Pane Sciocco

“What does it mean?” is entirely the wrong question to ask of poem. It would be just as silly to ask of a grapefruit, “What do you plan to study in college?” Grapefruits don’t go to college; poems are not written to mean something. This is a particular peeve of mine. Poetry serves a myriad of purposes, but very seldom does poetry lend itself to mere semantics. Poems evoke. They connote—not denote. So take your poems with a grain of salt, because you won’t be needing salt for this bread.

Sciocco means stupid in Italian. The recipe for Pane Sciocco arises from a time when Tuscany had an exorbitant salt tax (in the age of Dante!), and so most bread was made without. Perhaps at first people thought saltless bread was silly, but it caught on and soon became a point of pride for Tuscans who then poo-pooed everyone else’s bread as “too salty.”

Pane Sciocco

Sometimes also called Pane Toscano

Adapted from The Italian Baker

Sponge
1/4 teaspoon active dry yeast
2/3 cup lukewarm (110°F) water
1 1/3 cups Unbleached All-Purpose Flour

Dough
1 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast
1/3 cup warm water
1 cup room-temperature water
3 3/4 cups Unbleached All-Purpose Flour

Make the sponge the night before you want to make bread. Stir the 1/4 teaspoon yeast into the 2/3 cup warm water. Let stand until foamy, about 10 minutes. Add the 1 1/3 cups flour and mix well. Cover and let stand at room temperature overnight.

The next day, stir the 1 1/4 teaspoons yeast into the 1/3 cup warm water. Let stand until foamy, about 10 minutes. Add the sponge and 1 cup of water. Mix well. Beat in the flour until dough is stiff enough to knead. Turn the dough onto a lightly floured work surface and knead until smooth and elastic, about 10 minutes. Place the dough in a well-greased bowl, turning to coat all sides, cover and let rise until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured work surface without punching it down or handling it roughly. Gently form it into a large, round loaf by pulling all the edges underneath, gathering them and squeezing them together, leaving the top smooth. If you have a baking stone, place the loaf on a sheet of parchment paper; if you’re using a pan, sprinkle some cornmeal on the bottom of the pan, and place loaf on it. Cover with a towel, and set aside to rise until doubled, about 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 450°F. Slash the top of the bread in a tic-tac-toe pattern. If you’re using a baking stone, use a peel to transfer the loaf, parchment paper and all, to the stone in the oven. Otherwise, put the pan of bread into the oven. Bake for 15 minutes, misting bread with water from a spray bottle three times during the 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 400°F and bake 25 to 30 minutes longer. Makes 1 large loaf of bread.

This would be a great bread to bring to a Thanksgiving dinner. I am hoping all of you who are travelling over the next few days get safely to your destinations. That you do not wind up in exile, like Dante, and writing three epic books of poetry meanwhile.

“You shall find out how salt is the taste of another man’s bread, and how hard is the way up and down another man’s stairs.” –from the Divine Comedy, Paradiso

But that would certainly be the way I would prefer to spend exile… so I am.

In a snow flurry of pages, like the glorious exhibit currently up at Rochester Art Center.

White Chili for the Snow Queen

Negative ten degrees. Six now that the sun is up. It is time for some serious soup. And poetry.

“One has to keep looking for poetry as Renoir looked for colors in old walls,” wrote Wallace Stevens. This, I think, is an apt motto for those facing Minnesota winters. A poetic sensibility can turn misery into wonder. Put a pot of soup on the stove, steam up your face with onion and spice, and don’t let the frost get to your soul. Only five frozen months to go.

White Chili

Adapted from Hyvee Seasons

2 tbsp olive oil
2 medium onions, chopped
1 (4 oz) can diced green chilies
1 tbsp minced garlic (about 6 cloves)
2 tsp chili powder
1 1/2 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp dried oregano
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 to 1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1 (32 oz) carton 33%-less-sodium chicken broth
3 (15 oz each) cans Great Northern beans, rinsed and drained
4 c. cubed cooked chicken (about 2 pounds)
1 c. cooked brown rice
1 medium tomato, diced
2 green onions, sliced

In a Dutch oven, heat olive oil over medium-high heat. Add onions; sauté until tender, about 5 minutes. Add chilies, garlic, chili powder, cumin, oregano, salt and cayenne; cook 2 minutes. Add broth and beans; reduce heat, cover and simmer 20 minutes.
With potato masher or immersion blender, mash beans slightly. Add cooked chicken and cook, covered, for 10 to 15 minutes or until heated through. Serve topped with rice, tomato and green onion.

Anything to clear my sinuses. This will burn your lips and keep burning…better than any chapstick. Stay warm, San Di-ah-go.

Mexican Mocha Zucchini Bread

So I absolutely loved psychiatry. It was my favorite shelf exam to study for because of questions like: “A nun is found in a distant city working in a cabaret. She is unable to remember anything about her previous life.” No joke, a real question stem.

Don’t you want to know this ex-nun? The problem is, I don’t feel at all inclined to “fix” her. Although the right answer is to check the multiple choice box “dissociative identity disorder” or “dissociative fugue,” I am more content to enjoy her idiosyncrasy—her “neurodiversity”—rather than pathologize her wild life choices. I’d rather meet her for coffee and possibly write a short story about her rather than see her in a clinic office. I’ve got psych on the brain because this recipe is what I made for my patients and staff team on my last day with them in the psych hospital. This is the most psychologically complicated recipe I could muster. I meant to take more than this one picture, but it disappeared too quickly for me to capture it on film (not because of that bulldog licking her chops).

Mexican Mocha Zucchini Bread

adapted from Kelly Almon’s killer recipe

First beat

3 eggs

1 cup of olive oil

2 cups sugar

Then add

3 tsp vanilla (mix)

3 cups flour

1 tsp salt

1 tsp baking soda

4-8 tsp cinnamon (I love a lot of cinnamon)

2 tbsp cocoa powder

½ tsp chili powder (from Santa Fe if possible)

1 tsp instant espresso (Starbucks VIAs work nicely, do NOT use nescafe)

¼ tsp baking powder

2 cups of grated zucchini (water pressed or otherwise drained out)

Cook at 350 for 1 hour, makes two loafs. Also, sometimes I put them in cupcake holders and make zucchinicakes.

This is the perfect weekend breakfast, so get cooking. The mark of greatest success for this bread was that in the hospital, the aroma was so powerful, I got my attending, who is paleo (!) to eat three slices. On the way home I felt like the woman from Chocolat, fluttering away in a red hood, but admittedly this is how I have felt for most of third year—stealing into and out of people’s lives like a gypsy woman blown on the wind—with really only food and earnest conversation to offer.

Pane All’Olio

Maybe Robert Plant will want to come sing with me, I could be his next Alison Krause. I just can’t quite land after the high of singing all last weekend with the band. Our final gig was in the Rochester Art Center and a professional videographer took really sweet pics/film of us playing against the night sky with the city of Rochester all lit up in the background. Choice.

I think he and I would make a fantastic duo. I made olive oil bread in his insignia rather than in the ring wreath as described by the recipe. Not intentionally I’ll admit, but it occurred to me after the fact that the design I had made was very Robert Plant. Or Stone Henge. I once met a guy at a wedding in San Diego who told me a long story about a ficus he had at home named Robert. Robert the Plant. I have no idea who that guy was, but I recall his beloved house plant.

Pane all’Olio

Adapted from The Italian Baker

1 ½ cups sourdough starter

1 cup 3 tbsp water

4 tbsp olive oil

2-3 tsp lard (oops, I did tablespoons)

3 ¾ cups white flour

2 tsp salt

Stir all the ingredients together, salt last of course. Knead and let rise in an oiled bowl for 2 hours.

Remove and divide the dough into 12 or so pieces and shape into small balls. Arrange an inch or so apart in a free-form circle on parchment-lined sheet. Cover with plastic wrap and a towel and let rise again for another few hours.

Heat the oven to 400, brush the tops of the rolls with olive oil and sprinkle lightly with sea salt. Bake 35 minutes if it’s a wreath, 20 minutes if they are individual rolls. Cool on racks.

These rolls are a bit bland, but are great when toasted and covered in peanut butter. Adams peanut butter would be choice.

Pane di Como Antico

God Bless the Child who’s got his own. Mm. I think I might have made Lady Day proud with the recording we laid down last night of her signature song.

It was like a dream. One take; nailed it. After the radio silence, the saxophone player from Boston looked at me through the studio glass and said in his Fenway accent, “I’m going to cawl the police. You could be arrested for that, man.” (To jazz cats, even ladies are “man.” I took the whole thing as a complement.) Sometimes a take is perfect the first time. Our group is called Take Two—but that was truly a Take One moment. So was this recipe.

Pane di Como Antico

Adapted from The Italian Baker

¾ cup sourdough starter (which you have let sit overnight and fed with wheat flour)

1 ½ C warm water

½ c whole wheat flour

3 C all-purpose flour

2 tsp salt

Combine and mix the starter, flours and water. Add the flours one cup at a time. Knead on a floured surface for five minutes, sprinkling with up to ½ additional cup of flour and slamming on the surface if needed to help develop the gluten. It may take up to 12 minutes of kneading (I know) before the dough is sufficiently soft, moist, and sticky. For the first rise, place the dough in a slightly oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let rise for 2 hours, until doubled. It should have numerous blisters under its “skin” when it’s ready.

For the shaping and second rise, divide dough in half and shape into two boules, and let rest, covered, for 20 minutes. Then roll each ball into a fat cylinder and place seam down on parchment paper.

Cover and let rise for 1 ½ hours. Thirty minutes before baking, heat baking stone in the oven at 425. Sprinkle the stone with cornmeal. When ready to bake, slash the loaves, slide loaves in, and instantly reduce the heat to 400. Bake for 35-40 minutes.

I am going to miss that old fashioned microphone—with my name on it.

Funny side note, I had to sing barefoot in the studio because apparently, the shoes I thought would be oh so foxy turned out to “squeak” enough to be a sound technician’s nightmare. Apparently the fox’s feet should say nothing. He made me take them off.

The jazz diva microphone does have a burning bush quality—holy ground. All I know is God Bless the Child is officially a hymn in my Real book (this Christmas edition of the Real book is a subtle foreshadowing of our next gig—at Assisi Heights Dec 7^th). Can’t wait for the CD release.

Whole Wheat Pappardelle with Arugula Pesto and Corn

Could you please keep your voice down? I’m currently in an intense love affair with pancetta. I’ve used it twice in dinners this last week and I just have to tell someone. I find it incredible that it has taken me 28 years to meet pancetta, but now, everything is different. Pancetta is bacon, basically, cured but unsmoked. It is sliced thin as a ribbon and it seems to have some special power– whatever dish I add it to turns into my new favorite recipe.

Whole-Wheat Pappardelle with Arugula Pesto and Corn

Adapted from Food and Wine

2 cups loosely packed wild arugula (about 1 ounce), plus more arugula for garnish

1 medium garlic clove, chopped

2 tablespoons toasted sliced almonds

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Salt

1/2 pound dried whole-wheat pappardelle (I used pasta from Stillwater and Co gifted to me by the saxophone player in our band)

3 ounces pancetta, sliced 1/8 inch thick and cut into 1/2-inch strips

1/2 cup finely chopped onion

Kernels cut from 2 ears of corn (1 cup)

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, for serving

In a pot of salted boiling water, blanch the 2 cups of arugula for 30 seconds. Using tongs, transfer the arugula to a colander and rinse under cold water. Squeeze the arugula dry and transfer to a blender. Add the garlic and almonds and pulse until finely chopped. With the blender on, gradually add the olive oil in a slow steady stream; season with salt.

Add the pappardelle to the boiling water and cook until al dente. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup of the pasta water.

Meanwhile, in a large skillet, cook the pancetta over moderate heat, stirring, until browned, 5 minutes. Spoon off most of the fat. Add the onion to the skillet and cook until translucent, 5 minutes. Add the corn and cook until crisp-tender, 1 to 2 minutes.

Add the pasta, reserved pasta water, pesto and butter to the skillet and cook, tossing, until the pasta is hot and evenly coated. Season with salt and transfer to a bowl. Garnish with arugula leaves and serve, passing grated cheese at the table.

Here I am making dinner after a run and doing my Pancetta dance. (Izzy is pouting in the next room because pancetta is too expensive and I can’t spare her a nib. I told her to wait for Thanksgiving–maybe a pancetta and peanut butter-stuffed Kong is equivalent to a helping of turkey and gravy.)

Kolache with Cream Cheese and Currants

This really could be the perfect weekend. It began with a bouquet of my favorite smells—which in itself was the undoing of what had been a slow passing of my least favorite smell: Izzy’s dumping her displeasure thrice around the house (once in my favorite grey suede boot!) to let us know she does not approve of us vacationing without her over long weekends. Finally, the aroma is under control, and it is the smell of freshly ground Sleepy Monk, of warm cream cheese-filled kolatchen—a Czech delicacy—and of jazz songs stuck in my throat, ready to be sung. Stay tuned, literally, a long awaited recording is born this weekend.

Kolache with Cream Cheese and Currants

Inspired by the Joy of Cooking recipe, embellished by yours truly

Dough

Mix 3 c flour and 1-1/2 tsp salt in a bowl

Cut in 1/2 c butter (one stick—I grate the cold butter with a cheese grater)

Blend and add

2 beaten eggs

½ cup sour cream

½ cup plain yoghurt

2 tbsp sugar

1 tsp vanilla

Finally, add ¾ cup sourdough starter

Cover and chill 2 hours or more.

Pinch off two inch balls of the dough and press their centers down so that the edge is no more than ½ inch thick.

I used a square edged tin, and my fanciest of fancy liners because these were for the Calvary guests we hosted for our Film Club. Gran Torino makes me cry every time.

Into the centers, dollop the following filling.

Filling: Beat together 2 egg yolks, 3 tablespoons sugar, 1/8 teaspoon salt, 2 tablespoons flour and 1 cup of raisins ¾ cup cream cheese and ½ tsp vanilla and mix well.

Cover and let rise with the filling for 40 more minutes. Then bake at 375 for 20 more minutes. Top with confectioners sugar if you are feeling on the foo foo side.

As seen here, my favorite Sourdough online community– www.sourdoughsurprises.blogspot.com

I am Repentant Wheat Berry Salad

On our last day in Berkeley, our dear friends the Warrens took us out to eat for vegan cuisine at Café Gratitude. In the foyer to the restaurant, there were numerous books championing attitude as the key to a positive life experience. I would tend to agree, but to a point. I do not think happiness is entirely a DIY project, also, I tend to believe that the human experience of joy is an important foreshadowing, not the end goal in itself (the There is a God, You are not Him perspective). But, I digress from the point, which is that I could have worked on my attitude a bit harder in Café Gratitude. I was borderline ungrateful.

Classic granolaism: the titles of entrees were not at all related to the dishes they represented, they were rather Superpositive statements of Being: “I am Magical;” “I am Light;” “I am Accepting.” I was not, in fact, accepting. What is it about over-positivity that gives me such joy to thwart? Not with full-on Debbie Downerism, just a wry sauce of sarcasm.

I did the worst thing I could do in a Vegan restaurant, which is to order a plate of nachos in full ignorance of what Vegan means—no cheese. I’ve clearly been in the rural Midwest too long. Confused, I think I thought vegan was vaguely synonymous with vegetarian—no meat and maybe a few other no-nos. But, ahem, vegan means Plant Only. Thus, to my disappointment and despair, my nachos were brought to me cheeseless. And no cheese on KP’s pizza, but instead, a strange cream of vegan-naise. Each dish was a mangled nest of squashed vegetables, many of which I consider to be weeds, spices, and, on mine, nuts pressed together pretending to be chips.

What I should have done: chant the title of my entrée “I am Honoring” and channel that thought toward the people I was blessed to share the meal with: my in-laws, my husband, Tom and Holly, and our precious godson (who had no problem Accepting, Honoring, and being a little ray of Light with squash pie smeared all over his face).

In repentance and in an effort to put myself into a choke-hold of Gratitude, because apparently I need that, so help me, I went out on limb to discover a vegan recipe that I can enjoy (for next time). Lo and Behold, this is it. Holly, forgive me my facial expressions on Veteran’s Day—and make this dish! So tasty!

Wheat Berry Salad with Tuscan Kale and Butternut Squash

Aka “I am Repentant”

Adapted from Food and Wine

1 pound peeled butternut squash, cut into 1/2-inch dice (3 cups)

6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

2 cups whole einka or other wheat berries (I used einkorn wheat—ancient grain from Mesopotamia dating back to 7500-9000 BC! One of the earliest forms of cultivated wheat, and low gliadan profile for those of you whose bowels fie gluten and related proteins)

10 ounces Tuscan kale, stemmed, leaves sliced crosswise 1/4 inch thick (4 cups)

2 tablespoons sherry vinegar

1/2 cup minced shallots

1 tablespoon finely chopped sage

2 garlic cloves, minced

1/3 cup dry white wine

Preheat the oven to 400°. On a rimmed baking sheet, toss the squash with 2 tablespoons of the olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Roast the squash for 20 to 25 minutes, until tender. Transfer to a large bowl.

Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan, cover the wheat berries with 5 cups of water and 1/4 teaspoon of salt and bring to a boil. Simmer over moderate heat until tender, 25 minutes.

Add the kale to the wheat berries, cover and remove from the heat; let stand until the kale is wilted, 5 minutes. Drain well and add the wheat and kale to the squash. Add the vinegar and 2 tablespoons of the oil to the salad, season with salt and pepper and toss.

In a medium skillet, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil. Add the shallots and a pinch of salt and cook over moderately high heat until just starting to brown, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the sage and cook for 1 minute, until fragrant. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add the wine and simmer, stirring, until evaporated.

Scrape the shallot and garlic into the salad and toss. Season with salt and pepper, garnish with parsley and serve.

Health city. I think this dish counts as bread on the food pyramid. Wheat berries shall be my new rice. But watch out—they expand significantly even after they are swallowed. Even if you are a vegan, wheat berries should be consumed in moderation. Don’t bite off more than your colon has diameter.

I am officially asking for these for Christmas, Mom.

Wedded Bliss

My eating:cooking ratio was wildly inverted this past weekend in Oakland/Berkeley, California. Almost all eating, no cooking. It was a beautiful weekend with family at the Berkeley City Club, whose pool is a splendor. For posterity, the highlights:

Hogged the photo booth for most of the evening.

The famous pool was a fortress walled by rules. For example, all swimmers with long hair had to wear a swim cap.

My commentary on the hippie-dippie-granolaism of Berkeley can wait another day. My favorite restaurant by far was Pizzaiolo.

Slid by Jack London’s bar in Oakland with my father-in-law– First and Last Chance Saloon. Yes, the bar surface is at a 30 degree incline.

And then finally got to see my family today in Redwood City and San Mateo (love you Grammi, Grandpa, Becky and all!) Before heading back to the frozen tundra of the Midwest, I made sure to wear my boots in the sand at Half Moon Bay with the man I am blissed to have wed years ago.

Whole-Wheat Buttermilk Biscuits

So excited to be in Oakland, California this weekend to bear witness to and bestow blessings upon the wedding of my brother-in-law and his bride. As she harkens from South Carolina, the whole mood of the proceedings is warm and syrupy. With this new family, and my beloved in-laws, I feel like I’ve found a welcoming porch in the midst of a hard city. What goes best on a Southern porch besides family, moonshine, and twilight? Biscuits.

Whole Wheat Buttermilk Biscuits

Adapted from Food and Wine

And made more healthy in honor of the organic, yoga-practicing, health-conscious bride

2 cups whole-wheat flour

1 tablespoon sugar

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1/3 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese

1 stick cold unsalted butter, cubed

1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons buttermilk

1/2 cup sourdough starter

Preheat the oven to 450°. In a large bowl, whisk the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Whisk in the cheddar cheese. Using your fingers or a pastry blender, rub or cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal with some pea-size pieces remaining. Mix in the buttermilk and starter, stirring, just until the dough holds together. On a lightly floured work surface, roll out the dough to a 7 1/2-inch square that’s 3/4 inch thick. Cut the dough into nine 2 1/2-inch squares and transfer the squares to baking sheet lined with parchment.

Bake the biscuits for about 12 minutes, until golden brown on top. Let the biscuits cool slightly and serve.

Enjoy with honey for breakfast over this holiday weekend. I’ll be getting back in touch with my Bay Area roots—my father grew up in Redwood City on the other side of the Bay. Views like these help me get into the mindspace of Jack London. As this is my first real break from medicine in three months—I can’t wait to dive back into the bookstores, pen first.

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