On Thursday, home with the kids all day, it was time to make bread again. I’ve made it three times now, each time with a different recipe. I like something about each recipe, although I haven’t been wildly thrilled by any of the bread I’ve made so far. (Although Sophia continously asking for a piece of “the homemade bread” has made me quite proud, let me tell you.)

This time I used Beth Hensperger’s Bread Made Easy. The book has a basic introduction to breadmaking, with what you’re doing for each step and what the bread’s doing during each step. The book contains eight basic recipes with seven or eight variations on each: batter bread, egg bread, white bread, whole wheat bread, holiday sweet bread, flatbread, country bread, and coffee cake.

Here is how my white bread came out:

I like the color on this one, and I like the effect of the eggwash on the top. However…I haven’t had as much luck with breads two and three getting them to rise high enough. This isn’t so much sandwich bread as almost-sandwich bread. I think the problem this time was using 9×5 pans (which Hensperger recommended) instead of 8.5×4.5.

Also, a big problem for me with Hensperger’s books (I also checked out The Bread Lover’s Bread Machine Cookbook ) is that she gives the ingredients by volume instead of weight. I am firmly in the weight-measurements camp—what’s hilarious is, if on the first of this year you’d asked me to describe what in hell the difference was, I’m sure I could have stammered something out, but I wouldn’t have known what I was talking about. But now? Now I am all about the weighing. Especially for a beginner, weighing your ingredients is vital. When I weigh out my flour, I know I’ve got exactly what the recipe calls for. Measuring by volume…maybe I’ve got the right amount of flour, and maybe I’ve compacted a few extra ounces in my cup than the recipe actually needs. No way? Weigh!

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After dinner I needed to entertain the kids a little, so I said, “Let’s make a cake!” (Yes. I am turning into Weird Mommy. So sue me.) I decided to use Clotilde’s recipe for Yogurt Cake. I asked Sophia if she wanted to put some frozen strawberries in it, and she said yes, and then she asked if she could eat some frozen strawberries…and she now has a new favorite snack. I am hoping to sneak frozen peaches by her in this matter.

The cake is exceptionally easy to make—it’s no wonder kids can help make it: add the ingredients together, stir, stick in pan, cook.

I thought the cake came out quite well:

The strawberries more or less collapsed during the baking, though, leaving strawberry-tasting spots behind: those reddish spots are areas where strawberries used to be. Is there anything I could have done to avoid that? Or is that the cost of using frozen fruit?

The other interesting development was that the brown sugar we used was clumpier than I thought, and no matter how much Sophia stirred it or I attacked it, there were rocks of brown sugar. The finish cake had pockets of melted brown sugar throughout. This did not affect the taste, except for the better.

(My cake came out of its pan with no problem! Several people on Clotilde’s page, including Clotilde, mention having problems getting the cake out!)

Unfortunately the cake finished too late for us to actually eat it, so I put it under foil until the morning, at which point we all had a piece (or possibly two) and declared it the best cake ever, especially since the kids had made it.

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While I’ve made bread three times—the second time was a recipe from The Bread Baker’s Apprentice by Peter Reinhart and the bread tasted great; it just didn’t rise high enough—I’ve made dough four times. The fourth time was a disaster: I made a starter per Alton Brown’s directions in I’m Just Here For More Food and got down to business making his “Everyday Bread.” I added the ingredients to the bowl and started the machine kneading. It was a wet dough. It was a very wet dough. When I added at least an extra cup of flour and it was still a wet dough, I gave up. Obviously I’d done something horribly wrong.

I need more successes with direct doughs before I can figure out what happened here.

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My friend Michele asked me, “What’s up with all this baking?” I said, “It’s a way to be creative with the kids around.” I cannot concentrate on my writing when we’re all together, and I’d like to interest them in cooking, if at all possible, since I’ve come to it rather late, myself.

I think I’m also particularly interested in baking (as opposed to cooking in general) because it’s not something Darin knows particularly much about. He’s not interested in baking; he hasn’t read tons and tons of baking-specific cooking books. It’s nice to carve out my own little niche in the kitchen.

Also: excuse to have extremely tasty food around. “I had to bake the cookies! Had to try that recipe!”

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I am up at this ridiculous hour because I decided to make chicken stock tonight and I have to wait for it to cool down in the cold water bath in the kitchen sink. I have lost my mind. I know this now.

I am currently reading the entire archives of Prepare to Meet Your Bakerina, the blog of one Jen McAllister, a baker who revels in all things foodie. She also has a fun, arch writing style, describing herself as “the Biggest Baking Nerd in the World” and working on a history of the egg in baking for a fellowship in Arkansas. (I haven’t gotten to the entries about how the fellowship went, yet.)

I have mentioned before that I am not a fan of faux populism, the idea that haute is automatically inferior to bistro, which is automatically inferior to home. (Granted, I *do* tend to favor home-cooked food, particularly the kind known in France as “cuisine de mere;” it is what I’d prefer to eat and certainly what I’d prefer to cook, but I believe that you can love your grandma’s beef stew without spitting all over the daube at your local four-star.) But if I don’t like faux populism, I absolutely, positively hate faux gourmandism, the idea that a high price tag justifies splashing about expensive ingredients hither and yon without considering basic principles of taste and balance. If my Italian local is lucky enough to procure fresh white truffles in season, I have no problem with ordering a plate of spaghetti dressed with nothing but butter and a few shavings of those white truffles, and I understand that those shavings are going to put some serious additional change on the bill. But I don’t want those truffles on every damn dish on the menu. Nor do I need foie gras in a burrito, or ground Kobe beef in a hamburger.

Most of all, I don’t need caviar in a frittata. I haven’t had too much exposure to caviar, but I’ve had enough to know that if you’re shelling out big bucks for beluga or sevruga, you don’t want to gunk up those little pearls with cream or meat or vinaigrette or chopped hard-boiled egg. (Why this compulsion to serve egg with egg? Why?) Apparently, though, someone at the Parker Meridien, one of the most expensive hotels in Midtown, has decided that what their frittata special really needs is caviar. And lobster. And cream sauce, plenty of cream sauce. Thus it is that the P-M openly, freely and without shame, invites you to order this on your next visit.

The hotel’s general manager, Steven Pipes, has admitted that he doesn’t anticipate too many takers on this frittata, that he and the executive chef came up with this dish as a way to keep the menu from getting too “stale” (I still dream of the day when this sort of food fashion, “is it in or is it out?,” falls out of fashion), and that the whole thing is just a bit of a joke. I agree that it’s a joke. But it’s not funny. What it is is a waste: a waste of a good lobster, a waste of almost ¾ pound of caviar, a waste of butter and heavy cream, a waste of six eggs, all in pursuit of a stunt we should have got over playing 30 years ago.

She mentioned the book The Taste of America often enough and in enough intriguing ways that I actually went ahead and ordered a copy. (Dudette! Get an Amazon ID! Get recognition of the American sort when your recommendations are followed up! Although, I have to admit, in the case of Taste of America, I ordered off of Alibris, where the copies were much cheaper.)

Downside: not enough recipes! She mentions making incredible edibles but then mutters about “copyright” and “permission to reprint.” But…but…this is the Web! We have Fair Use! (Until such time as the Administration can repeal it, and believe me, they’re working on it.)

Since I’ve been on a baking tear of late, Jen’s writing about baking, the history of baking, and what she’s been baking are of extreme interest to me these days.

I need to become one of Bakerina’s best friends, so I can her to mail me some of her goodies…

(Btw, Jen: if you do open your own bakery, forget about calling it “Baked Goods”—it’s “Bakerina” all the way!)

I really have got to remember to put my camera on the kitchen island when making a big dinner. I totally forgot to take any pictures last night.

Last night I made a dinner that was very yummy but not particularly well-balanced in terms of flavors. I made

• Stuffed Pork Tenderloin from Amuse Bouche’s recipe (mine kind of looked like that, so just imagine that’s mine)
• Alsatian Onion Tart: puffed pastry, onion, and bacon, from Baking With Julia
• Squash: most embarrassing, I can’t remember which type of squash it was, other than “not very tasty”
• Strawberry Shortcake, from the recipe in How To Be A Domestic Goddess

The whole dinner went over well. The stuffed pork tenderloin came out very juicy and flavorful; the kids ate some, which was more than they’ve eaten of most entrees. The onion tart was flaky and sweet—this would make an excellent appetizer, preferably with a dish that wasn’t already heavy with onions and bacon! And the strawberry shortcake: Who cares that this is totally the wrong season for strawberries! (Have markets always been full of strawberries at Valentine’s Day?) Add some sugar, some whipped cream, and voila! Life is really good.

Alsatian Onion Tart
About 1/2 pound puff pastry scraps, chilled
4 very large onions, peeled and diced
1 cup chicken broth (homemade or canned low-sodium)
3 tablespoons heavy cream
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/4 pound slab bacon

Preparing the Pastry

Roll out the puff pastry on a lightly floured work surface until it is very thin, 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick. Using the lid of a pot as a guide, cut the pastry with a very sharp knife into a circle 10 to 12 inches across. Transfer the rolled-out pastry to an ungreased baking sheet and price the dough all over, using either a docker or the tines of a fork. Go overboard with this—try arming yourself with a fork in each hand and playing out a lively tattoo on the dough—the docking, or pricking, will keep the pastry from puffing, just what you want for this tart. Cover the pastry with plastic wrap and refrigerate until needed. You can prepare the pastry up to 1 day ahead.

Making the Topping

Put the diced onions and the chicken broth in a medium saucepan over low heat and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are very soft, about 30 minutes. Drain, discarding any liquid, and let the onions cool. When the onions have cooled, stir in the heavy cream and season with salt and pepper. (Keep tasting—you may want to go easy on the salt because of the bacon.)

Remove the rind from the bacon and cut the bacon into 1/4-inch cubes. Drop the cubes into a large pot of boiling water and boil for 1 minute, just to blanch them. Drain and rinse under cold water, then pat dry with paper towels.

Heat a medium skillet over moderately high heat, toss in the bacon pieces, and cook, stirring, for just a minute or two—you don’t want to overcook these, or they’ll turn tough; season with pepper. Remove the bacon from the pan and drain well on paper towels. At this point, the topping can be covered and refrigerated for 1 day.

Assembling and Baking

Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 350F.

Remove the pastry round from the refrigerator and top with the cooled onions, spreading the onions all the way to the edge of the pastry. Scatter the bacon pieces over the onions, pushing them down into the onions just a little (this will not only protect the bacon from burning, it will flavor the onions). Bake the tart for about 30 minutes, or until golden brown. Serve immediately.

Storing

Both the pastry and the topping can be made ahead, but the tart is at its best just baked.

Contributing Baker Michel Richard

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Strawberry Shortcake

For the shortcakes:
2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon baking powder
5 tablespoons sugar
1/2 cup unsalted butter, frozen
1 large egg, beaten
1/2 cup light cream
1 large egg white, slightly beaten
1 baking sheet, greased or lined with parchment or wax paper
2 1/2 inch round cutter

For the filling:
approximately 11 oz. strawberries
1 tablespoon sugar
few drops balsamic vinegar (optional)
1 cup heavy cream, whipped or creme fraiche

Preheat the oven to 425F.

Mix the flour, salt, baking powder, and 3 tablespoons of the sugar in a bowl. Grate the butter into these dry ingredients and use your fingertips to finish crumbling the butter into the flour. Whisk the egg into the cream, and pour into the flour mixture a little at a time, using a fork to mix. You may not need all of the eggy cream to make the dough come together, so go cautiously.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and roll gently to a thickness of about 3/4 inch. Dip the cutter in flour and cut out as many rounds as you can. Work the scraps back into a dough, re-roll and finish cutting out—you should get 8 in all. Place the shortcakes about 1 inch apart on the baking sheet, brush the tops with the egg white, and sprinkle them with the remaining 2 tablespoons of sugar. If it helps with the rest of your cooking, or life in general, you can cover and refrigerate them now for up to 2 hours.

Bake for 10-15 minutes, until golden brown, and let them cool for a short while on a wire rack. Meanwhile, crush half the strawberries with the spoonful of sugar and the few drops of balsamic vinegar if using, and halve or quarter the remaining strawberries, depending on their size. Whip the heavy cream, if you’re using.

The shortcakes should be eaten while still warm, so split each one across the middle and cover with a spoonful fo the crushed strawberry mixture, a few halved or quartered strawberries, then dollop some whipped cream or creme fraiche on top, and set the top back on.

Makes 8.