The Wednesday Chef

Molly Wizenberg's French Chocolate Granola

I thought I didn't like granola, but it turns out I simply don't like cinnamon in my breakfast cereal! Give me cinnamon in apple pancake, stewed prunes, even coconut bread, but leave my cereal be. I'm so glad to have figured that out - your collective concern about my dislike of granola was touching.

Oh, and also, chocolate in cereal is fantastic. Who knows what I was thinking when I said I couldn't eat that for breakfast on a regular basis. Chocolate is great for breakfast! Essential, even.

I made this the way Molly did, and it was perfect. Then it was gone, about two days later. Ben had one bowl, I foolishly gave some to my upstairs neighbor and the rest, erm, was eaten by me. Yes. So I had to make another batch, of course. Of course!

In the second batch, I thought I'd tone down the sugar and the chocolate a little. I'm supposed to be in a bathing suit in four (4!) days! Doubling all the ingredients but the sugar and chocolate left me with a nicely balanced, delicately sweet granola. Is it as good as the original? No, it's not. But it's still pretty tasty, plus it makes me feel somewhat virtuous.

Overrated, I know, that feeling is.

(The first time I made this, I used Valrhona Manjari. The second time I used Lindt's Bittersweet. The Manjari was better. Was that even a surprise?)

French Chocolate Granola
Makes approximately 10 cups

6 cups rolled oats
1 cup raw almonds, chopped
1 cup unsweetened shredded coconut
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
Pinch of salt
12 tablespoons mild honey
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
½ cup finely chopped bittersweet chocolate (containing around 56% cocoa solids)

1. Preheat the oven to 300°F.

2. In a large bowl, combine the oats, almonds, coconut, sugar, and salt.  Stir well to blend.

3. In a small saucepan, warm the honey and oil over low heat, stirring gently, until the honey is loose. Pour over the dry ingredients, and stir to combine well.

4. Spread the mixture evenly on a rimmed baking sheet. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until golden. Set a timer to go off halfway through the baking time, so that you can give the granola a good stir; this helps it to cook evenly. When it’s ready, remove the pan from the oven, stir well – this will keep it from cooling into a hard, solid sheet – and cool completely.

5. When cool, transfer the granola to a large bowl, storage jar, or zipper-lock plastic bag. Add the chocolate, and stir (or shake, if using a jar or bag) to mix. Store in an airtight container.

Donna Deane's Overnight Coffeecake

Today in reader-tested recipes, we have Sara, who conquers her fear of yeast! And comes away blessed with not one, but two 10-inch-round horseshoe-shaped, meringue-filled coffeecakes. (Donna Deane says they freeze well, thank heaven.)

"I had no idea what to expect with this recipe. For one thing, I have to admit to being a bit of a novice with yeast - I was discouraged once many years ago and have been slightly afraid of going back to it. I'm happy to report, though, that it seems to have worked out this time. The dough is sweet and a bit flaky, moist and not too doughy.

The cake's filling is unadulterated meringue, which is popping out of the cake's slits. It very much looks like meringue on the top of the cake, but on the inside, all those egg whites were absorbed into the dough and left the rolled layers very moist and lined with cinnamon and chopped hazelnuts. The hazelnuts add a nice flavor and crunch to the soft cake, and balance the sweetness well.

Two general notes: First, this dough doesn't rise the way bread dough does (at least it didn't for me); the recipe says it should double in size after it's rolled up, but I found that the shaped dough just became more schlumpy as it sat. Also, even after letting the refrigerated dough sit for a while, it was pretty tough to pry out of its bowl. It softened up easily and nicely (and rolled out evenly), but was definitely stubborn at first. Second, I think I overfilled these cakes a bit. Even though I didn't think there would be enough meringue to go around, there was possibly a bit too much, so don't be afraid to be conservative with the filling."

Could you, I wonder, turn that leftover meringue into drop cookies? Or a nutty pavlova? Oh, the possibilities.

Overnight Coffeecake
Serves 20 (8 to 10 per cake)

1 cup milk, divided
2 (1/4 ounce each) envelopes dry yeast
1/2 cup warm water (100 to 110 degrees)
4 cups flour
1 1/4 cups sugar, divided
1 teaspoon salt
2 sticks butter, cut up
3 egg yolks, lightly beaten, plus 1 egg yolk, divided
3 egg whites
2 teaspoons plus 1 tablespoon cinnamon, divided
1 1/2 cups chopped toasted hazelnuts, divided
1 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon dark rum (optional)
1/4 teaspoon vanilla

1. In a small saucepan, heat three-fourths cup milk to scalding. Remove from the heat and let cool to warm.

2. Sprinkle the yeast over the warm water and stir until the yeast is completely dissolved.

3. In the large bowl of an electric mixer, combine the flour, one-fourth cup sugar and the salt. Work the butter in by hand or with a pastry cutter until the mixture resembles cornmeal.

4. Combine 3 lightly beaten egg yolks, the warm milk and the yeast mixture. Add to the flour mixture and beat at medium speed until completely blended and a soft dough forms, about one minute.

5. Divide the dough into two parts and shape each into a ball. Put each into a lightly buttered bowl. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

6. Remove the dough from the refrigerator; let it stand 30 minutes. Heat the oven to 350 degrees.

7. While the dough is standing, beat the egg whites until light and foamy. Gradually beat in the remaining 1 cup sugar until stiff peaks form. Beat in 2 teaspoons of the cinnamon. Fold in 1 cup of the chopped toasted hazelnuts.

8. Take one of the dough balls, shape it into an oval and, on a lightly floured board, roll it out to form a 10- by 18-inch rectangle.

9. Spread half of the meringue mixture onto the rolled-out dough, leaving a 1-inch border. Roll up the dough lengthwise jellyroll style. Pinch the ends of the roll to seal.

10. Gently lift the roll onto a greased large baking sheet, seam side down, and form it into a horseshoe shape. Cut slashes halfway through dough at 2-inch intervals.

11. Repeat the process with the remaining half of the dough.

12. Invert a large bowl over each of the coffeecakes. Set aside to rise about 45 minutes or until doubled.

13. Lightly beat 1 egg yolk and 2 tablespoons milk. Brush each of the coffeecakes with egg wash, brushing the entire surface of the dough, but do not brush the meringue filling that shows.

14. Bake 30 to 35 minutes, until golden brown, turning the baking sheet halfway through. Cool on the pan for about 5 minutes before glazing.

15. For the glaze, stir together the powdered sugar, the remaining 2 tablespoons milk, the rum, if using, and the vanilla. Drizzle it over the coffeecakes. Sprinkle the cakes with the remaining one-half cup of chopped nuts.

Variations:

Orange: Follow the master recipe, stirring 2 teaspoons grated orange peel into the filling. Replace 1 cup of the hazelnuts with toasted slivered almonds. For the glaze, substitute 2 tablespoons orange juice for the milk and stir in 1 teaspoon grated orange peel. After glazing, warm the coffeecakes and sprinkle 1 to 2 tablespoons chopped candied orange peel over the top of each. Omit the nuts on top.

Pecan: Follow the master recipe, replacing hazelnuts with toasted pecans in the filling. For the glaze, heat one-fourth cup butter over low heat until nut-brown, about 5 to 6 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool. Combine three-fourths cup powdered sugar, one-fourth cup firmly packed light brown sugar, the browned butter, 2 tablespoons milk, 2 tablespoons maple syrup and one-fourth teaspoon vanilla. Drizzle the glaze over warm coffeecakes, warming it in the microwave if necessary to maintain drizzling consistency. Sprinkle
with one-fourth cup toasted pecan pieces.

Chocolate: Follow the master recipe, stirring one-fourth cup chopped semisweet or bittersweet chocolate into the filling along with chopped hazelnuts. Omit cinnamon. Sprinkle chopped hazelnuts and one-fourth cup chopped chocolate over the warm glazed coffeecakes.

Cathal Armstrong's Irish Brown Bread

Did you all run out to buy buttermilk for those griddle cakes from Edna Lewis? Do you now have a carton of it slouching about in your fridge, wondering if it will be used up before you have to toss it?

Well, if you're not going to drink a big cold glass of it with your breakfast toast, and frankly that's really more of a hot summer morning thing, here's what you should do with it: make bread. Yes, really. Okay, not really really, but sort of really.

Instead of spending the next 18 hours waiting for your (admittedly delicious) no-knead dough to proof, just mix that buttermilk with some whole-wheat flour, regular flour, salt, baking soda, and an egg, and - hey presto! - an hour later you'll have a loaf of warm bread. There's no proofing, no rising. Just a simple batter that rises quickly in the oven.

Those savvy bakers among you might recognize that the texture and flavor of the bread will be akin to biscuits, albeit more wholesome, nourishing ones, I suppose. So that's what I meant by not really really. This isn't yeast bread, it's soda bread, but it'll do quite nicely if you're in one of those moods where you need something warm and craggy to put a waxy slab of butter on and nothing but fresh bread will do.

As delicious as it is straight from the oven, you'd better have a few people to help you with the loaf, because it doesn't last for more than a day or two. But while it's fresh and hot, eat the bread with wedges of sharp Cheddar or spread it with good unsalted butter (or good unsalted butter and cherry jam).

And in other news, you can now find this site at www.thewednesdaychef.com, so if you feel like updating your bookmarks or links, go for it. The old Typepad address will still continue to work, however, so don't worry about broken links or anything like that. I have to thank the kind and patient Laura at Typepad for helping me with this. Thanks, Laura!

Irish Brown Bread
Makes 1 loaf

3 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
1 large egg, lightly beaten

1. Preheat the oven to 375°. Butter an  8-by-5-inch metal loaf pan.

2. In a large bowl, whisk both flours with the baking soda and salt. In a small bowl, whisk the buttermilk with the egg; stir into the dry ingredients with a wooden spoon until a rough dough forms.

3. Transfer the dough to a lightly floured work surface and knead until smooth. Form the dough into a loaf and put it in the prepared pan. Bake for about 50 minutes, until the bread has risen about 1/2 inch above the rim of the pan. Once unmolded, the loaf should sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. Let cool to warm or room temperature, then slice and serve.

Edna Lewis's Sour-Milk Griddle Cakes

I'm sorry I left so abruptly, without warning. I wanted to tell you about these pancakes before we left, I really did, but you know how it goes with these mid-season vacations: they creep up out of nowhere and smack you out of your tired routine with unexpected strength. Before I knew it, I was as far east as I've ever been, in Israel for a week with Ben and some of his family, and you spent two more weekends (two!) without knowing about these pancakes.

Excuse me, griddle cakes. There. Doesn't that sound even better?

The batter sturdy and thick, impossibly so, and tangy with buttermilk, the cakes cook up into fluffy, flavorful rounds. A mixture of whole wheat and regular flour gives them added heft. But what really makes them is a gentle dousing in warm berry sauce and cool-from-the-fridge maple syrup.

They're our new favorite breakfast. I should tell you that I particularly like them if I've gone to bed reading The Taste of Country Cooking (thanks to Molly for the recommendation) and imagining that I can hear little Virginia birds waking me and my growling tummy in the morning for breakfast. It's somewhat alarming to admit this, but we - the two of us - ate almost all the pancakes, save two, when we made them. So much for freezing leftovers. And for restraint and modesty. Ahem.

Sour-Milk Griddle Cakes
Serves 6

1 1/2 cups sifted flour
1/2 cup whole-wheat flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons Royal Baking Powder (see below)
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon melted butter
2 cups sour milk or buttermilk

1. Sift flours, salt, soda, and baking powder into a mixing bowl. Add beaten egg and melted butter. Mix well by stirring. Add milk and stir well. Do not over-mix or the cakes will be tough. The batter will be quite thick.

2. Pour on sizzling-hot greased griddle in largish spoonfuls. When the cakes become quite puffed and show tiny bubbles, turn and cook a few minutes more. Serve with stewed berries and maple syrup.

Stewed Berries

2 cups berries, fresh or frozen (blueberries are what Edna Lewis recommends; I used black raspberries, because they're what I had in the freezer)
1/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup water

1. Place the berries, sugar, and water into a quart saucepan. Set the pan over a medium flame and bring to a boil. Turn the flame down, leaving the berries at a quiet, rather gentle boil for 3 to 4 minutes.

2. Turn the heat off until the pancakes are ready to serve. Then reheat the berries so they will be hot (do not let them boil) and spoon them onto the cakes. Leftover berry sauce keeps in the fridge and can be used to stir into yogurt or drizzle on ice cream.

Royal Baking Powder

Mix 2 parts cream of tartar with 1 part baking soda (for example, 4 teaspoons cream of tartar with 2 teaspoons baking soda). Use quantity as directed in the recipe above. Store the remaining mixture in an airtight container indefinitely.

Jeff Hertzberg's Simple Crusty Bread

Yes, I know this recipe was just published this morning, and I know that you're all plenty busy as it is with turkeys and pies and stuffing, and if you're not cooking then you're probably on your way out the door (we're leaving in half an hour and I haven't even packed yet), but I couldn't exactly not post about this right away, could I? Come on, now.

If the response to Jim Lahey's No-Knead Bread is any indication, then I feel like I'm practically contractually obligated to.

Almost exactly a year ago, The New York Times published that lovely no-knead recipe which had thousands of people baking deliciously flavorful, easy-as-pie, artisan bread in their own homes at last. The response to the recipe was phenomenal and well-deserved. The first no-knead loaf I made was devoured by two young men I know in less than an hour. The second no-knead loaf I made was devoured by a few young women I know in less than an hour. The third no-knead loaf I made...well, you get the picture. It was a big hit.

Today, The New York Times published a new recipe for "crusty", "flavorful" bread - perhaps almost an heir to the no-knead mania - that will, no doubt, have just as many people in a bread-baking frenzy as Mr. Lahey did.

Here's the thing, though: This bread? The one published today? It's not as good. It's simply not. In fact, it's not that great at all. There you have it. Oh sure, it's fine, in the way that most homemade bread is, because it's fresh and it's homemade and your house smells pretty darn good while it's baking. But compared to Jim Lahey's No-Knead Bread? Well, there's just no comparison.

The article accompanying Jeff Hertzberg's recipe seemed to almost chastise (gently) No-Knead Bread for a few of its characteristics, like having such a long fermentation process (18 hours or more - of course, you don't have to do much during that time, in fact, you can all but ignore the dough) and the need to bake the bread in a cast-iron pot. But the former, combined with the fact that No-Knead Bread starts with a tiny amount of yeast, is where the bread gets its wonderful flavor, and the latter is how the very wet dough is able to create its own little steamy environment, which is exactly how you end up with a gorgeously thin and shattery crust that lasts and lasts.

It's true that Hertzberg's recipe will give you your bread in a fraction of the time that it will take you to make the No-Knead Bread, but your loaves won't have those appealingly craggy holes in the crumb or that indescribably delicious flavor. Because of the quick rise, Hertzberg's bread tastes overly yeasty and somewhat two-dimensional. Almost a little bitter. The crumb looks good, but more generic. The crust is crisp when you first take the loaves out of the oven, but as they cool, the crust becomes softer, the crunch less assertive.

I made turkey sandwiches out of this bread - they'll sustain us on our trip up to Boston today. And I'll take another one of the loaves with us for breakfast toast over the next few days. The remaining dough I'm refrigerating to see if a little rest can't coax a bit more flavor into it. But the next time I've got a hankering for homemade bread? I'm going back to the tried-and-true. No-Knead Bread it is.

Update: November 30, 2007

After eight days of rest in the fridge, I took the Tupperwared dough out last night, shaped it into a ball, let it come to room temperature and rest for about an hour and 20 minutes, and then baked it. The dough rose and browned beautifully in the oven, just like last time. This morning I sliced off a piece - the crumb looked nice, much like it does in the photo above - and toasted it very gently, just to a creamy buff color. Then I took a bite, plain, and found that it really didn't taste much different from the first time around. It didn't have that faintly bitter aroma anymore, but it was still yeasty as all get out and had this sort of odd, flat flavor - I can't really put my finger on it. Spread with apple butter, it was a good breakfast, but I didn't find the bread nirvana that I was so hoping for after a week in the fridge.

Simple Crusty Bread
Makes 3-4 loaves

1 1/2 tablespoons yeast (active-dry)
1 1/2 tablespoons kosher salt
6 1/2 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour, more for dusting dough
Cornmeal

1. In a large bowl or plastic container, mix yeast and salt into 3 cups lukewarm water (about 100 degrees). Stir in flour, mixing until there are no dry patches. Dough will be loose. Cover, but not with an airtight lid. Let dough rise at room temperature 2 hours (or up to 5 hours). Here's what it will look like after rising.

2. Bake at this point or refrigerate, covered, for as long as two weeks. When ready to bake, sprinkle a little flour on dough and cut off a grapefruit-size piece with serrated knife. Turn dough in hands to lightly stretch surface, creating a rounded top and a lumpy bottom. Put dough on pizza peel sprinkled with cornmeal; let rest 40 minutes. Repeat with remaining dough or refrigerate it.

3. Place broiler pan on bottom of oven. Place baking stone on middle rack and turn oven to 450 degrees; heat stone at that temperature for 20 minutes.

4. Dust dough with flour, slash the top with serrated or very sharp knife three times. Slide onto stone. Pour one cup hot water into broiler pan and shut oven quickly to trap steam. Bake until well browned, about 30 minutes. Cool completely.

Variation: If not using stone, stretch rounded dough into oval and place in a greased, nonstick loaf pan. Let rest 40 minutes if fresh, an extra hour if refrigerated. Heat oven to 450 degrees for 5 minutes. Place pan on middle rack.

Kim Boyce's Whole-Wheat Sweet Potato Muffins

I am an orderly and punctual kind of girl. One who revels in being in bed by 10:00, gets pleasure out of the neatly folded lines of sheets and towels in our linen closet, loves using up the last four turnips, two beets and half a rutabaga in the fridge for a lovely autumn soup that also results in a beautifully empty vegetable crisper, sweats unpleasantly when running even just five minutes late, thrills secretly when the neat piles of mail and magazine inserts and cardboard paper towel rolls all get placed in the recycling bin in the little closet next to our apartment, and exults when using up the last few shakes left in a bag of flour.

And yet. On weekday mornings, I somehow still end up running four minutes late far too often, throwing my scarf over my shoulder while I press the elevator button as the door bangs shut (rats!), remembering that my cell phone is still on the coffee table, running back inside to get it as I thread my belt into my belt loops while the door slams again (crap!), then hearing the elevator ping its arrival, managing to make it out just as the elevator door opens, but not smoothly enough so I don't keep the our apartment door from banging a third and final time (damn it!) and as I ride down to the ground floor, realizing I've forgotten to eat breakfast entirely.

If there's something I hate, it's missing breakfast at home. See, I have this little routine: I take my breakfast (a small pour of orange juice in a narrow glass, a little white bowl of Grape Nuts and milk) and sit in the big office chair that Ben brought with him when we moved to Queens. While I eat my breakfast swiveling around in the chair, looking out the window or listening to the radio, Ben stands next to me and irons. We don't talk much, but we start our day together there. It's calm and peaceful in that office, we can see the tree tops waving, and the big city feels pretty far away. Plus, this way the orderly me gets her morning fiber (check), her vitamins in pill and juice form (check), and one third of her daily calcium requirement (check). All this, too, warms my soul.

But let's get real: the number of mornings I'm able to have this dreamy little breakfast scenario has dwindled substantially of late and I've been spending far too much money on morning breakfasts in the city. (Close to $5.00? For a scone and a cup of tea? What is going on here?) I read Amy Scattergood's article on Kim Boyce's healthy muffins while I ate a Balthazar scone, delicious but crammed to the brim with butter and cream, at my desk for the (gulp) third time last week and vowed to change my ways.

The only problem is that Kim's muffins are far too good to be eaten, ascetically, one by one each day of the week. Trust me, you'll make a batch, envision it lasting you two weeks in the freezer, and by the end of the weekend - bam! - the muffins will be gone, baby, gone. Wholesome and grainy and full of autumnal flavor, they're simply delicious. Studded with juicy little bits of dates (dates, I swoon for you) and with the occasional bright orange pocket of sweet potato, they're the kind of muffin that make you feel practically virtuous whilst eating them, which as you probably know, is a very special kind of muffin indeed.

Whole-Wheat Sweet Potato Muffins
Makes 12

1/2 pound sweet potatoes (also known as yams)
Vegetable oil spray for coating the tins
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter
3 tablespoons dark brown sugar
3 tablespoons sugar
1 cup flour
3/4 cup whole-wheat flour
1/4 cup whole-wheat pastry flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup plain yogurt
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
12 Medjool dates, pitted and cut into 1/4- to 1/2-inch pieces

1. Heat the oven to 400 degrees. Prick the sweet potatoes with a fork and place on a foil-lined cookie sheet. Roast for 1 hour or until they are tender when pierced with a fork and are caramelizing. Remove from the oven and allow to cool, peel, then lightly mash with a fork. Set aside.

2. Lower the oven temperature to 350 degrees. Lightly spray the muffin tin with vegetable oil.

3. Cream the butter and sugars until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.

4. In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, whole-wheat flour, whole-grain pastry flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger and allspice. In a separate bowl, whisk the buttermilk, yogurt, egg and vanilla together.

5. Scrape down the sides of the butter bowl and alternately add the dry and wet ingredients; do not overmix. Gently fold in the sweet potatoes, then the dates.

6. Using an ice cream scoop (about one-half cup capacity), scoop the batter into each of 10 prepared muffin cups, about 1 scoop per muffin. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes. The muffins will be dark golden brown on the bottom.

Nigella Lawson's Chocolate-Almond Whirligig Buns

Sometimes - do you know those mornings? - all you want is a truly trashy breakfast. No ascetic shreds of wheat in a bowl with thin, blue milk, no virtuous globes of fruit cut up into a stern puddle of white yogurt, no hard-boiled egg eaten, hurriedly, on the way to the train. Some mornings, the ones when you wake up languidly, stretching like a cat, with sun streaming through the blinds and a blissful sense of purposelessness enveloping you, the perfect breakfast is puffy and sweet, threaded with butter and sugar and pockets of melting chocolate, and best eaten on the couch. Absolutely no balance is needed when you're starting the day off with something like that, well, other than a cup of something hot and steaming.

Ben was still asleep on Sunday morning when I snuck into the kitchen. Doing my best not to wake him with my kitchen clangings, I stealthily shook flour into a bowl, heated milk and butter on the stove, and came to a screeching halt when I read, then re-read, Nigella's amounts of instant yeast. Three packets? As in Three Entire Packets? As in 6 and three-quarter teaspoons of instant yeast? I went online in an attempt to figure out if this was a misprint, then found my answer in Nigella's How to Be a Domestic Goddess on my bookshelf: yes, she really does mean three whole packets, which will seem like a positively obscene amount of yeast, but just go with it, it'll be fine, I promise. Because what you'll end up with will be a riotous tangle of fragrant dough baking up into burnished perfection just in time for when your sweetheart shuffles into the kitchen, eyes growing wider by the second when he spies what awaits him on the kitchen counter.

(And remember, folks, instant yeast is also known as bread-machine yeast or rapid-rise yeast. It's not the same as active dry yeast, which needs to be proofed in liquid before being added to the flour. Instant yeast goes directly into the dry ingredients.)

So, yes, the dough - it was easy-peasy. It comes together in a matter of seconds, then all you have to do is knead it to a smooth, elastic state. This takes a few minutes, if you're doing it by hand, but on a lazy Sunday morning, there's no better way to ease your way into wakefulness. And, while I didn't exactly miss baking with yeast during the summer, there's no better way to welcome our cooler temperatures than by slapping around a yielding piece of dough. The dough, buoyed by the ridiculous quantity of yeast, practically exploded out of the bowl - billowing puffily upwards with what looked like almost unrestrained glee.

I punched down the dough, spread it with a paste of sugar and butter, scattered chopped almonds (in place of the splintered pistachios called for in the original recipe) and fat chocolate chips over the dough, then rolled it up into a plump, nay, corpulent sausage of doughy, sweet goodness. Nigella also has you roll one reserved piece of dough into a rectangle to form the bottom of the rolls, but I'm not exactly sure why. If you make these, I'd suggest skipping this step. After another quick rise, the pan went into the oven and the dough practically shot skywards, growing and twisting and glowing in the heat of the oven.

The recipe says to bake the buns at 450 degrees Fahrenheit, but after only 20 minutes, that bottom rectangle was scorched into a flat, black plank. So, my suggestion to those of you itching to make these right now is to bake the buns at 400, without that bottom sheet of dough, for 25-30 minutes. Keep an eye on them, maybe they'll have to go for a few minutes longer, but something tells me that will be just right.

Oh, you're meant to wait until these puppies have cooled a bit before tearing them apart and eating them, but to that I just say good luck. The scent of them baking will wake up even the deepest sleeper in your house and, before you know it, pleading eyes and beseeching hands will push your careful self aside to reach for the hot pan. In a blink, you'll be on the couch, popping sweet, plump strands of fluffy dough studded with chocolate chips and crispy almonds into your mouth, thinking it was sensible indeed to throw caution to the wind. Who cares about burned mouths when there are more buns to be eaten?

Chocolate-Almond Whirligig Buns
Makes 20-30 buns

Dough
5 to 5 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup superfine sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 packets instant yeast (6 3/4 teaspoons)
7 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 2/3 cup milk
2 large eggs
Vegetable oil

Filling
8 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 cup plus 1 tablespoon superfine sugar
3/4 cup slivered or sliced almonds
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1 large egg, beaten

1. To prepare the dough, combine 5 cups of flour, sugar, salt and yeast. In a small saucepan, combine butter and milk and heat to lukewarm. Beat the eggs lightly, then whisk them into the milk mixture. Sitr the liquid ingredients into the dry ones.

2. Using a mixer with a dough hook, or by hand, knead dough until smooth and springy, adding more flour if necessary. Form into a ball and place in a clean, oiled bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place until double in size, about 30 minutes.

3. Punch down dough. Line a 13 x 10-inch baking pan with parchment paper. On a floured surface, roll out one-third of the dough and place in pan (I skipped this step and think you should, too). Roll out remaining dough to a rectangle about 20 to 10 inches.

4. For the filling, mix together the butter and sugar to a paste. Spread the paste over large rectangle of dough. Sprinkle almonds evenly over the dough, then top with chocolate chips. Starting from longest side, carefully roll up dough so it looks like a long sausage. Cut dough into 20 slices, about 3/4 inch thick, and arrange with a cut side up on top of the dough in the pan.

5. Preheat oven to 400 degrees (original recipe says 450). Brush buns with beaten egg and let them sit in a warm place until puffed up and snugly fitting pan, about 15-20 minutes. Bake until buns have risen and are golden-brown, about 25 to 30 minutes. Remove from baking pan to cool on a rack. Serve warm.

Marion Cunningham's Yeast-Raised Waffles

(Oh dear. This is awkward. I think I'm going to write this entire post in parentheses. You know, to mitigate the awkwardness. If it's in parentheses, then it's still sort of just a thought in my head and not an entirely un-take-back-able statement. Right? I don't know. Lord help me.)

(So here's what happened. Last week, Russ Parsons published this article in the Los Angeles Times about waffles. Goodness knows we are a waffle-friendly household. And since there is no other waffle more talked about than Marion Cunningham's yeast-raised waffle (am I wrong?), I was quite excited to try my hand at this legendary recipe.)

(You make a batter with active dry yeast and let it ferment overnight in the fridge. Though, because I didn't get started until early Sunday morning - on Saturday, we were too busy looking at apartments out in faraway neighborhoods and getting into arguments about where we should live and how much we should pay and, oh, the joys of New York City living, they really are such a pleasure - I let the batter ferment on my kitchen counter top for an hour or two instead. It doubled in size and smelled deliciously yeasty and had all these appealing bubbles and a gorgeous foamy top. Very promising, indeed - as was that one place out in Forest Hills, the one I can't stop thinking about and, holy hell, does that mean we should take it, help me, readers, help me.)

(I heated up the waffle iron and we debated the merits of Bak-Kleene versus melted butter, but it turned out that neither was really that necessary. My non-stick waffle iron performed like a champ, spitting out waffles with nary a sticking corner in sight. It was impressive. Less impressive, however, were (gulp, double gulp) the waffles.)

(Did I actually just say that out loud?)

(...)

(For starters, the waffles, while crisp and browned on the bottom, were flabby and a pallid, yellowish hue on top. Also, their insides were a little too batter-y. And lastly, they were buttery to the point of greasiness.)

(We ate the first round in silence, chewing carefully. Ben tentatively ventured that they might not be the best waffles we'd ever made. With the second round, I tried flipping the waffles in the iron in the hopes that the pale, yellow side might get a little toastier. Hardly. With the third and fourth batch, I overfilled the iron, which resulted in the delicate lacy waffle you see in the photograph. The underside, however, still looked totally under-baked. The taste was better now, though, and Ben made the good point that the warm syrup-doused waffles tasted like French toast - it must have been the yeast, I think. I still found them far too buttery for my taste. Unpleasantly heavy, they sat in my stomach while I pondered the impossible.)

(Could it be that I didn't like the world's most beloved waffle? Would anyone still take me seriously after this? What on earth would become of me?)

(It's not really clear. We spent the rest of the day calculating rent budgets and train passes, imagining life in a spacious 2-bedroom apartment with leafy tree-tops instead of air shafts for a view, and strolling down the West Side Highway along with adorable trannies and long-suffering cops. Which made me think - if there's room in this city for all the different folks we saw out yesterday, there must also be room for li'l ol' yeasted-waffle-disliking me. Right? Oh, pretty please!)

Yeast-Raised Waffles
Makes 16 waffles

1 package active dry yeast
2 cups milk
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, melted
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
2 cups flour
2 eggs
1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1. Place one-half cup warm water in a large mixing bowl (the batter will double in volume) and sprinkle in the yeast. When dissolved, stir in the milk, butter, salt, sugar, flour and eggs and beat until smooth and blended. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

2. Just before cooking tthe waffles, beat in the baking soda. The batter will deflate and become about as thin as soft yogurt. Cook the waffles according to the manufacturer's instructions for your waffle maker. Serve with maple syrup.

Sweet Savory Cafe's Bagels

Things that have made me happy in the past few days:

1. Molly Stevens' book about braising, which I'd requested from the library, oh, six months ago, was finally released to me this week. (Granted, in June hot June, so the idea of braising seems entirely perverted at this moment, but still! I can ogle the book and that's enough.)

2. My CSA started deliveries again, so I now have bok choy, mizuna (help, readers, help!) and summer savory sitting in my fridge. Red sails lettuce was my dinner last night. Do you belong to a CSA yet? Get cracking! (Last night I heard talk of some mythical-sounding CSA not far from here that not only delivers vegetables, but fruit and yogurt and honey, too! I'm on the case.)

3. I made bagels.

What?

Yes! You heard that correctly! You might ask yourself what on earth could possess a self-respecting New Yorker like myself to make her own bagels, when she has plenty of worthy, nay, superior specimens all around her. And I would answer, this blog, that's what. I mean, what kind of question is that, anyway?

Susan LaTempa discovered these unboiled bagels in California while I was away, making me as intrigued as she was. After all, I've always wanted to make my own bagels, but the aforementioned ubiquity of good ones here and the fact that making your own involves boiling and baking and malt syrup and god knows what else just discouraged me in the end.

But not this time.

I brought home a sack of Gold Medal's new Harvest King flour (endorsed on the back by none other than Rose Levy Beranbaum), pulled my instant yeast out of the fridge (I'll be honest, since No-Knead, it's been sitting rather dormant there), stuck the dough blade into my food processor, and got to work.

My first observation? This recipe makes what seems like an enormous amount of dough. If you've got a stand mixer, bless your heart, then use it. My Robot Coupe is a hardy fellow and managed with the dough, but I'll admit we had a few dicey moments. With stalled motors and funny smells and other frightening stuff.

My second observation? Making bagels is easy, folks. Really. You bang the dough together in a matter of minutes, let it rise (and, oh, does it rise. I love instant yeast), punch it down (best part of the process, really) and form it into bagels. That's it! I picked up my farm loot and caught up on Big Love in the process.

And as for the results, I was pleasantly surprised. The bagels have an appealing chew to them, a nice crunchy bottom and a good crumb. They don't have the heft of traditional boiled bagels and lack that toasty flavor that only malt can supply, but they are pretty delicious for what they are. Plus, they'll impress the heck out of most people you'll serve them to. Spread with cream cheese or a little butter, they might even comfort a homesick New Yorker, stuck in foreign lands.

I'll be spreading mine with my mother's sour cherry jam - my own Italian-American version of breakfast this morning.

(Oh, and don't forget the poppy or sesame seeds - sprinkle them on after the egg wash. I wish I had.)

Bagels
Makes 12 bagels

6 tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons vegetable oil
2 1/4 pounds (between 7 1/2 and 9 cups) bread flour, divided, plus additional if needed to work with dough
2 1/4 teaspoons instant yeast
1 teaspoon salt
1 egg

1. In as stand mixer fitted with the dough hook attachment, combine 3 cups water with the sugar, vegetable oil and 3 cups of the flour. Mix it at low speed until combined.

2. Add the yeast and another 3 cups flour and continue to knead the dough at low speed until all of the flour has been incorporated.

3. Add the salt and the remaining flour. Knead the dough at medium speed until it's soft and smooth and it comes away from the sides of the bowl. If the dough is sticky add 1 tablespoon of flour at a time, until smooth and no longer sticky.

4. Roll the dough into a ball. Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, cover with a lightweight cloth or loosely with plastic wrap. Leave the dough for about 30 minutes to 1 hour, depending on room temperature, until it doubles in volume.

5. Punch down the dough. On a lightly floured surface, divide the dough into 12 even balls. (If dough is reverting when shaping, let it rest for a minute and start the process again.) To keep the dough from drying out, place a damp towel on top.

6. Roll each ball to about 15 inches in length. Press and roll the ends together to form a bagel.

7. Heat the oven to 425 degrees. Place 4 to 6 bagels on a parchment-lined cookie sheet, leaving 1 to 1 1/2 inches between each bagel as they will spread. Cover the bagels with a cloth. Allow them to grow by half again in size, about 15 minutes. They should be light and fluffy. Widen the holes in the bagels to 1 1/2 inches each, as they will shrink while baking.

8. In a small bowl, beat the eggs, then brush bagels with the egg wash. Bake until golden, about 20 to 22 minutes.

Jill Santopietro's Cornmeal-Cranberry Pancakes

If I ever have a restaurant, or a homey little cafe, or a bed and breakfast out in the wild, these will be my pancakes. Not only because cranberry and cornmeal are a combination made in heaven and should be served at every breakfast, every day, but because these pancakes are all the things bad pancakes are not.

They are not too sweet, and the chopped cranberries enliven each bite with a sour tang that is softened by a slick of maple syrup. They are not too heavy, the ridiculous amount of baking powder ensures a fluffy crumb (how fluffy? this fluffy!). They are soft and yielding, yet the cornmeal threads through each one with an agreeable crunch and gives these cakes some body and character. Adapted from the Breakfast Goddess herself, I think this recipe is probably worth the price of the book (incidentally? this is my favorite shower gift, along with a seasoned cast-iron pan).

I have to say that when I first saw this recipe, in Sunday's New York Times Magazine, I was a bit turned off. For these gorgeous pancakes were apparently supposed to be drenched in not only a pumpkin-pie spiced (eek) apple compote, but with a cream-cheese caramel sauce to boot. I sort of had to refrain from snorting at the idea. Luckily for all of us, both of those sauces can be left by the wayside. Why would you want to muffle this sparkling example of a pancake with a barrage of spices and gloppy sauces?

Would Johnny Apple really have endorsed that?

So keep your condiments to a minimum, maple syrup or, if it must be, confectioner's sugar, and make sure you put these on your weekend to-do list. If you're like me and simply couldn't wait until the weekend, get up a little earlier tomorrow. You and your co-breakfasters will be so happy you did. And don't anyone go opening a bed and breakfast featuring these pancakes before I do. Or, if you do, let me know so I can plan my next long weekend.

Cornmeal-Cranberry Pancakes
Makes about 24 4-inch pancakes

10 tablespoons butter, cut into chunks, plus more for greasing pan
2 cups milk
4 large eggs
2 cups flour
½ cup yellow cornmeal
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons baking powder
1 ½ teaspoons salt
1 ¼ cups chopped fresh cranberries
Maple syrup

1. In a saucepan over medium-low heat, heat the butter and milk until the butter melts. Set aside until lukewarm, about 15 minutes. Beat the eggs in a medium bowl. Slowly stir in ½ cup of the warm milk mixture (it cannot be hot, or it will cook the eggs). Pour in the remaining milk mixture and stir to combine.

2. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder and salt. Pour the egg mixture into the flour mixture a little at a time, stirring slowly, just until the dry ingredients are well moistened. The batter should be lumpy and will start to bubble.

3. Heat a griddle or skillet over medium-high heat until a few drops of water sprinkled on it sizzle. Lightly grease the pan with butter, then add 3 to 4 tablespoons batter to make a 4-inch pancake. As soon as the batter sets, sprinkle the top with cranberries. Cook until bubbles break on the surface. Flip and cook for another 30 seconds, or until the bottom is lightly browned. Repeat, buttering the pan and adjusting the heat as needed. Serve with maple syrup.