In which I pay $18.95 for a loaf of bread

My husband is a great reader of non-fiction books for some reason.   I don't understand why, but it's endearing and makes our jointly stuffed bookshelves look much more intellectual*.  Occasionally, though, even he will admit that many of those weighty three-hundred page hardbacks would be much better four page articles in The Atlantic**.    Even with all the charts and graphs, a bibliography, and a pithy forward from another person looking for publication credit on their own thesis-like topic, it's a chapter's worth of insight followed by about twenty five more chapters of padding.

After years of smugly looking on from between the pages of whatever novel I happened to be reading, I finally experienced this one-hit wonder sucker punch*** myself when I bought this cookbook.

 I'd read the famous New York Times article that had vaulted Jim Lahey from humble bakery owner to harbinger of a new artisan bread revolution.     I saw all the rave reviews and "best books for cooks" lists that lauded his book when it came out late last year, many citing his renowned recipe in detail right in the review. 

Did I immediately use the step-by-step instructions that were available to me, free of charge, everywhere on the web?  No, I did not****.   Did I perhaps follow along with the helpful online video?  No, I did not.  Instead, I went to Amazon and bought the book.  For $18.95.  (37% off list price, but still)

It is a beautiful book.  The photos are stunning.  There is a long introduction to our host, his early career moves, love affair with bread, with Italy, and with Italian bread.   Then, there is a detailed review of the trial and error process by which the recipe was developed, including amusing anecdotes and self-deprecating personal commentary.   Of course, you also get a complete scientific explanation of why the recipe works as well as it does.   And then, (drum roll please), the recipe itself.  Pretty much exactly as it has appeared everywhere.    Now, you do also get the multi-page, step-by-step photo walk through as well.   So that's something.

Now nearly halfway through, I find the next section covers the following:

Whole wheat version
Rye version
Corn version
Olive version
Irish soda bread version
Cheese version
Walnut version
Pancetta version
Carrot version
Fennel raisin version
Apricot almond version
Peanut butter & jelly version 
Shaped like a baguette version
Shaped like rolls version

Yep.  Padding.  Delicious-sounding, gorgeous-looking, padding*****.  

But was I mad about paying for padding?  Not one bit.  Because finally, having invested that $18.95 (and an afternoon's reading) in this recipe, I actually made the bread.   And it was AMAZING!!!!

Jim Lahey's Justifiably Famous No Knead, No Work Bread
If you want to get the book, believe me, I understand.  But if not, here's how to make it, on me.

3 c. bread flour
1 1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. dry yeast
1 1/3 c. cool water
Wheat bran, corn meal, or additional flour for dusting.

You will also need a 4 1/2 - 6 quart covered cast iron or other heavy duty oven-proof pot.

In a medium bowl, stir the flour, salt and yeast together.  Add the water, and using a wooden spoon, mix until you have a wet sticky dough, about 30 seconds.   Make sure it's really sticky to the touch.   Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and let sit at room temperature, out of direct sunlight, until the surface is dotted with bubbles and the dough has more than doubled in size.   This will take at least 12 hours, and up to 18 hours.  Longer is better.

When the fermentation is complete, generously dust a work surface with flour and scrape the dough out of the bowl in one piece.  It will be loose, sticky, and cling to the bowl in long strands if everything has gone right.   Using floured hands or a dough scraper, nudge and tuck the edges of the dough towards the center to make it round.  

Place a cotton or linen tea towel (not terry cloth, which can leave lint) on your work surface and dust with the bran, cornmeal, or flour.   Gently lift the dough round onto the towel, seam side down.  If the dough is tacky on top, sprinkle with more bran, cornmeal or flour.   Fold the ends of the towel loosely over the dough to cover it, and let rest in a warm, draft-free spot for another hour or two.   The dough is ready when it is almost doubled in size.   Another test is to poke it gently with a finger.  If the indentation stays, it's ready.  If it springs back, let rise another 15 minutes.

Half an hour before you think the dough will be ready, preheat the oven to 475 (or 450 if using a convection oven) with a rack in the lower third position, and place your covered heavy pot in the center of the rack.   

Using pot holders, carefully remove the preheated pot from the oven and uncover.   Unfold the tea towel, lightly dust the dough with a little more of whatever you were using for dusting, lift up the dough and quickly but gently invert it into the pot, seam side up.   Be careful!  This is one HOT pot.  Cover the pot and bake for 30 minutes.   Remove the lid and continue baking until the bread is a deep chestnut brown but not burnt, 15-30 minutes more.   Use a heat-proof spatula to carefully lift the bread out of the pot and place it on a rack to cool thoroughly.   Cooling is key to the crust, so don't slice or tear until it has cooled completely.   Give it at least an hour if you can stand it.

 
* For example, my dog-eared copy of James Clavell's Shogun is somehow elevated by its proximity to various tomes on the history of religion, 20th century world currency policy, and the life of Bach's forgotten cello sonatas.
** I think there's even more bang for your buck just skimming headlines from The Onion.  Everything you need to know in a single priceless line: "Girl Raised from Birth by Wolf Blitzer Taken Into Protective Custody."  Less is more, you know?
*** This is defined as buying the entire Blind Melon album when you really just wanted the bee girl song.
**** I did bookmark the page for later, though.  
***** To be fair, there's some good stuff on pizza and sandwiches at the end.  But there's also a recipe for bread crumbs.   Bread crumbs?  PADDING!!!!

Stalker Mom

I know they only post the pictures once a day.  I know that. 
And still, my fingers do the walking:

Click on bookmarks.
Click login.
System "remembers me"*


Click Photos.
Begin.

Not her.  Not her.  Not her.  Scroll.  Scroll.  Wait!  Is that maybe her in the way back of the mud pile?  Nope.  Not her.  Not her.  Who is this red haired kid in all the pictures?  I bet his mom isn't even looking.   Not her.  Not her.  Next page.  Not her.  Red haired kid.  Bunch of other kids.  Hey!  There she is!

She's smiling!  Oh, this is wonderful.  I beam at the screen. 

But is it a forced smile, do you think?  There's a shadow in the photo.  That could be looming bully off to the side holding her favorite Ugly Doll hostage...or just a tree.   Zoom in.  Wow.  Pretty dirty.  And the hair!  Hmm.   Save photo.

Not her.  Not her.  God damn red haired kid now has no shirt on.  Bunch of counselors doing laundry.  This is photo worthy?  I ask you.  Not her.  Not her.  End of photos.

Sigh.  Enough of this crap.  Send e-mail**.

Hi honey!

Hope you are loving camp!  How's this for an idea...a secret photo code***! Next time you see the photographer guy, get in the picture!  Then hold up one finger for "I'm great and I LOVE it here" or two fingers for "You're gonna pay for this, loser parents!" Three fingers could mean "send surprise packages" and so on. I suppose you could just hold up a note, but they might catch onto that.   I'll keep an eye on the pictures**** and get your message!
Love, Mom

Click.
Login.
Begin.

Not her.  Not her.  Not her.  Some other kid with the red haired kid.  Counselors bowling (!).   Husband scrolling with me.  Not her.  Not her.  Hey!  There she is!  Wow.  That's a great shot.  She's looking right at the camera guy.   Zoom in.  Huh.  Were they face painting, or has she just not taken a shower?  She looks fantastic!  Same t-shirt as last time, though.  Didn't her luggage get there?  Save photo. Scroll forward.

What honey?  She had her fingers up?  Oh my god!  She used the code!  Back.  Back. Click to enlarge.

Right hand:  One finger.
Left hand:  Three fingers.
Face:  Huge grin.

I got the message.
Click.

* Username:  lonesomemom1, password: showmemykid
** Did you notice that this link is cruelly labeled "one way e-mail"?
*** I cannot take credit for this idea.  It was used effectively by a dear friend with her son last year, although she got the "I wanna come home" signal in her photos.
**** Understatement of the year.

Things that you grill for $200, Alex

Alex Trebek:  Answer - "This flavorful use for a less popular part of the bird will satisfy both your family's appetite and your own repressed anger at the absence of your daughter."

DING!

Me: What are Mediterranean Chicken Skewers?
Alex Trebek:  Correct!

Mediterranean Chicken Skewers 

A recipe from the grilling class I took a while back.   They are juicy, full of spice, and a cinch to make.  Plus, you get to stab the meat, chanting "you better be nice to her!" or other such comfort phrases, as much as you like.  I served these with a refreshing Tabouleh-style salad made with Israeli cous cous instead of bulgur wheat* and some white bean hummus from Trader Joe's.

1/2 c. olive oil
2 Tbs. minced garlic
1/4 c. combined assortment of minced Italian parsley, mint, tarragon and chives
1 tsp. kosher salt
freshly ground pepper to taste
1 1/2 pounds of boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1 1/2 inch chunks

Mix all ingredients except chicken together in a small bowl until well combined.  Place marinade and chicken into a large Ziploc bag.  Turn several times to coat the chicken, and refrigerate for at least an hour and up to a day.

Remove the chicken from the marinade, and thread onto skewers. ("Die, evil counselor! Die!")  Heat grill to medium.  Place skewers on the grill, sprinkle liberally with kosher salt, and cook for 8-10 minutes, turning once.  It should be opaque on all sides, but you can check for doneness by cutting into one of the pieces with a small knife.  Serve immediately.

Alex Trebek:   Pick again.
Me:  Things that you grill for $400, Alex.
Alex Trebek:  Answer - "This summer dinner party winner was just one of 101 grilling ideas published recently by Mark Bittman in the New York Times."

DING!

Me:  What is Lime Ginger Soaked Skirt Steak?
Alex Trebek:  Correct!

Lime Ginger Soaked Skirt Steak

Out of all 101 sentences in that post, this one just called to me:  Soak skirt steak in a mixture of soy, lime juice, garlic, ginger and sugar (or mirin) before grilling.

So I did exactly that.  Or almost exactly.  I had some fresh herbs around and threw those in, too.  I've tried to replicate the proportions I used, but definitely just wing it.  I don't think you can go wrong.

One 2-3 inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and finely chopped
8 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes
2 Tbs. chopped fresh cilantro
2 Tbs. chopped fresh scallions
1/4 c. of soy sauce
Juice of 4-5 limes
1/4 c. of brown sugar
1/2 c. of olive oil
About 2 lbs. skirt steak, visible fat trimmed, silver skin removed as best you can.
Kosher salt

Combine all ingredients except steak in a bowl, and mix thoroughly.   Put steak and marinade into a large Ziploc bag and refrigerate at least 6 hours but preferably overnight.   Once or twice, give the steak a little massage and move the marinade around.

When you are ready to cook, preheat grill to medium high.    Place steak on grill, and sprinkle liberally with salt.  Grill for 2-3 minutes per side for medium rare, depending on the thickness of your steak.  Remove from the grill and allow to rest for 5-10 minutes on a pan or tray that will collect any juices from the steak.   Then slice against the grain on the diagonal and serve, drizzling juices over.

Alex Trebek:  I'm sorry.  That's all the time we have for today.  Mostly because I'm too hungry to continue.  Tune in next time, everybody!

Today's post is in honor of one of my favorite movie moments, from White Men Can't Jump:



*  To make the salad, cook the cous cous as directed.  While still warm, stir in the juice from 2 or 3 lemons, 3 Tbs. of balsamic vinegar, 1/3 c. of olive oil, and about a cup and a half of chopped fresh herbs.  The herb proportions should skew towards Italian parsley, but should have a strong dose of mint and scallions, too.   The nice thing about pairing this with the chicken is how much they have in common, herb-wise.   You can easily chop all the herbs at once for both recipes.  Allow salad to cool completely, then refrigerate, preferably for a least an hour, before serving.  About 15 minutes before you're ready to eat, stir in chopped fresh tomatoes, cucumbers or whatever other veggies you like.  Taste, then season with salt and pepper as needed.

Not in the FAQ

After three years, it's pretty routine, the questions we get when we take the dog out.  So routine, in fact, that we've thought of getting T-shirts made:

Bernese Mountain Dog.
Yes, he is big.
About 110 lbs.
He does eat a lot.
A bear...good one!
Put a saddle on him...good one!
3 1/2.
He's a boy.
He would love it if you pet him.

Then, there's generally a happy period of the inquirer lavishing the dog with generous patting and behind-the-ear rubs, and him in turn prostrating himself shamelessly at their feet and gazing at them adoringly with a huge goofy grin of appreciation.   Love fest over, we then continue on our way.

But this most recent encounter was a new one on me.  

To set the stage, a friend and I are out on one of LA's most popular hikes for dog owners.  It's a gorgeous walk down from Mullholland Drive to Hollywood.  The dogs get to be off-leash, the views are great, and there's a killer set of stairs to climb in the middle that literally kicks your butt.   There's even a real horse and a goat to see along the way.  In addition to the canine enthusiasts, it's a well known locale* for fit hipsters of the single variety, along with a wide assortment of colorful "only in LA" folks, so the people watching adds a lot to the fun of the walk.

 At the top of the stairs.  He's not even winded, but then he is a Bernese "MOUNTAIN" Dog.

We've had our requisite minor celebrity sighting.   We've run through the doggie FAQ's a couple times.   Admired and inquired about the other pups out enjoying their day.   All of a sudden, an older woman with dyed blond hair in a track suit walks past us, then turns back after seeing Blackjack.   She speaks in a very deep voice, with a thick Russian accent:

Her:  Vot kind, your dog?
Me:  A Bernese Mountain Dog.
Her:  Is big!
Me:  Yes, he is very big.
Her:  Is how old?
Me:  3 1/2.
Her:  Is boy or gull?
Me:  He's a boy.
Her:  Is real boy or...

She holds up a hand and makes a scissoring motion with two fingers.  Snip! Snip!

Me: Um...he's neutered.  Yep.
Her:  Too bad.  I have gull for him.  Make puppies.
Me:  Um, yeah.  Well.  That is too bad.

She turns without another word and heads up the hill.   Bizzaro doggie yenta fest over, we then continue on our way.

Mr. "Snip, Snip!" himself

* as in really really crowded, especially on weekends.  But definitely worth doing, at least once!

Going, going, gone - Part II

I love my sister, and I love my niece.  Here's why:

My niece curled up and slept with me the night I arrived.

My sister got up at the crack of dawn to make sure that we were all fortified for that departure morning with freshly baked monkey bread and a pound of bacon.

My niece wanted to share every one of her favorite things with me while I was visiting, and had an itinerary for us that was planned down to the minute.   But she immediately changed it to make time for a stop at a Hallmark store so the three of us could send the girls a funny card a few hours after they left.   

My sister assured me calmly that the tornado warnings coming from the radio as the rain poured down and thunder crashed in the distance almost certainly did not pertain to the route that the camp buses were taking*.

My niece chose to sit on my lap on the shuttle bus** from church.  Mom had to go solo.

My sister drove like a maniac (but in a safe way) after dinner at a friend's house, just to make sure that I had a chance to try the best ice cream in America***.   We pulled into the lot of Maggie Moo's at one minute before closing time.    Not only was the ice cream incredible, it was just what the doctor ordered, as the monkey bread and bacon had worn off.

Cinnamon (on bottom) and Espresso Bean (on top)

My niece believes in fairies.  My sister had planned an expedition for my visit that gave her a fantastic reason for doing so.

Below are a few of the fairy doors we discovered in downtown Ann Arbor, thanks to my sister's intrepid research and my niece's eagle eyes.  The leprechaun house at the top is a secret one that only my sister knew about.

My niece, when we were heading to the airport to drop me off for my flight****, did not even touch the grilled cheese sandwich from her favorite restaurant.   Knowing she was starving, my sister asked why.

And my niece said quietly, "I'm too sad to eat."

I rest my case.  Saying goodbye to someone you love is the worst feeling in the world*****.  


* They did pertain to the route we were taking, but that didn't bother me nearly as much.
** We collectively decided that if the girls were on a bus, we would take the bus, too.   We pretended to wave at our crying parents as we left the church's overflow parking lot.  It was actually pretty cathartic for me.
*** Don't take our word for it...they've won that exact award nine years running!
**** She had instructed her mom to take the "most traffic-y way" to increase the odds of my missing the flight.
***** But saying hello is fantastic.  And I get to say hello to both of them in August.

Going, going, gone

The plane ride itself was uneventful, even fun.   The girls snacked, giggled, watched those dorky Nickelodeon shows on the seat back TV's and played games on their iPods.   I read a trashy airport novel, ate a salad, and, for a few blissful moments, napped a little*. 

 The mobile map tracks our progress toward Michigan, home of the upcoming sleep-away camp and my sister and niece.  What a combo!

We landed, collected the baggage and they took turns careening around on the luggage cart before it was loaded down with all their stuff.   My sister pulled up to the curb, and my niece was running, jumping and laughing all at the same time as I grabbed her and twirled in a circle, smiling like crazy myself.   Everybody was talking at once:

How are you guys?  Are you tired? 
What time is it here?  
Auntie Shar!  I'm doing math again**! 
They had TV's on the plane and we thought we almost missed our flight but we didn't really! It was scary!
Do you like pizza?  We're making you pizza!

And then the big one:

Are you excited for camp?

Yes.  They were excited for camp***.   For me, it was déjà vu all over again. 

Another parking lot full of people I didn't know.  Another rented bus waiting to take my daughter away from me.   You'd think I'd at least be better prepared for the onslaught of panic that gripped me as the doors closed.   But I wasn't.  Let's face it.  Waving goodbye to someone you love is the worst feeling in the world.

And sometimes the bravest thing a child can do.

I was going with the "tears of pride" theory when my sister turned to me and said, "Was it me, or were we the only black people here?"

I went back to the "tears of fear" area immediately.   

Do you see any black people in this picture? 

* A frenzy of late-night labeling and packing had kept me up.   Every single item in her duffle bag had to have her name on it.  As in, each individual sock.   Can you say, overkill? 
** We have a private joke about this.  I pretend to be appalled by her "big girl" skills and she taunts me with shouts of "four plus four is eight!" before dissolving into hysterics.
*** They (my daughter and her close friend from school) were also excited for the backyard full of fireflies that greeted them at my sister's place.    I quote: "It's magic here!"   It was also cloyingly hot and humid, even at 11 at night.   And, between that, their nerves, and the time change, nearly impossible for them to sleep that night.

Foodie Girls Lunch Brigade - Episode 17

After dipping our collective forks into the faddish food trucks and flash-in-the pan havens of organic produce and bacon-laced desserts, the OG Foodie Girls got a hankering to visit someplace in this town that had been around for a while.   A place with history, not halogen lighting.    Where the staff speaks from experience, not from crib notes.    And leather is something you sit on, not wear.     The proper adjectives would be words like "classic", "timeless" and "an LA institution."

In other words, a place a lot like us*. 

This is the moist towelette that you get after your meal at Langer's .  Although we were all seriously stuffed, we were also secretly hoping this was a complementary chocolate bar.

Episode 17 - Kickin' it Old School at Langer's Deli
   
The impetus behind this particular outing was definitely FG6's husband, who went from a quick hello to a full blown soliloquy on the gastronomical glory of the Langer's pastrami on rye one afternoon.   The man was literally in a state of bliss just talking about the stuff.    His eyes practically rolled back in his head as he described the crusty bread and piles of thick-sliced, peppery smoked meat on top.    The salivating was not my imagination, either.   With that kind of recommendation, the voyage to the edge of MacArthur Park jumped straight to the top of our to do list.     On a bright Tuesday afternoon, eight of us converged on the corner of Alvarado and 7th street for a trip back in time.

Our waitress, Sheila, was amazing.  Drinks all around, menus for everyone, and a tray of warm pastrami samples from the kitchen arrived as if by magic.    There was a brief fit of hysterical giggles as someone pretended to consider ordering the diet plate (cottage cheese and some kind of fruit, I think).  Ha Ha Ha!

A guest FG sighed with pleasure at the long list of available items.  "This is my soul food, girls.   I feel like I've come home."  She immediately placed an order for the cheese blintzes, by which, according to her, one can tell the true quality of a deli instantly.  If that is true, this place is among the finest, because those blintzes were ridiculously delicious.   A platter of them arrived, fat and golden brown on the outside, stuffed full of rich, cheesy goodness.   Customized with sour cream, applesauce, and jelly, every single FG raved when they took a bite.

It was only a little pathetic that each and every other one of us ordered some form of pastrami sandwich.  After all, they have hundreds of things to choose from.   But far be it from us to argue with generations of Angelenos who flock here from miles around for just this meal.    In a gesture to the notion of completeness, we decided to add other dishes and pretend they were sides:  Potato pancakes.  A plate of lox and bagels.  A huge order of fries.    Pickles and sauerkraut appeared somehow, too.  Otherwise, it was the famous #19, with pastrami, Russian dressing and coleslaw on rye.   And my #10, grilled pastrami on rye with swiss cheese and Russian dressing.

Despite being a last-minute addition, the lox plate was a huge hit.  The fish was incredible!  Smooth, cool, flavorful, and totally fresh tasting.  The bagel was perfect, too, warm and just lightly toasted.   The pile of fixings that came with it again made it easy for each of us to make our own little custom appetizer out of it.    Opinions diverged on the potato pancakes, with some finding them yummy and others longing for more crunch and more robust flavor.     The crispy, perfectly cooked fries disappeared in a heartbeat.    The pickle lovers among us were delighted.  And we all loathed the sauerkraut.  As FG11 said, "It tastes like an old shoe.  And not in a good way."

On to the main event.  The hype?  Completely deserved.  This pastrami is to die for.   Unlike any other pastrami I've had, Langer's version is sliced thickly, so you get a real sense for the meat itself.   It's like the revelation of slab bacon compared to what you get at the cafeteria.  The cure is expert, the juiciness just right.  Tender doesn't begin to describe the texture.  As for flavor, it's briny and peppery and deeply satisfying.    Although we were all almost full just from the "side" dishes, those sandwiches were pretty much gone.   Sheila came by once to see if FG6's apparent half sandwich should be wrapped to go, and was informed, "I already ate all the meat out of it.  So, no."

I personally preferred the pure combination of the buttery, crisp grilled bread with the pastrami and cheese, but others loved the melding of the cool, crunchy coleslaw with the warm meat and freshly baked bread in the house special.    That bread, by the way, is outstanding.   So much so that as I excused myself to visit the little girls' room, the rest of the crew moved almost as one for the take-out counter.   Jars of pickles, loaves of hot bread, and pounds of meat to go were wrapped up and followed us home.
FG Final Verdict?
Langers is ON the list!
Pricing Information:  Sandwiches and other dishes $10-18, sides $4-6
FG Value Rating:  Fair Deal

Find out where and when the FG's will strike next!  Visit our website and get the scoop.  You'll also find links to great articles about Langer's and LA's award-winning deli scene.

*Except of course, we're way to young and good looking to be considered any kind of institution.  We would be called "classic, timeless, yet still quite hip and sexy" instead.

 Photographic evidence of the post-lunch devastation of a FG lunch outing