (I’m guessing at all of this) and I began first by scooping out the moist dough from the heel. This is the kind of bread that can be very disruptive to a planned life.  First, it requires rethinking breakfast, and that can’t be done with out several more taste tests.  There needs to be a taste with butter, and then with a few grains of salt.  And then a slice needs to be toasted, in this case on an iron skillet. The steel-cut oatmeal I probably would have had otherwise can wait until the bread runs out.  Poached eggs are now off the menu.  The last of great navel oranges I got at Eastern Market the previous week have been eaten; a cheddar/lager/omelet is a possibility, but by the time I’ve finished the toasted piece, its becoming clear that breakfast will consist of bread, perhaps with butter, perhaps with cheese.  And coffee is no longer a given, but I’ll spare you all the details.  This bread required rethinking breakfast, rethinking lunch, and planning dinner around it. It’s also going to require freeing up some time in the coming months.  Simply put, it’s time to start baking bread again! Bon Appetite!  Marc    
From:   drwo@woteki.com
 Subject: Re: On fresh baked bread
 Date: November 18, 2003 9:39:25 AM EST
 To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info
 Reply-To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info

No rye, no embedded spices, no dark flours. Just flour, water, salt, a 2-week old home brew starter (no commercial yeast) and, oh, a touch of czarnuska seeds. It’s the enduring miracle of home baked bread made from a very sticky dough baked at high heat on a stone.

Czarnuska: I have had these coal-black, earthy flavored seeds for years, make that decades. They are a holdover from my grandfather’s and uncles’ bakery in Brooklyn. I have kept them all this time. You can actually find them at http://www.penzeys.com where they are described thusly:

Charnushka (Nigella Sativa)
Tiny, black, smoky flavored seeds found atop Jewish [Polish - THW] rye bread in New York. Used in Armenia, Lebanon, Israel, and India [and Poland]. Also referred to as black caraway or kalonji, charnushka is used heavily in garam masala. From India.

Tom
From:   regoconnor@adelphia.net
 Subject: Re: On fresh baked bread
 Date: November 18, 2003 10:39:29 PM EST
 To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info
 Reply-To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info

Tom---you never cease to amaze me---that you should remember the bakery and that my dad used Charnuska on the rye bread .  It may interest all to know that my father had a bakery where he made only Rye and Pumpernickel breads and Hand-Made Rolls---each roll was shaped by hand---and my father had the thumb to prove it.  My father and his employees worked all night so that the rolls and bread be delivered fresh, early morning, to the local diners, grocery stores, delicatessens and small restaurants----the baked goodies  were put in corrugated boxes and left on the door steps of the stores who were not  yet opened---this was all before big super markets stores. After that the business changed----food had to have shelf life----had to be packaged a certain way----the taste of his bread and rolls is only a wonderful memory.   My mom, on the other hand, baked her own type of bread in her kitchen-----she thought my dad’s bread was mast produced----I think Tom takes after my mom----she cooked and baked for days before a big holiday---she even made her own cold cuts.  Forgive an old lady for rambling------holidays bring back so many fond memories.
From:   LYCARLSON@comcast.net
 Subject: Re: On fresh baked bread
 Date: November 19, 2003 12:39:36 PM EST
 To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info
 Reply-To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info

I know those seeds well and never knew the name!  You can also find them on seeded jewish corn bread.
From:   drwo@woteki.com
 Subject: Re: On fresh baked bread
 Date: November 19, 2003 8:53:12 PM EST
 To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info
 Reply-To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info

How could I forget? I used to work at the bakery, Royal Bakery that is. My favorite as a teenager was riding shotgun on the delivery truck that my Uncle John drove to deliver those delicious breads and rolls before dawn. As dawn broke and the small coffee shops and groceries we served would open, we’d eat and drink our way from one shop to another -- French crullers, jelly doughnuts, buttered bagels and coffee -- light and sweet -- in  paper cups. And cold hard cash in my pocket at the end of the run.

When Cathie and I started dating we’d stop by the bakery on the way home and tear into some warm, hand-made Kaiser rolls. More fond memories.

Besides my Mom, my Grandfather was actually the inspiration for me to learn to cook. My Grandmother’s skill and reputation notwithstanding, my Grandfather knew his way around the kitchen, especially, I recall, soups like white borscht. Anyway, from him I observed that a man can keep a kitchen.

T
From:   kent@kentcooks.com
 Subject: Re: On fresh baked bread
 Date: November 19, 2003 11:21:05 PM EST
 To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info
 Reply-To:   aroundthekitchen@aroundthekitchen.info

hmmm...bakery stories from our youth. i grew up in a suburb of boston in a
heavily italian neighborhood. every once in awhile, when my mom was making
lasagna, my dad would take me and my younger brother to a trip to the
framingham bakery. i remember it being in a cellar-type place...verrrry low
lighting, almost cavelike. while we stood in the doorway waiting for our
pupils to open enough to see, the three of us would fill our noses and lungs
with that fresh baked bread smell. behind the counter were 2 or 3 older
italian women always dressed in widow’s weeds. before them was a tilted
table that must have been 20 feet long. side by side were low wire baskets,
each one filled to the top with the freshest bread and rolls in the world.
while my dad picked the perfect loaf (dad had a knack for making an
incredible salad, and for picking the perfect loaf of bread), my brother and
i would walk the length of the table, hands in our pockets, noses just
inches from the bread, not wanting the experience to end. but alas, it
would, when dad got his change and one of the ladies would toss my brother
and i each a fresh baked roll.

sigh...we return you now to our regularly scheduled broadcast....