Yesterday I smoked yet another batch of ribs and used my poolish for yet another ciabatta attempt. I was feeling a little off throughout the day, but brushed it off as nothing too serious, as everyone has those kinds of days.
But after pulling the ribs off the grill – done to perfection, I might add, and looking great when I sliced off a couple for my mom – I was suddenly gripped by the worst nausea I’ve experienced since I ended treatment a little over four months ago. The smoky smell of the ribs was aggravating it, and people who know me will tell you how rare it is for me to be made ill by the smell of food (when I’m not undergoing radiation and chemo, that is). Fortunately, I still had some compazine on hand, so crushed that and poured it down the tube along with some myquil. A little later, I finally drifted off the sleep. And that was good.
The bad part was my dough. Stuck between the first rise and the split/shaping/second rise, it remained on the kitchen counter, continuing to swell and rise. At 3 AM some asshat sales droid called my phone, and, awake, I decided to take care of a little business. On my way down the hall, I popped into the kitchen. The dough had risen to about 8x its original size, lying there with a reproachful look under the plastic wrap, reminding me of why it isn’t good to get sick while there is bread to be made. I ignored it and went back to sleep. This morning, my mother mercifully scraped it into the trash. Another poolish is in order today, to begin yet again.
I had thought initially that I was catching whatever my sisters had last week, as they both came down with a rather nasty bug, but things appear to have settled this morning. At a minimum, I don’t feel like I’m constantly on the verge of puking right now. This is also good, as it means I might be able to get another bread try in, pack some pickles, and carve some ribs for a delivery I was supposed to make today but which will have to wait until tomorrow. But it will still be delicious to my hapless victims, I’m sure.
Once ciabatta is mastered, it will be time to try baguettes and french loaves, now that my pans have come in. I had toyed with trying to make both freeform on the baking stone, but realized the spread might get a little out of hand. Who wants flat bread that isn’t meant to be flat? Appropriate tools were in order.
All in all, yesterday wasn’t a complete waste, but by the end of it, it surely felt that way. C’est la vie.
Two nights ago, I was supposed to feed some people a nice dinner. Alas, events conspired against me. A geek’s job is never done, and instead of listening to the hiss of grilling meat I was listening to the a/c units and servers at the NOC as I replaced someone’s primary drive and restored their files. That is not exactly an even trade. The window of opportunity for dinner passed, and will have to await my mom’s return, since she is currenly visiting King Tut – or at least some of his stuff.
Yesterday, I was planning on making some more poolish to continue my ciabatta experiments. Alas, events once again conspired against me as I worked on yet another server issue that took most of the day and a lot of the night. The things we do to get things set up to try new applications…
Today? Yet another crazy workday. Too little sleep, too little food both yesterday and today, no cleaning done, no end of quarter paperwork mailed. We joke around here that Tuesdays are our Mondays, because Tuesdays are always busier and weirder than any other day. This week has been filled with Tuesdays.
But I believe it is time to throw together some poolish to get that fermenting. Tomorrow is a brand new day, after all, and not every day can be insanity demonstrated.
I love to bake just as much as I love to cook. Some people may think the two are the same thing – after all, you throw some ingredients together, heat it or cool it, and then you eat it, right?
There’s a saying that will tell discerning readers (or eaters, for that matter) a thing or two about the difference: cooking is an art. Baking is a science.
There’s a reason for this. Baking in general requires fairly exact proportions in order to come to an end result that is actually edible. Anyone who has accidentally dumped too much salt into a cookie recipe will know how things can go terribly awry in baking. With cooking, most mistakes are recoverable – that is, mistakes can often be worked around or dealt with in a way that still leaves you with something to eat.
Where is this all leading? Bread, of course. My favorite thing to bake and my favorite baked good to eat. In the past, I’ve generally done what most people would recognize as loaf-type breads: cinnamon-raisin, with or without the raisins, whole wheat or honey wheat, and so on. The doughs for these breads are firm and easy to work with. Having made all sorts of loaves before I went in for surgery last year, I wanted to try something different this time around. Something I’d never done before, with a dough type that I’d never handled. I chose ciabatta: a wet, sticky dough that requires some care in handling in order to get a good crumb (the inside of the bread, where all the holes are). Anyone who has eaten a sandwich on loaf bread knows that the holes are very small and very consistent. Not so on wet dough breads like ciabatta. The holes vary wildly throughout, and the bread itself feels airy when held: light in the hand, with a nice crust.
Since I am the adventurous type, I dove right in. After all, flour is cheap, and if the end result is awful, it goes into the trash and a new batch is made with an eye toward improving whatever went wrong the first (or second or third) time.
The bread begins with a starter dough. The first dough is made and then left to ferment anywhere from several hours to overnight. There are two options: a biga and a poolish. The latter is looser than the first, more liquid. Since my goal was experimenting with very loose, wet dough, I went with a poolish to begin. The poolish is mixed and then left at room temperature for 3-4 hours. Once it is bubbly, it goes to the refrigerator for anywhere from several hours to three days, to be pulled out about an hour before use. This is my poolish after about 12 hours in the refrigerator:
It is very wet, loose, and sticky, and goes into the second dough mixture. Working with the finished dough was quite interesting, and difficult. The idea behind this type of bread is not to “degas” the bread. The bubbles in the dough are what will form the crumb and give the holes discussed up above. After a couple of folds and resting periods, the dough was split into three loaves, stretched a bit, and folded again, then allowed to proof again. Once that’s completed, it’s baking time. The bread was baked directly on a stone, and cooks very quickly. The loaves took about 12 minutes each. You’re supposed to allow the bread to cool for 45 minutes before cutting, but there had to be a sacrificial loaf. This was the first cut – well, technically, it was the second, as my mom scooped up the first cut, slathered some butter on it, and ate it.
While I am not displeased with my first effort – the bread smells terrific and, according to the first taste tester, is delicious – I can see some room for improvement. The crumb is nicely developed, but could go a step or two further.
The irregular holes can be seen, but I’d like them to be larger and would like there to be more of them. I believe this is either the result of insufficient kneading or of losing too much gas during the folding processes. The dough is rustic, but I’m not thrilled with the folds I got, as there is a pronounced seam as well. Next time, I think I’ll do two slightly larger loaves rather than three smaller loaves. On the plus side, the dough is airy and the loaves are light. The crust is nicely formed and browned, courtesy of the steaming in the first few minutes of baking. So I’m going to tag this one as a partial success and continue to experiment with this dough. This first round will go well with Wednesday night’s dinner: filet mignon with lump crab and a bernaise, roasted asparagus with balsamic vinegar and parmigiano-reggiano, and spinach au gratin. I know, two greens in one dinner, but they were requests, and who am I to turn those down?
Aside from the baking experiment, I also made some pickles.
From left to right, those will be: sour garlic pickles, “firecrackers” (courtesy of Alton Brown), and bread and butter chips. The firecrackers just call for baby carrots, but I found some sweet peppers at the store, so I tossed a few in with the carrots after cutting a slit in the side of each one. I made the pickling mixture for each one, and poured it over the goodies in the jars.
Clockwise from the top, those are the firecrackers, with a few dried chiles added after the jar is filled, the bread and butter chips, and the sour garlic pickles. I would have liked to have done spears for the last, but was unable to find some decent sized cukes that would have been suitable, so chips again. Maybe as we get into the season we’ll have better luck with that. The pickles were all cooled to room temperature, then lidded and refrigerated. As with most pickled items, these will no doubt get better as they age, but I’m going to have my tasters sample them Wed. night. There will be plenty of pickles around here down the road – I’m a huge pickle fan, and not just pickled cukes – so I’ll be able to do my own tasting 24 hours into a pickle at some point. I’d like to do a pickle of other veggies, like a cauliflower and red pepper pickle, maybe with some red onion. I think that would be rather tasty.
Tonight: a fabulous dinner. I’ll definitely take a couple of pictures of this one for your viewing pleasure.
Since my dear friend missed the first round of ribs – through no fault of her own, I might add, as outside influences conspired to keep her away – and since they were such a hit the last time around, I decided that Saturday would be a good day to go another round with the smoker, and see if the previous success could be recreated.
As faithful readers would know, in our last rib episode, we had ribs and zucchini gratin. Those menu items were repeated today. I made a few tweaks to the rib rub to incorporate slightly less of the chili powder and add some ginger and allspice instead. Llikewise, I made a couple of tweaks to the gratin to make the sauce a bit thicker and experimented with a larger grating of the gruyere – the sauce was a winner, but I liked the look of the microplane grated cheese versus the box grater, so the next time I’ll return to that.
In the meantime, one sister, who has been dictating the menus, is going to be wrapped up in her two jobs and church (Catholic, you know) until after Easter, so I am taking requests from others within the fam and the immediate circle for items to include on the menu. Filet mignon came up while we were sitting around the table talking in the after-eating portion of the dinner program. That will probably make an appearance on the next cooking day, once I decide what to serve with it. Heck, it might even be nice to have some lump crab in a beurre blanc with the steak itself. You never know. But what sides? Main dishes are so much easier to come up with that suitable sides for them, for some reason. Why is that?
Not for nefarious purposes. For food purposes, naturally, as if thought of anything else manages to penetrate this thick skull.
For awhile now – probably from just before I had to stop eating solid food – I’ve wanted to make my own sausage. Commercial sausage isn’t horrible in most cases, and the store-made sausage from Publix is generally better, but there’s just something special about making something from scratch on your own. It’s the same reason I bake and the same reason I have a (vegetable) garden when I have the chance: it’s about having something grow under your ministrations, as careful with your new creation, as tender (or firm) with it as you would be with a child. The goal is the same: to raise something – or someone – of which you can be justifiably proud, that will serve to nourish others in a variety of ways, both bodily and mentally.
But back to the sausage. Really, it isn’t difficult to do this on your own. A bit time-consuming, to be sure, and temperature control of the meat is important so as not to have the finished product separate into grainy bits when cooked. Casings aren’t even strictly necessary, since the meat can be formed into patties instead. Since we want to have the full experience, however, and since we do have a grinder/stuffer attachment for the trusty KitchenAid, we’ll be giving it a go and stuffing casings with whatever mixture appears on our radar. My mom loves sweet Italian sausage, so I’ve put that first on my list. Other variations will no doubt follow, and I have a sense that I’ll be foisting sausages off on random strangers just to get them out of the house.
If you’ve any interest in sausage, curing, or smoking, I’d highly recommend the book Charcuterie, published late last year. I ran across a mention of it on the eGullet forums about two weeks ago and finally broke down and ordered it last week. It’s a cookbook, how could I resist? An excellent addition to the library.
I decided to deviate from my sister’s request list for Thursday night. Not out of disagreement with anything she would like to see on her plate, of course. Only because while I was picking up a prescription at Publix, I decided to wander past the seafood case. Shrimp scampi with angel hair pasta and bruschetta popped into my mind while I was looking, and since I’m easily swayed by menu suggestions at the moment, I got a couple pounds of shrimp. When I told my sister – the same one tossing out the “can you make that”, the same one who refuses to eat any sort of meat on the bone – she informed me that she doesn’t eat shrimp with pasta. No problem, says I, ever amenable and flexible, we’ll just serve them separately, and you can have the shrimp by itself. Can’t eat it, she says. Too much butter. She also won’t eat bread because she’s trying to watch her carbs for the upcoming swimuit season. This from a girl who has an athlete’s body and weighs maybe 117 soaking wet.
So it will be something else for her. I just need to figure it out. In the meantime, my mom and my other sister will happily share the main dish, and if my brother wasn’t such a rube, he’d be here to enjoy it as well.
The problem with not being able to eat is not being able to taste this stuff. When no one is around or immediately available, it’s impossible to get a victim to taste test it before anyone else eats it.
The ribs came off the smoker after about 4.5 hours.
The meat has pulled away from the bone.
I pulled a portion to look at before everyone was home/awake, to see how the first time rib smoking worked out for me. It worked: nice smoke ring.
More cuts, as the fam began arriving.
Nice and juicy.
And did I mention the zucchini gratin? Still bubbling, right out of the oven.