[Baguettes au levain]

When I started to bake bread on a weekly basis, I thought following a baguette recipe was out-of-reach territory: I would bake the kind of loaves I love — a hearty crust (but not too dark at the bottom), an open crumb (but one that’s still tight enough to withstand a good spread of dairy or almond butter), great flavor from a slow fermentation, and a nutritious blend of organic flours — but I would always go and get my Piccola baguette from the Coquelicot bakery on place des Abbesses.

After a while though, having baked enough boules (round loaves) in a closed vessel (a pyrex cocotte in my case) to become really good friends with my starter, I decided to graduate to baking bread on a stone.

From the very first attempt, the result was squeal-worthy: a good oven spring, crunchy tips and crust, a crumb that feels springy and alive and, more important, a fragrant and flavorful bread.

A baking stone is fantastic for bread-baking: it absorbs heat as the oven preheats and retains it even as you open and close the oven door, which prevents the temperature in the oven from dropping dramatically when you put in the loaves. Additionally, bread dough that is plopped on a very hot surface rises beautifully: instead of spreading out first, then rising up, it seems a lot more motivated to rise upward from the moment it hits the blazing hot stone (I would too).

My first loaves on the baking stone were free-form bâtards — elongated oval loaves — because it was easier to fit two of those on my square baking stone, and I noticed that the crumb was more open than what I got when baking boules. I made a few more of those, and then I thought, what are baguettes if not thin bâtards? And why didn’t I just make baguettes?

Perfecting the baguette recipe

The baguettes one buys in French bakeries are rarely leavened with a natural starter, and when they are (baguette au levain), the starter is generally coupled with commercial yeast (it is worth asking). The flour that is used is a white wheat flour that often contains additives, and both of these characteristics account for their particularly light, aerated crumb.

What I wanted, on the other hand, was a baguette leavened with a natural sourdough starter only, made with a blend of organic flours that included some partially whole wheat, so I knew I wouldn’t get quite the same texture, but it would be a baguette in its own right.

After reading the reports of fellow starter enthusiasts for tips, and watching a few shaping videos, I felt about ready.

And indeed, from the very first attempt, the result was squeal-worthy: a good oven spring had pulled the slashed slits wide open, the tips and crust were crunchy enough that, when squeezed, the baguettes let out that delightful crackling sound, the crumb felt springy and alive, it was full of holes of various sizes and, more important, fragrant and flavorful.

I wish I could bottle the feeling I get when I watch my baguettes rise through the oven door, then super-peel them out and listen to them chirp as they cool.

I have baked a number of batches since that day, and if I could bottle the feeling I get when I watch my baguettes rise through the oven door, then super-peel them out and listen to them chirp as they cool, I would pose a major threat to antidepressant manufacturers.

We do, however, continue to go out and buy baguettes from Coquelicot on a regular basis, especially when we have friends over: as tickling as it would be to serve a meal that’s homemade right down to the baguettes, it’s just not realistic for me to cook dinner and bake bread on the same day — not if I want to stay awake throughout the evening anyway. But home-baked bread makes quite an impression as a host(ess) gift, I’ve noticed, so that’s my favored way of sharing.

Tips for making this baguette recipe

I should note that my baguettes are, in fact, demi-baguettes (half-baguettes), due to the limited width of my home oven. You can make them slimmer and call them ficelles or flûtes (literally, strings or flutes), if you prefer, dividing the dough into six rather than four pieces, but then you’ll have to bake them in batches, otherwise they won’t have enough elbow room for optimal air circulation. Conversely, you can divide the dough into just two pieces to make bâtards. In all cases, remember to adjust the baking time to the size of the loaves.

Because the dough needs to rest in the fridge for 12 to 24 hours, it means you can really make it work within your own schedule: I generally feed my starter in the morning on day 1, make the dough in the afternoon when the starter is ripe, then bake the baguettes in the morning or in the afternoon on day 2.

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I spent a few days in New York City in early December to promote* my latest book project, and I happened to stay at a hotel that was very near the Chelsea Market.

I had very little free time in my schedule, but the proximity allowed me to do a little personal shopping (books, utensils, magazines), buy a few things to improvise breakfast in my room** and, moments before I was to catch a ride back to the airport, get a sandwich and a treat to eat on the plane.

The sandwich was a B.L.A.T. on sourdough from Friedmans Lunch; the treat a giant pecan mudslide cookie from the tiny Jacques Torres stand.

The trick to getting these cookies right is to time the baking precisely so that the core of the cookie remains fudge-like, in ideal contrast with the crisper edges, the pecan pieces, and the chocolate chunks.

What I really meant to get was a chocolate chip cookie, because Torres is one of the experts David Leite consulted for his perfect chocolate chip cookie article, and the devil on my left shoulder was hoping to persuade the angel on the right that it was all in the name of research. But they were out of those, so I simply got the other kind on offer. (As it turns out, my shoulder angel has a weakness for chocolate so he’s a bit lax when it comes to that kind of decision.)

I ended up not eating the pecan mudslide cookie on the plane but simply brought it home, where it fed Maxence and me over the next couple of days; it was that big.

This cookie was so good, so chocolate-intense, that I credit it for helping me recover from the jetlag and travel fatigue. And because I felt I needed further assistance in that department, I looked for a recipe online. I easily found one in the New York Times archives, and it came with a leetle veedeo in which Jacques himself walks you through the process — always a bonus.

I two-fifthed the recipe, scaling it down to use 2 instead of 5 eggs, and modified it to use bittersweet chocolate only (unsweetened chocolate is not a staple of the French baker’s pantry), a little less sugar, and pecans in place of walnuts. And instead of making eight jumbo cookies, as the recipe scaling would have me do, I made sixteen of a size that is still plenty satisfying, but seemed as if it would go down better with the angel.

The trick to getting these (and many other) pecan mudslide cookies right is to time the baking precisely so that the core of the cookie remains fudge-like, in ideal contrast with the crisper edges, the pecan pieces, and the chocolate chunks. The timing I’m giving below is perfect for my own oven, but yours is probably different, so start with a trial batch, watch the cookies closely, and make a note of the baking time that works for you.

At this point, I think I should stress how insanely chocolatey these mudslide cookies are — after all, they are more than 50% chocolate in weight. This is what makes them spectacular, but it also means that you should think carefully about the chocolate you use in them, because it will have a majority vote in the final flavor. (In Paris, affordable couverture chocolate can be obtained from G. Detou.)

And if you celebrate Valentine’s Day — I belong to category #2 so I don’t — these would certainly make your special someone feel very special.

~~~

* This involved a brief “cooking” segment on CBS’s Early Show, if you’re interested.

** I broke my own no-hotel-breakfast rule on my first morning there and ordered a so-called “seasonal fruit bowl,” only to discover that, in their world, this meant melon and berries. In December. Sheesh.

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I have been wanting to make my own crumpets for about eight years. I can tell you this because that’s when I remember placing, in my bulging clipping file, a mauve scrap of paper on which I’d copied a crumpet recipe from one of the ladies’ magazines my grandmother used to subscribe to.

But the recipe involved yeast, and back then I hadn’t yet conquered my fear of it, so the recipe hibernated in the “miscellaneous” section for years, until it eventually got the ax during a perhaps overzealous pruning campaign.

The project resurfaced in my mind a few months ago, when I learned from the King Arthur Flour website that you could make sourdough crumpets with natural starter.

Now I can count on fantastic crumpets every time: nicely bubbly at the top, to catch the drippings of whatever you spread them with, crisp around the edges, and lightly doughy on the inside, with a subtle tang to the palate.

A thrifty recipe for sourdough crumpets

Better yet, the recipe is the kind that every natural starter enthusiast dreams of: one that offers to use up the excess starter that the natural feeding cycle leaves you with*. All you need to do is store that extra starter in a container in the fridge — I’ve recycled an empty tub of yogurt for that purpose — until it amounts to roughly a cup (270 grams), which, in my case, takes about three feedings. You mix that with a bit of sugar, salt, and baking soda, and cook the foamy batter like pancakes in a skillet.

It took me a couple of tries to get them right — I had to figure out how hot the skillet needed to be, how much of the batter I should use for each crumpet, and that the crumpet rings needed to be well greased and well preheated to prevent sticking — but now I can count on fantastic sourdough crumpets every time: nicely bubbly at the top, to catch the drippings of whatever you spread them with, crisp around the edges, and lightly doughy on the inside, with a subtle tang to the palate.

I decided to equip myself with proper crumpet rings, which produce straight sides and a neat, stackable shape, but you can do without, or use, as I’ve seen suggested here and there, empty cans of tuna from which you’ll remove the top and bottom with a can opener (make sure you get cans that can be opened on both sides; it’s not always the case).

Crumpets are a teatime staple in the UK, served warm and spread with butter, but we also enjoy our sourdough crumpets at breakfast, with almond butter and a sliced pear. And because they are, in fact, neither sweet nor savory, I’ve eaten them with a chunk of fruity comté cheese and a bowl of soup to particularly satisfying results.

In all cases, toasting the crumpet is a must. And because they freeze so well, you can cook a big batch and stash them away for an impromptu crumpet fest.

[Note: Crumpets can also be made without a starter, as instructed in the following recipes (untested by me but seemingly reliable). This one is also from the King Arthur Flour website, with step-by-step pictures also, and this one appeared recently in The Guardian.]

* A sourdough starter needs to be fed its own weight in flour and its own weight in water at every feeding — daily or twice daily if it’s kept at room temperature, weekly if it lives in the fridge. If you were to keep all of the “old” starter, it would triple at every feeding and build up to an exponentially large quantity: you would gradually need more and more flour to keep it happy, which would be costly and impractical. The solution then is to remove a portion of the starter before each feeding, keeping just a couple of tablespoons. Some people throw out that extra starter, but many prefer to keep it in the fridge and work it into crêpe, cake, or clafoutis batters, in pizza doughs, in this crumpet recipe, etc. This extra starter can also be given away to another baker. Read more about natural starter bread.

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In the wee hours of a fresh new year, it is a lovely feeling to sit down and reminisce about the one that just ended, trying to squeeze out its essence and single out a few of its most memorable moments.

Among them, and in no particular order, I would list the release of a French classic I helped edit, a Best Culinary Travel Guide award for my Paris book, a trip to San Francisco and our first-ever apartment swap, my thirtieth birthday, and a few other noteworthy things, listed below.

Favorite new kitchen pet

Last spring I started keeping a sourdough starter, which I named Philémon, and this has been the most gratifying, wonder-filled project I have ever undertaken: each starter bread I bake seems an opportunity to learn something new and improve my skills, and the results delight us every time.

In addition to simple loaves, English muffins, and bagels, I have just started making sourdough baguettes and you will hear about these very soon.

Favorite new appliance

After a maddeningly frustrating few months trying to work with an oven that refused to cooperate, I finally threw in the towel and invested in a shiny new one that has (knock on wood) served me really, really well so far.

The contender in this category is the electric steamer I got for my birthday, which opened me to a whole new world of steamy dishes. In 2010, I ambition to use it for homemade dim sum.

Favorite new cookbook

This is not at all a newly published book, but I recently acquired Claudia Fleming’s dessert book The Last Course after hearing glowing reviews from several trusted sources. And indeed, it is a beautiful and inspiring book, full of seasonally-sound ideas and useful tips. (The book is out of print and its market value has shot up to absurd heights, but it can be ordered for a more reasonable price through the North Fork Table & Inn, where Fleming works now. Update: the book is now sold out at the North Fork Table & Inn.)

A contender in this category is Nancy Silverton’s Breads from the La Brea Bakery, a book about baking with a natural starter, which is, as I think we’ve established, my current passion.

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