Pane al Pesto and Bilious Emesis

The preparation of this bread begs a thoughtful reflection on green vomitus–bilious emesis–(words which sound like honorary degrees at Hogwarts) in the context of my current assignment in the pediatric emergency department (where Frozen’s hit song “Let It Go!” blares from personal DVD players behind every curtain in contention with the equally unsettling sounds of screaming babies and sniffling toddlers). Should something resembling this particular puree launch in projectile fashion from the mouths of babes, perhaps a variation on this medical differential should come to mind: small bowel obstruction with meconium plug and ileus, Hirschsprung disease, some kind of intestinal atresia distal to the distal duodenum, intussusception, midgut volvulus or malrotation, crazy organomegaly causing obstruction, peritonitis, annular pancreas, gut perforation, toxic ingestion, April Fool’s Day prank if the baby is a savant, St. Patrick’s Day green beer intoxication if the parents have horrible judgment, or, lest we not get too self-assured, a severe adverse reaction to my pesto bread. Basically, call a surgeon, image the gut. And then get back to bread baking, because we know that kind of restorative home-making cures a world of ails.

Pane al Pesto

Adapted from The Italian Baker

First, the Pesto — grow a basil plant, first and foremost

1 cup (75 grams) fresh basil leaves

3/4 cup (75 grams) grated Parmesan cheese

1/2 cup olive oil

2 tablespoons pine nuts or chopped walnuts (really, no substitute for the pinenuts. They are expensive, but WORTH it)

1 1/2 teaspoons minced garlic

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon pepper

Purée all the ingredients in a food processor fitted with the steel blade or a blender [food processor does a much better job of this]. While you wait for the ingredients to blend, review the differential diagnosis on bilious emesis. Try not to induce said emesis with detailed imaginings.

Measure out ½ cup for this recipe. –Note: the first time I attempted this loaf, I thought, as I often do with spices, more will taste better. I think I added an entire cup of pesto. This weighed down the bread and made it almost un-rise-able. Stick to the ½ cup. It is flavor enough. And think of all the fun things you can do with the remainder pesto—to be smeared onto unsuspecting fusilli, onto grilled fresh fish, onto pizza, onto the face of your spouse.

Dough

1 ½ cup sourdough starter

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons warm water

Scant 2 tablespoons olive oil

3 3/4 cups (500 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour (substitute whole wheat as you dare, the first time I tried to do a half white/wheat blend, as I often do for the sake of my vascular endothelium, but the runt loaf could not rise under the weight, like, at all.)

2 teaspoons (10 grams) salt

Cornmeal

By hand: Stir the starter into the water in a mixing bowl; let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes. Stir in the oil and 1/2 cup pesto thoroughly. Mix the flour and salt and add to the yeast mixture. Stir until the dough comes together. Knead on a floured surface until soft, velvety, and elastic, 8 to 10 minutes.

By mixer: Stir the yeast into the water in a mixer bowl; let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes. Stir in the oil and 1/2 cup pesto thoroughly with the paddle. Mix the flour and salt and add to the yeast mixture. Mix until well moistened. Change to the dough hook and knead until the dough is velvety and medium soft, 3 to 4 minutes. Finish kneading briefly by hand on a lightly floured surface.

First rise. Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover tightly with plastic wrap and let rise until doubled, about 1 1/4 hours.

Shaping and second rise. Cut the dough in half on a lightly floured surface. Punch each piece down and knead briefly to expel the air. Shape each piece into a round loaf. Place each loaf, seam side down, on an oiled baking sheet or a peel sprinkled with cornmeal. Cover with a towel and let rise until doubled, about 45 minutes to 1 hour. The dough must be very relaxed and fully risen before it should be baked, so don’t rush it.

Baking. Heat the oven to 450 degrees F. If you are using baking stones, turn the oven on 30 minutes before baking and sprinkle the stones with cornmeal just before sliding the loaves onto them. Place the loaves in the oven and immediately reduce the heat to 400°F. Bake 35 to 40 minutes, spraying 3 times with water in the first 10 minutes, if you want. Cool completely on racks.

Crescia al Formaggio and Molding

Molding. Usually we use this word as a gerund for the verb most applicable to cheese and nearly all outdoor surfaces in the Pacific Northwest. This week I’ve been using it more architecturally, in a corporeal sense. “Crown molding” now has fresh significance as something we assess during every newborn physical exam. When we arrive into the world, the bony plates that protect the most vital organ, the brain, are no better than a cracked egg shell. Fortunately, the sutures—the cracks—will fuse together in time, proving in most cases the story of Humpty Dumpty to be fairy tale. Until they fuse, they leave little patches, little diamonds and triangles of bareness, about the brain. The word for these soft spots is fontanelle—which sounds like a cheerleading team captain’s name. It is a thrill to trace these little fountain wells, imagining what thoughts will be held here. Who traced Einstein’s fontanelles? The way the skull walls grow together is therefore a matter of molding, a word that would suggest there is something against which new growth finds tension—that there might be some rough mold from which we all are formed.

Plato would likely enjoy this line of thought. This bread, on the other hand, is more like molding Play-doh. Crescia means crest, the classic molding of this classic Italian Easter bread–a mountain mold of Parmesan, Pecorino Romano, and eggs.

Crescia al Formaggio

Adapted from The Italian Baker

2 cups sourdough starter

4 large room temperature eggs

3 egg yolks

5 TB lukewarm water

1 TB sugar

1 stick softened butter

4 TB olive oil

1 tsp salt

2 cups freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1 cup Pecorino Romano cheese, freshly grated

4 cups flour

1 egg white, beaten

Mix together the sourdough starter, water and sugar. Beat eggs in a separate bowl and add to the starter. Add the butter, grated, and then the oil. Add two cups of flour. Add the cheese and salt. Add the remainder of the flour, kneading 10-12 minutes or until the dough has the soft consistency of PlayDoh. It won’t seem to want to adhere to itself, thanks to the butter and oil.

Move the dough to a greased bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let it sit for about two hours.

Turn the dough over and gently deflate it (if it rose at all), and let it sit for 15 minutes.

Shaping. Now I’ve seen people do braids with this bread, which is really lovely but also NOT honoring tradition. This bread was named Crescia because of the way the Umbrian bakers would place the dough to rise in terra-cotta flowerpots. The rising bread would dramatically dome above the tops of the pots, hence “crescia”—dramatic crest. All that to say, I’m not sure many of us have oiled and foodsafe pretreated flowerpots laying around the kitchen, but if you do, huzzah. I chose to make a boule so as to go for the crest, and I baked it in a cast-iron pan. This recipe makes enough dough for two small boules. Allow the dough to rise for at least two hours and possibly more, depending on the room temperature. The dough will not double, but will get puffy.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Brush the tops of the dough with egg white.

Bake the bread for 45 minutes, or until the loaves have risen dramatically and have darkened to a deep golden brown. Let cool 15 minutes before “unmolding” from the pot or pan—one of my new favorite words.

Chili with Beer Bread and the Rooting Reflex

One of my favorite parts of working in the newborn nursery is checking primitive reflexes. Rooting reflex is when the newborn turns his head toward your finger when you touch his cheek. Sucking reflex is when the newborn sucks on your finger when you touch the roof of his mouth. These are primitive reflexes which reflect the health of the baby brainstem, which do fade during development, and should be absent at around 3 to 6 months of age. Should these reflexes return later in life, the return of the primitive suggests a degenerative neurological process. This evidence, however, has not been tested specifically in a cohort of people exposed to my chili and beer bread. Although it has no documentation in the literature, allow me to attest that I’ve seen grown men rooting toward this dish—and have personally experienced olfactory seizures as the chili fills the kitchen with spicy scent.

Chili with Beer Bread and the Rooting Reflex

2-3 lbs. ground beef

1 large sweet onion, chopped

1-2 TB. minced fresh garlic

½ tsp. salt, to taste

½ -1 tsp. ground pepper taste

1 15-oz. can light red kidney beans, drained

1 15-oz. can dark red kidney beans, drained

2 15-oz. cans black beans, drained

1 15-oz. can crushed tomatoes

1 24-oz. can pizza sauce, any tomato marinara

1 15-oz. can diced tomatoes, fire roasted are best

2 TB. dijon mustard

2 TB. Worcestershire sauce

2 1/2 tbsp chili powder

1 tbsp cumin

dash hot sauce

2 tsp. cinnamon

1 12-oz. bottle beer, I used KP’s lemon coriander batch from last spring

In a large skillet, brown the ground beef, onion, garlic, salt and pepper until nicely browned. Drain well and place in a slow cooker or soup kettle with lid. Add the remaining ingredients and stir to combine. Cook on low for at least 4, but 6 hours ideally. The flavor will only improve with extra time. If you are cooking on the stovetop, keep the heat low and stir every half hour or so. Watch for rooting.

Beer Bread

Adapted from Penzey Spice catalogue

3 Cups flour

¼ cup corn meal

¼ cup flax seeds

1 TB Italian seasonings (I didn’t really measure, threw in random pinches of rosemary, oregano, and thyme)

3 TB sugar

1 ½ TB. baking powder

1-2 tsp. salt

1 12-oz. can beer, room temperature, I used KP’s homebrew of lemon coriander

1/4 Cup butter, melted (for topping, optional—I didn’t do this, but you would pour it over the top of the loaf when it comes out of the oven.)

Preheat oven to 350 if using a metal loaf pan. In a mixing bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt and stir to mix. Make a well in the center. Pour the beer in the well and then mix thoroughly. Pour the batter into a lightly greased loaf pan. Bake for 55-60 minutes. Let cool before slicing.

I noticed the crust seemed to be rather addictive for my guests. I made this bread as a last minute idea an hour before my dinner party arrived, some time ago, to complement the main course which was a steaming vat of chili (apparently I did not photograph said chili). The bread, with the hint of cornmeal and lemon coriander from the beer, disappeared in haste. Guests would, ever so sly, brush past the oven, maybe dusting the stovetop surface to look busy, allthewhile locking eyes with the beer bread, and then, quick!, snap off an extra nibble of crust before leaning into the corner toward the library to munch their spoils in peace. Primitive reflex? Hoarding?

Want to give a shoutout to my Awesome Neighbor Janelle who last night gave me a couple servings of her own special chicken chili—so again, though, it hasn’t been documented in the academic literature, I am an anecdotal witness to the existence of Chili Karma. To whom much has been given, much will be required. To whom gives, many gifts shall return.

Roasted Carrots with Caraway, Coriander, and Cilantro

Prostaglandins are like pirates. Better to deal with them before they are on board. I have been doling out a lot of NSAIDs lately, a treatment for which I have mixed feelings. Yes, it might quell inflammation in your joints or uterus or wherever, but oh, your stomach—your kidneys!! I weep for the innocent bystanders of systemic COX inhibitors. I did a short search for evidence on COX inhibitors in food, thinking I would always rather prescribe a meal than a pill. Very little and old evidence on quick search, but I found a couple papers touting praiseworthy inklings toward quercetin, a natural phenol present in cilantro, kale, radishes, fennel, capers, buckwheat, cranberries, blueberries, sweet potato…the list goes on. Quercetin demonstrates a decreased COX dose-response to an inflammatory stimulus (TNFalpha, for you nerds). Carrots, unfortunately, don’t have these, and in fact, the wild varietal may have some estrogenic properties that would exacerbate your menses if that’s your particular prostaglandin problem area. But I’m thinking that the amount of fiber they add to your diet will help you excrete any extra estrogen they generate—so, overall, this dish is not only a win for fiber, but against inflammatory pirates.

Roasted Carrots with Caraway, Coriander, and Cilantro

Adapted from Food and Wine Oct 2013

1 teaspoon(s) ground caraway

1 teaspoon(s) ground coriander

2 tablespoon(s) honey

1/2 teaspoon(s) whole caraway seeds

1/2 cup(s) cold buttermilk

1/2 cup(s) cold plain whole-milk Greek yogurt

1/2 serrano chile, seeded and minced

24 (1 pound; thin) baby carrots, tops discarded and carrots scrubbed

2 tablespoon(s) unsalted butter, cubed

1/4 cup(s) sprouted mung beans or sprouted lentils

1/4 cup(s) salted roasted sunflower seeds

1/2 cup(s) cilantro leaves

Lime wedges, for serving

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. In a small skillet, toast the ground caraway and coriander over low heat, stirring, until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the honey.

In another small skillet, toast the whole caraway seeds over low heat, stirring, until fragrant, about 3 minutes. Transfer the toasted seeds to a small bowl and stir in the buttermilk, yogurt, serrano chile, and half of the honey mixture. Season with salt and refrigerate.

Spread the carrots on a large baking sheet and season with salt. Toss with the remaining honey mixture and top with the butter. Roast for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the carrots are tender and slightly charred on the bottom.

Pour the buttermilk dressing onto a platter in a thin layer. Arrange the carrots on the dressing and top with the sprouted beans, sunflower seeds, and cilantro. Serve with lime wedges.

Didn’t taste anything at all like carrots, which is exactly why I will make this again and again when I get anxious about my Vitamin A intake. So good—wish I had made a double batch. Interestingly, it has been noted that this recipe uses three ingredients from the umbelliferae family: carrots, caraway, and coriander. Apparently, umbelliferae is a functional family—their unique flavors all get along in this dish. A fresh take on Family Medicine?

AND– I actually did have a question on hypervitaminosis A on my shelf exam last week. YES! Carrot research paid off! (times two, once for grades, once for health)

Casatiello

Easter in Italy is a season of eggy, cheesy breads and rich meats. Perhaps it shall be here too, but first, we are in Lent, and at Calvary we celebrate the breaking of the bread with hard wheat wafers baked by church members. Today is my contribution Sunday. I was so tempted to sneak in this Italian Casatiello, but I think Father Nick surely would have noticed. And it probably would have grease stained his robe. Watch out for calories on this one—this is the bread loaf equivalent of a Big Mac, surely.

Casatiello

Adapted from The Italian Baker

2 cups sourdough starter

1 tablespoon, plus 1 teaspoon, sugar

1 1/4 cups warm water

4 egg yolks

About 2 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1 1/4 teaspoons salt

4 eggs

1/2 cup, plus 1 1/2 tablespoons, sugar

1 1/3 teaspoons salt

About 4 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1 stick plus 2 tablespoons, unsalted butter at room temperature

½ cup olive oil

2 ounces pecorino romano cheese, grated

2 ounces Gruyere cheese, grated

2 ounces provolone, cut into small cubes

3 1/2 ounces Milano salami, sliced and chopped

2 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper

1 egg white, lightly beaten

To make the sponge, stir the yeast and 1 teaspoon of sugar into the water in a mixing bowl and let stand until foamy, about 10 minutes. Add the egg yolks and remaining sugar and stir until smooth. Stir in half the flour and beat until smooth. Add the remaining flour and the salt and stir until a soft dough is formed. Knead gently on a floured surface for 3 to 4 minutes. Place in a bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let rise until double in size, about 1 hour.

To make the dough, beat the eggs, sugar and salt together in a large mixing bowl. Add 1 cup of flour and stir until smooth. Cut the sponge into small pieces and add them to the dough mixture. Beat together, then add the remaining flour and mix with your hands to a shaggy mass. Mix in the butter. Sprinkle the dough with the grated cheeses and knead them in with your hands. Continue kneading on a lightly floured surface until the dough is elastic, supple and fairly smooth, 5 to 10 minutes. Place in a lightly oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let the dough rise until almost tripled, about 1 1/2 hours.

Turn dough out on a lightly floured surface and pat and roll into a large rectangle about 3/4-inch thick. Sprinkle half the provolone, half the salami and half the pepper over the surface.

Fold into thirds, like a business letter; then roll the dough out again 3/4-inch thick. Sprinkle with the remaining provolone, salami and pepper and fold again into thirds.

Gently knead for 2 to 3 minutes to distribute the cheese and salami evenly. Cut the dough in half and knead each half gently into a round ball. Place each ball in a buttered 2-quart charlotte mold or souffle dish. The dough should fill about half the mold. Cover with a towel and let rise to the tops of the molds, about 1 1/2 hours.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Brush the top of each loaf with the lightly beaten egg white. Place in the oven and bake for 45 minutes, until the tops are very brown and shiny. Remove from the molds and cool on racks.

In this bread is a whole buffet table helping of breakfast. Re-allocate your calories appropriately. Or, if you make this for Easter Sunday, tell kids that if they find this loaf, it’s worth 8 eggs in the hunt. The Italians actually make it in the shape of a ring to symbolize a crown, and then stick dyed Easter eggs on top to symbolize new birth. Looks ridiculous, but, so are a lot of Easter traditions.

Here’s my Abbey Altar Bread for this Sunday– pretty austere.

Chicken and Barley Stew with Dill and Lemon and the Surprise of Joy

Because I don’t yet know what I want to do with the rest of my life in medicine (which means at present that I don’t know which residency to choose), a fond mentor recently gave me an assignment. When you wake up in the morning, before you get out of bed, write down what it is you are most looking forward to for that day. And then again, before you go to sleep that night, write down what it was that you most enjoyed. I’ve been keeping this log for almost a month expecting to find a pattern that will add up to the answer for my future—or at least a math function from which I can draw a line from here to the next logical plot point–extrapolate a lily pad in time I can try to jump onto to maintain the proper trajectory of Becoming Who I am Supposed to Become (capitalized in jest because of the sly doubt that Real Plans exist, at least in the way we Type A people understand “plans”).

Here is my one startling discovery from the exercise: Not one of my morning entries matches its evening reflection. Not once in a month have I been able to accurately predict what in the day ahead will most delight me by the end. Hmm. I have no ability to predict what I love. I am constantly in a state of surprise by joy. Which, I suppose, is a good prognosis for the future, if nonspecific.

In the meanwhile, I marinate in a thick stew of my own thoughts, hovering over a desk verdant with a salad of smudged flashcards on the eve of yet another final exam whilst eating a stew thick with herbs.

Chicken and Barley Stew with Dill and Lemon

Adapted from Food and Wine

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

Kosher salt

Freshly ground pepper

2 pounds skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces

1/4 cup olive oil

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 carrots, sliced 1/4-inch thick

3 celery ribs, sliced 1/4-inch thick

1 large leek, white and pale green parts only, thinly sliced

1 clove garlic, minced

1 3/4 cup pearled barley

6 cups chicken stock

1 cup water

1/4 cup chopped dill

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1/4 cup chopped tarragon

1/2 cup (1 1/2 ounces) freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

In a shallow bowl, combine the flour with 1 teaspoon each of salt and pepper. Dredge the chicken in the flour; shake off the excess.

In a medium enameled cast-iron casserole, heat 2 tablespoons of the oil. Add half of the chicken and cook over moderately high heat until golden, about 2 minutes per side. Transfer the chicken to a bowl. Brown the remaining chicken in 2 more tablespoons of the oil.

Pour off the fat. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of oil and the carrots to the casserole and cook over moderate heat for 3 minutes. Add the celery, leek, and garlic and cook until starting to soften, 2 minutes. Add a large pinch each of salt and pepper and the barley. Cook over moderately high heat, stirring, until the barley starts to toast, 1 minute. Add the stock and water and bring to a boil. Cover and simmer over low heat, stirring occasionally, until the barley is almost tender, about 20 minutes.

Return the chicken to the stew; cover and simmer until cooked through and the stew has thickened, about 10 minutes. Stir in the dill and lemon juice and season with salt and pepper. Spoon the stew into bowls, sprinkle with the tarragon and cheese, and serve.

Yeah for whole grains! One additional thought regarding my self-study for career planning– The results may also be skewed because in the third year of medical school, most days I have absolutely no idea what I will be doing, and more often than not, I find myself in situations where I don’t know what I am doing. Confusion and uncertainty punctuated by the surprise of occasional competence. Surprised by Competence—the working title of my memoir from the medical school years.

Curious what I am most excited about for tomorrow? Getting LIVE chickens into the coop we built in the backyard– icy snow shelter that it is. Soon as this stuff melts I can properly paint the Hen Hotel and start checking Rhode Island Reds in for spring break.

Carrot and Sweet Potato Soup

My palate is still stuck in the fall. Autumn flavors and hearty soups are all that I crave since our temperature here in Minnesota has remained in the 20s, with a stolid crust of ice and dirty old snow piles lining the boulevards. Because I’m cramming for my shelf exam in family medicine this week, a subject for which ALL information is potentially relevant, I’ll throw in there my carrot-related medicine fact: Carrots have beta-carotene which is one of the molecules needed for the synthesis of Vitamin A, even though it sounds like the iPhone version of carrots. If you are deficient in Vitamin A, you may experience night blindness. If you have too much Vitamin A, say, you love this soup and overdo it a touch, you can get headaches and blurry vision from psuedotumor cerebri, or mess up your fetus if you were to have one.

It is entirely possible to have too much of a good thing. Fat soluble vitamins is one example. In Minnesota, that thing is snow.

Carrot and Sweet Potato Soup

Adapted from Hy-Vee Seasons Magazine

1 tbsp olive oil
1 c. chopped onions
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg, plus additional for topping
4 3/4 c. cubed peeled sweet potatoes (about 1-1/2 pounds)
3 c. chopped carrots (about 1 pound)
1 (32 oz) carton chicken broth
2 1/2 c. water
1/4 c. skim milk
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/3 c. plain Greek yogurt, divided

In a large Dutch oven, heat oil over medium heat. Add onions to pan; cook 4 minutes or until tender, stirring occasionally. Stir in cinnamon and 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg; cook 1 minute, stirring constantly. Add sweet potatoes, carrots, broth and water; bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 35 minutes or until vegetables are tender.
Place half of soup mixture in a blender. Remove center piece of blender lid (to allow steam to escape); secure blender lid on blender. Place a clean towel over opening in blender lid (to avoid splatters). Blend until smooth. Pour into a large bowl. Repeat with remaining soup mixture. Stir in skim milk, salt and pepper. Top each serving with about 2 teaspoons plain Greek yogurt. Sprinkle with nutmeg, if desired.

Bourbon Bread Pudding

Bourbon Street in New Orleans is decidedly the worst place to be on Saturday mornings, the cobblestones soaked with centuries of vomit and Ajax. But in a bistro eating a piece of Bourbon-soaked bread pudding? Nothing better. The smell of this dish baking in my oven helps me to catch the scent of jasmine and magnolia that I imagine have drifted up the Mississippi to my Minnesota front porch to say Good Morning, Heart Ache, Sit Down. Oh how I miss New Orleans. Forget French toast. Make this Creole toast and swoon before noon.

Bourbon Bread Pudding

Adapted from Hy-Vee Seasons

1/2 c. dried cranberries

2 tbsp bourbon

1 1/4 c. skim milk

3/4 c. sugar

1 tbsp vanilla extract

2 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp ground nutmeg

1/2 tsp ground ginger

3 large eggs, beaten

1/2 c. pecan pieces

1 (16 oz) loaf light rye bread, cubed (I never throw away stale bread–I’m actually rather pleased when bread goes stale because then I have an excuse to make this dish.)

Bourbon Sauce (I put maple syrup on this one because it fit better with the breakfast context for me—and my finals for family medicine are next week– I can’t risk the bourbon intake on my feeble over-taxed neurons):

1/2 c. sugar

1/4 c. light corn syrup

1/4 c. unsalted butter

1/4 c. bourbon

In a small bowl, combine dried cranberries and bourbon. Let sit for 20 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, remove the cranberries and set aside. Reserve the leftover bourbon liquid.

In a large bowl, whisk together the reserved bourbon liquid, milk, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, eggs and pecans. Add the cubed bread to the liquid mixture. Toss the bread in the liquid until evenly coated.

Place the mixture into a greased 8-inch square baking dish. Evenly sprinkle the bourbon-soaked cranberries on top of the bread. Cover baking dish with foil and place in the refrigerator for 1 hour or overnight to allow the liquid to absorb into the bread.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Fill a 9-by-13-inch baking pan (or large enough pan to fit prepared square baking dish) with 3/4-inch hot water. Place prepared baking pan with the bread pudding into the pan filled with water to create a water bath. Be careful that the water does not go into the 8-inch baking dish. Bake bread pudding covered with foil for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake for another 10 to 15 minutes or until golden brown. Serve with Bourbon Sauce (or Maple Syrup)–

To make Bourbon Sauce, combine sugar, corn syrup and butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer for 2 minutes, stirring frequently. Remove from heat and add bourbon. Stir until combined. Serve immediately over cooked bread pudding.

Even though Izzy never lived in New Orleans with us– she is a Nebraskan native– I can tell she has a deep longing for the South. Whenever I play Billie Holiday music for her she gets this soulful melancholy. Perhaps in another life she was in love with Billie Holiday’s bulldog.

Kale Salad with Chicken and Harira Soup

Hello Reverb! Thank you*, Nate Langworthy and the Reverb Team, for featuring Bake This Day Our Daily Bread as a local blog on the Awesome Reverb of Rochester! Your endorsement makes me feel vogue and hip as I frump through the more mundane days of medical school, memorizing textbooks and blinking into microscopes. I shall not disappoint, for I am delighted to join the cadre of underground eccentricity buzzing like a hornet’s wasp beneath the surface of Rochester. Bread and creativity is what I have to offer when the right-brained revolution comes. Maybe a jazz riff here and there.

*I can’t say thank you anymore without hearing Jimmy Fallon’s Late Night Thank You Note music in my head…anyone else experiencing this symptom? Home cooked meals have become something like my Thank You Notes to myself.

Kale Salad with Chicken and Harira Soup

Adapted from Food and Wine July 2012

Four 4-by- 1/2-inch slices peasant bread (the link is a bread I recommend making to go with this)

2 garlic cloves—1 peeled, 1 minced

1/4 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (1 ounce)

4 anchovies, minced

3 tablespoons malt vinegar

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

1/2 pound Tuscan kale—stems trimmed, leaves thinly sliced crosswise

Two 3-ounce jars cocktail onions, drained and halved

3 cups shredded rotisserie chicken

Preheat the oven to 350°. Arrange the bread on a baking sheet and toast for 10 minutes, until crisp. Rub the hot toast with the peeled garlic clove, sprinkle with 2 tablespoons of the cheese and bake for 10 minutes longer, until the cheese browns. Let cool, then break into 1-inch croutons.

In a small bowl, whisk the anchovies, minced garlic, vinegar, lemon juice, Worcestershire and the remaining 2 tablespoons of cheese. Whisk in the oil; season the dressing with salt and pepper.

In a large bowl, toss the kale with 6 tablespoons of the dressing. Let stand for 3 minutes. Add the onions, chicken, croutons and remaining dressing. Toss and serve.

For the soup, OK, I know it looks like a list of a million ingredients, and it is—but stick with it—so worth the effort! It is a seasonal dish for Moraccans during Ramadan. This recipe makes a vat of the stuff and you’ll be bringing it to work for a week– and inciting envy in your PB&Jing colleagues.

Harira

Adapted from Penzey’s Spices

½ cup olive oil

1 large red onion, diced very fine

1 large white onion, chopped

½ lb beef stew meat, cut into small pieces

½ lb boneless, skinless chicken, cut into small pieces

1 cup finely chopped italian (flat-leaf) parsley

1 cup finely chopped cilantro

1/2 cup finely chopped celery

1/2 tsp. freshly ground white pepper

1 tsp. turmeric

1/2 tsp. cinnamon

2 cinnamon sticks

1/2 tsp. powdered ginger

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp Hungarian paprika

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tbsp chervil

1 tsp. salt (or more, to taste)

3 quarts chicken broth

46 oz tomato juice

1 28oz can crushed tomatoes

3 tbsp lemon juice

1 can or 1 cup garbanzo beans (chickpeas) that have been soaked, skins removed

1/2 cup lentils

1/2 cup thin egg noodles, broken spaghetti, or some other small pasta

¼ cup uncooked brown rice

2 eggs, beaten

*lemon or lime wedges for serving

Directions:

Heat the oil in a medium sized stockpot, add beef and chicken and cook, stirring, until nicely browned. Add the onion, parsley, cilantro, cinnamon and cinnamon sticks. Lower the heat and cook slowly for 15-20 minutes. Add the chicken broth, tomato juice, lemon juice, tomatoes and the remaining spices. Simmer for 30 minutes on medium low. Add the noodles, lentils, and rice and cook for 30 minutes. Add the chickpeas and cook for five minutes to heat through. Add the beaten eggs just before serving, pouring them in a thin stream into the soup while stirring. Serve with lemon wedges.

And what goes best with soup and salad? Bread toasted with parmesan and garlic butter smeared on top.

Walnut Oatmeal Irish Soda Bread

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, and hello Sourdough Surprises! I am desperate to return to New Orleans to spend this evening with old friends at Finn MaCool’s pub. Since I can’t be with my favorite Irish people, at least I can cook up the aroma of an Irish kitchen—this bread is great with a little maple glaze for breakfast. Cut in thin cake-like slices, it crumbles a bit like a scone.

Walnut Oatmeal Irish Soda Bread

Adapted from Baking Illustrated

Makes 1 loaf

½ cup sourdough starter

2 1/2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

1 3/4 cups butter milk (or whole milk)

2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup cake flour

1/2 cup whole-wheat flour

1/4 cup brown sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1 1/2 teaspoons cream of tartar

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

2 tablespoons walnut oil

Extra all-purpose flour (for shaping)

1 tablespoon melted butter (for brushing)

Set the oven at 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a medium bowl, combine 2 cups of the oats with half the starter and buttermilk. Set aside for 2-4 hours.

In a bowl, whisk the remaining 1/2 cup oats, all-purpose flour, cake flour, whole-wheat flour, brown sugar, baking soda, cream of tartar, and salt. Work in the walnut oil with your fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

Add the buttermilk mixture to the flour mixture. Stir with a fork just until the dough comes together.

Turn the mixture out onto a lightly floured board. Knead lightly until the dough becomes cohesive and bumpy, not smooth or the dough will be tough. Add a little flour on your hands if the dough is still wet.

Pat the dough into a 6-inch round that is 2 inches high. Transfer the bread to parchment on a peel or a baking sheet. Set the baking sheet in the oven and bake the bread for 45 to 55 minutes or until a skewer inserted into the center comes out clean.

Remove the loaf from the oven and brush the surface with melted butter. Cool to room temperature.

This really is the best soda bread recipe I know! The key, I believe, is thanks to a slight oversight I made the first time I tried while supervising the soaking oats. The instructions say to soak them in the milk for one hour—I got distracted and it was more like four hours of soaking. Moist oats, nay, soggy oats make all the difference. The result tastes like a giant oatmeal cookie. Too bad I don’t have Bruce to report on the chef—Watching this clip now after studying for hours, I identify somewhat with the character, Vol—“I work in back. I see no smiles.” Man from health department has no business in my kitchen, there are no boogers, rat pellets or giant chocolate sprinkles in my goodies. Just a wanna-be Irish lassie.