Scouting Spring

I'm under no illusions that winter is anything like over, or even that we've "turned the corner," with Groundhog Day behind us and the Pennsylvania rodent predicting an early spring. We can still see a lot of winter from mid-February to the end of March (indeed, it's minus 10 here in Saint Paul this morning, after a teasingly mild weekend).

Still, the sunlight has warmth now, it's even hot if you're in a sheltered spot on a sunny day. The male goldfinches are starting to color up out at Bide-A-Wee, and we see that our fox is digging out her hillside den again. We never see the actual fox--traveling with dogs isn't conducive to viewing wildlife--but our neighbors down the valley do. We see the snow around the den colored with the yellow soil the fox kicks out. These are signs, sure, but signs of progress only, not of any arrival. Best to keep a realistic view, hold on to our "mind of winter" as Wallace Stevens put it (without, I hope, becoming snowmen and -women ourselves...).



We found ourselves out and about in the Wisconsin countryside quite a bit this past weekend, looking for more signs, maybe. Started the day with a breakfast that some might just see as bread and jam and cheese, but we know it as la belle tartine--French bread and jam and cheese. Oh, and good butter, of course. I don't know why cutting the baguette in that French manner, separating top and bottom, is so evocative--maybe because I've only ever seen it in France, and at our house....



Home-baked baguette, our own runny blackberry jam from Bide-A-Wee fruit, aged cheddar and wonderful Marieke gouda, smoked fenugreek, if you please. A bowl of café crème would be the thing to accompany, but both Mary and I switched from morning coffee to tea recently, quite spontaneously. We drink plain old Tetley's or Red Rose generously whitened with raw milk that we get from our friend Renée at Bolen-Vale Cheese.

One day we packed a picnic lunch (optimists, yes, cock-eyed, for sure) and drove up along the Chippewa River north, through Chippewa, Rusk, and Sawyer counties, and meandered some side roads, just seeing the countryside. We stopped to scout a few putative trout streams, but the fact that most were ice-covered was not encouraging--the spring-fed streams that trout prefer remain open even in the coldest weather. But we saw moving water in the Chippewa River below the dam in the town of Radisson. The river flowed dark and ice-flecked, but the sight of it was encouraging, just the same. It made me think of stringing up the fly rod, stepping into my waders--though that pleasant moment is some weeks off, too.



In Radisson we also found this welcoming park with picnic shelter. You can practically smell the burgers and brats searing on the grill, can't you? We snowshoed across the park to the shelter. There were picnic tables under the roof, and one corner was relatively free of pigeon poop.



We had rillettes sandwiches with cornichon slices, butter and mustard, and a bottle of our own cider. I'd whipped up a quick soup just before setting out, an assemblage of vegetables, mainly--celery root, carrot, kale, potato, onion--made delicious by some of our home-smoked bacon. Just water to make the broth, and a little milk at the end.



A couple of cars passed on the park road as we ate, and we could see the drivers do a double-, maybe triple-take. We were very happy with our picnic spot. It was a very pleasant day, all 'round. We didn't see anything really remarkable, just the charismatic north country quiet under snow, under marbled gray skies mostly (Mary calls them India ink skies), the sort of light, the sort of scenes that can give you little shudders of delight for no reason you can fathom. And looking at the houses, cabins and trailers, we might have shuddered in another way, wondering what the long white season was like in that trailer in the shade of tall white pines, that once-gracious farmhouse now paintless and tilting, with the yard full of flotsam and jetsam that someone apparently thought worth keeping around, or just not worth removing. It was a little trip back into winter, in a sense, even if we were looking for spring (but we turned back before reaching the town of Winter, a few more miles up Wisconsin 70).


The dogs are excellent travelers, Lily on the left, Annabel right. The kitty litter is just for traction.


Text and photos copyright 2011 by Brett Laidlaw

Potted Smoked Trout

I have an almost Pavlovian response to the sight of a ramekin. It's not the sweet dishes commonly served in ramekins--pots de creme, creme caramel, etc.--that perk up my salivary glands. Rather it's the savory, rich, robustly flavored concoctions like rillettes of pork or duck, or fromage fort, that get my mouth watering. They transport me straight to the hour of the apéritif, as that enticing little pot is presented flanked with slices of crusty baguette, sweet butter, and of course there's a glass of wine in the picture--mine is a Loire valley white in this fantasy, a muscadet or sancerre.

I'll stick with a crisp French white to accompany this recipe, even though its inspiration comes from across the Channel, British potted shrimps, as seen on one of Rick Stein's "cookery programs" on the BBC. Here at the geographical heart of North America, we're a bit distant from traditional shrimp fishing grounds. It is on my to-do list to get after some local crayfish this summer, but in the meantime I decided to try peeling a couple of small smoked brown trout, which I combined with melted butter, finely chopped shallots, chives, and tarragon.


This made the basis of a simple after-the-market Bide-A-Wee supper, along with market new potatoes and fat Wisconsin asparagus boiled and laced with lemon-chive butter, fresh cheese curds, fresh bread, and a bottle of pouilly-fumé. It was a sultry evening, perfect for a light, flavorful meal like this. Those first new potatoes of the year, no bigger than a ping pong ball, nearly stole the show. But in the end I'd have to give the laurels to the potted trout, rich and smoky, spiked with the tang of the shallots, punched up with a nice hit of tarragon. Spread on bread grilled over the coals, it was utterly satisfying.


If you're not inclined to catch your own brown trout and smoke your own, fear not. You can use the quality smoked rainbow trout from Star Prairie or Bullfrog Fish Farm (speaking to my fellow Minne'sconsinites, of course; the far-flung amongst you, you're on your own...). Smoked whitefish would be good this way, too, I imagine. Herring or lake trout might be a bit too rich for all the butter--then again, too much of a good thing might be just enough...!

I had two small brown trout of about nine inches. Skinned and carefully deboned, they gave me five ounces of meat, and that filled two half-cup ramekins exactly. The farmed rainbow trout will be bigger; one fish should easily provide that five ounces of cleaned fish.

Butter is a main component of this dish, and I think Hope Creamery butter is the best around. It must be unsalted, because the smoked trout will also be quite salty. For this reason I don't add any additional salt, but you can taste your trout mash before packing it into the ramekins to see if it needs salt.

Potted Smoked Trout

5 oz (150 grams) smoked trout, skinned and deboned
3 ounces (6 Tbsp) unsalted butter
1 small shallot very finely chopped, about 1 Tbsp
2 sprigs tarragon, chopped fine
1 Tbsp chopped chives
ground black pepper, optional
salt if needed (see above)

Place the butter and shallots in a small saucepan and melt the butter over low heat.

In a mixing bowl, reduce the smoked trout to very small flakes using either your hands or a couple of forks. Add the herbs, then spoon in 2/3 of the butter. Scoop down to the bottom of the melted butter to get most of the shallots into the mixture. Stir vigorously for about a minute so it all comes together a la rillettes. Pack the mixture into two ramekins. Pour the remaining butter over the top, creating a butter seal.



Refrigerate for a few hours, or overnight. Bring out of the fridge an hour or two before serving. Serve with fresh baguette slices or grilled bread, a fresh garden salad, simply blanched asparagus and/or new potatoes tossed in butter, some fresh snap peas, radishes, that sort of thing.

This could serve as the basis for a wonderful tartine breakfast, as well as a warm night simple supper or elegant lunch. Luncheon, is a word my mom would use; ladies who lunch don't actually go to lunch, they go to luncheons....



Text and photos copyright 2010 by Brett Laidlaw

Good Morning

Wake up and smell the fresh baguette. Good morning, indeed. This is my idea of a really fine breakfast or brunch. A great baguette cut "tartine-style", hunk of cheese (Wisconsin seven-year cheddar there), heirloom tomatoes from the garden or market (I think that was a black krim), some smoked fish (in this case a South Shore smoked herring spread). The glass of our own fresh, home-pressed apple cider doesn't hurt, either.


But it all depends on the bread: You frequently hear that a good baguette should have a "crispy" crust, and a "light and airy" crumb. I just feel that that is so, so wrong. That pretty much describes every awful, styrofoam, grocery store baguette out there (sadly, it also describes too many "artisan" baguettes, as well).


No, the crust of a great baguette is not crisp, it is crunchy. The distinction is this: A crispy crust shatters into a billion little shards when you bite it, and offers little resistance to the tooth. A crunchy crust resists the tooth, you have to work a little to bite through it, and it sheds a minimal amount of crumbs.


A light and airy crumb, desireable? I think not: Dense and chewy, pocked with gorgeous craters, the insides of the larger holes shiny with gluten. It's a piece of bread that demands good teeth. It's a meal in itself, not an afterthought accessory. Well, that's how I feel, anyway. That's how I would describe the great bread I've had in France, notably the Boulangerie Kayser baguette, and others. These bakeries often proudly display a baguette cut open as for tartine in their shop windows, so you can see that lovely landscape of irregular chasms, perfect for taking up plenty of good butter.

And as that top photo of Mary smelling her bread attests, a great baguette has that utterly appetizing fragrance, of wheaty crumb and golden crust. If you tear off a piece of fresh baguette and you're not moved to stick your nose right in it, something's wrong.

I forgot to mention the butter when I listed the elements of a great tartine breakfast. How could I? Hope Creamery butter for us, unsalted. None other. And the jam, blackberry, Bide-A-Wee fruit, sweet but with a beautiful brambly, savory scent to it--always reminds me of good pipe tobacco, vanilla notes, comforting. Blackberry jam on sharp cheddar. Is this heaven? No, it's Wisconsin....


The fish spread was made with smoked herring we picked up at Halvorson's fishery in beautiful Cornucopia on Wisconsin's magical South Shore of Lake Superior. We mixed the flaked fish with some cream cheese and mayo (Kraft, sorry; and Hellmann's, no apology), a few chopped capers and some minced shallots from Jackie of Sylvan Hills at the market. That black krim tomato we got from Joe, Honey Creek Joe, some call him. Chervil and parsley from our garden, just a sprinkling of coarse salt.


And the cider: Yes, apples from our land, pressed just outside the kitchen door. I will show off our new Happy Valley Ranch cider press, right soon.

You can buy a freshly baked Real Bread baguette most Saturday mornings at the Midtown Farmers' Market. If you come right at 8:00, the bread will still be warm from the oven. Don't come after 9:30 thinking you'll get one, period. Then you'll just have to make your own. It's not that hard. I got it right after practicing for just 20 years....



French “Off-White” Bread
The Real Bread baguette and bâtard

A portion of whole wheat flour gives added taste and texture to this basic bread. I usually make this bread into long baguettes or round “boules,” but you can make it into any shape you like: crusty ficelles—very thin baguettes; or plump bâtards; or a big round country loaf. Wheat gluten or "vital wheat gluten," is the part of flour that makes bread dough stretchy and baked bread nice and chewy. You can find it in most grocery stores and co-ops. Co-ops often have it in bulk bins, sometimes refrigerated, sometimes not.

1 cup warm water (around 110 degrees; it should feel quite warm, but not hot)
2½ tsp active dry yeast
2 cups water
1 1/2 Tbsp wheat gluten
¾ cup whole wheat flour
1 Tbl plus ½ tsp salt
5 ½ to 6 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus additional if needed during kneading and loafing
Cornmeal

Place 1 cup of warm water in a large mixing bowl. Stir in the yeast and set aside for 5 to 10 minutes to allow the yeast to soften—it will rise to the top in a kind of foam.

Add the additional 2 cups of water, the salt, wheat gluten, the whole wheat flour, and three cups of all-purpose flour. Mix well. Add another cup of flour and mix again, then another cup of flour. The dough will appear rather rough and “shaggy” at this point.

Turn the dough out onto a clean countertop or table. Knead for 2 minutes, adding flour as necessary to keep the dough from sticking. After this initial kneading, put the dough back in the bowl and let it rest for at least 10 minutes. The dough should be fairly uniform, but it doesn’t need to be completely smooth.

When the dough has rested, put it back on the kneading surface. Knead the dough for another 4 or 5 minutes, again adding flour as necessary—you will use most of the sixth and final cup of all-purpose flour during kneading.

By the end of the second kneading the dough should be smooth, elastic, and firm. When you poke it with your finger it should bounce back quickly. When you pinch it, it should offer some resistance.

Return the dough to the mixing bowl, cover the bowl with plastic wrap.

Two options now: For the best result, refrigerate the dough for several hours, five hours to overnight. Remove from refrigerator, knead briefly, and leave out at room temp until it has warmed and doubled in size. For example: I'll make the doughs I bake into baguettes on Saturday morning Friday afternoon, refrigerate until bedtime, knead down, leave out overnight. First thing in the morning, shape, proof, bake.

Short method, if you don't have time for all that: Refrigerate the dough for an hour. Remove from fridge, knead down, allow to rise at room temperature for two to three hours, until doubled in volume. At this point you can either knead it down again and let it rise one more time, or proceed to shaping and baking.

Loafing the bread: Lightly flour the kneading surface. Punch the dough down and place it back on the kneading surface. Knead it briefly, adding flour as needed if the dough is sticky. Divide the dough into pieces appropriate to the shapes of bread you want to make: baguettes, about 10 ounces; round “boules” or ovals, about 20 ounces; bâtards, the plumper baguettes, about 16 ounces.

A tip for shaping baguettes: Do it in several stages. First just knead a piece of dough briefly, and form it into a slightly elongated shape. Leave it alone for a couple of minutes. Roll it between your palms to elongate it further. Press it flat, and fold the sides over, and tuck them in. Leave it alone for another couple of minutes. Repeat this technique until your baguette is as long as your want it--don't forget to take the size of your oven/baking stone into account!

Preparing the oven: You may want to line the bottom of your oven with aluminum foil to make clean-up easier. To add steam to the oven, which helps create a better final rise in the oven, and produces better crust and color, we’re going to toss ice cubes and water into the oven right after the bread goes in. With an electric oven, you can throw the cubes and water directly on the oven floor. Warning: Over time (quite a short time, really), this will warp and discolor your oven floor. Alternately, with either gas or electric ovens, you can place a small cast iron skillet in the bottom of the oven—look at thrift stores or garage sales. With gas ovens, the skillet method is the only one I recommend. Using a cast iron skillet in this way will pretty much ruin it for anything else.

With baking stone and skillet already in place, preheat your oven to 455 degrees.

Dust your peel, cutting board, or baking sheet with cornmeal. Shape the loaves and place them on the peel, cutting board, or baking sheet. Cover with plastic wrap, and let rise about 40 minutes.

After 40 minutes transfer the dough to a peel dusted with cornmeal. Let rise another ten minutes.

Preparing the loaves for baking: Dusting the loaves with flour gives an attractive appearance, and makes them a little easier to slash, but is not necessary. If you like, place some flour in a small sieve and lightly dust the loaves. With a single-edge razor or very sharp knife (a serrated bread knife works well), slash the loaves—this is done to allow for even rising in the oven. For baguettes, make three overlapping slashes down the length of the bread. For boules I usually makes three slashes, creating a slanting “H” shapes. You may be creative and slash in any way you like, bearing in mind that a uniform final rise is what you’re after.

Have 4 ice cubes ready. Give the peel a little shake to be sure the loaves will slide off easily—if they stick, flour your hands lightly and gently lift the loaves to free them.

Now slide them into the oven. Thrust the peel forward toward the back of the stone, then pull it quickly back toward you so the loaves slide off onto the stone.

Throw the ice cubes into the skillet. Close the door.

For baguettes, bake 15 minutes at 455, then turn the loaves around on the stone to ensure even baking, and turn the oven down to 430. Bake for 10 minutes more, or until the baguettes are well browned and sound hollow when tapped on the bottom.

For larger loaves: Bake 15 minutes at 455, turn the loaves around, bake another 12 to 15 minutes at 430.

Remove the loaves from the oven when done, and cool on a wire rack. Always allow bread to cool for at least 30 minutes before serving—the inside of the bread is still very soft and moist just after it comes out of the oven.

An alternative to the peel method: Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, and dust the parchment with cornmeal. Shape the dough into loaves and place on the parchment-lined baking sheet. Cover and let rise as above. When you’re to bake, place the baking sheet directly on the baking stone. Halfway through the baking, slide the baking sheet and parchment out, allowing the bread to finish baking directly on the stone. This is a good method for baguettes, which can be a little tricky to slide off of a peel. You may see a slightly smaller final rise, and the crust may be affected somewhat, but you’ll still get a very good result.


Text and photos copyright 2009 by Brett Laidlaw

Tartinez-Moi

Tartine is one of the most beautiful words I know, in any language. It's French, of course, and it most often denotes, rather mundanely, "bread spread with butter or jam." That definition hardly does it justice. When you order a French breakfast, say at the little café at the Kayser boulangerie on the Rue Monge in Paris, you're offered the choice of a pastry--croissant, pain au chocolat--or a tartine.

If you go for the tartine, what you get is a slab of baguette from a loaf cut in half the long way, into top and bottom (imagine a hot dog bun; now, forget I said "hot dog bun"). Cut this way, the baguette reveals all the glory of its fragrant wheaten interior, pocked with irregular, gluten-glazed crevasses. There is glorious golden crust all around the pliant but substantial crumb.

You contemplate it for a moment. You take in your surroundings. Along with a fantastic piece of bread, you have the Paris sunshine, a bowl of café crème, and--not to overlook the obvious--your beloved companion, sitting across the little table, contemplating the same things. Enough contemplation: Let's eat.

Start with butter, and maybe end there. The rich unsalted butter fills the holes in the bread, and with bread this good, I usually find jam superfluous. The crunch of crust, the yielding crumb, the butter melting in your mouth: You have entered le monde de la tartine, and life is good.

A great tartine is so much more than "bread and butter" would imply. It can be more than that literally*, too, as seen above in the smoked trout and herbed cream cheese tartine which, with a salad of wild greens, made a Bide-A-Wee supper last weekend. The baguette was a couple of days old--not ideal, a baguette is a bread of the day, better, of the hour--so we warmed and browned it over the coals. That revived it quite nicely.

Into the cream cheese I mixed chopped chives and watercress and a squeeze of lemon juice, and a little soft butter, because the cream cheese was rather cold and hard--letting it come to room temperature would make that easier. We just spread that on the grilled bread and topped it with home-smoked brown trout, but any smoked fish would do. The salad was wild watercress, dandelion greens from the Bide-A-Wee hills, and a few white violet (oxymoron?) flowers for pretty.

Simple, delicious, springtime fare. We may not always have Paris, but we can always have a tartine.

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* Eric Kayser's book 100% Pain has a mouth-watering section of gourmet tartines--the picture of the grilled scallops tartine always makes me hungry.


Text and photos copyright 2009 by Brett Laidlaw