Amuse Bouche

Sticky Buns 1st attempt

When we gathered up in Maine one of the things that Grandma C used to make were these heavenly buns that she called pecan rolls.  A promised baking of these sticky treats pretty much guaranteed that we could get Mrs. L. up to visit.  When Gran passed away we all spent time sorting through her hundreds of recipes to cull out the ones we all remembered as being favourites.  We swear at one point that we had this recipe, but none of us can find 'the' one.  We have found recipes amongst hers labeled pecan rolls, but we can't rest assured that the recipe is 'the one'.
During the first semester in school one of the recipes we made in yeast doughs class was called Sticky buns, and other than doing them in a 9X12 pyrex dish instead of in a giant cast iron pan I thought that they were pretty darn close.
I promised myself that if I knew Mrs. L was coming to visit I would spring these on her so that she and my Mom could confer on how close or indeed how far from Grandma's they were.

French Bread

I don't quite know how it happened, but I baked fresh French bread this morning.
It all started yesterday when I stopped in to China Fair on Needham Street.  I was really after an enormous pot that I could use to turn my 35 pounds of veal bones into stock.  Then walking down the aisle I spied a peel and next to the peel, a lovely stone for the oven.  The price was right (at least $5.00 less than any price I had seen for the stone anywhere else - and no shipping) and I had been thinking about practicing my bread skills both for school as well as in anticipation of feeding friends and family up in Maine over the summer. When I stopped by the grocery store in the afternoon to pick up last minute items a jar of yeast practically leapt into my cart.
I returned home with my quarry and unloaded the truck.  I did some laundry, watered the greenhouse and suddenly like a bolt of lightening, the urge to make dough overtook me.  You must understand.  I NEVER BAKE.  Not unless I am in school, or an event requires something.  This urge to bake was as natural as the desire to have a drink.
I broke out my proofing bowl, my scale, the marble slab for kneading and I was off.  This would be, I had already decided, a long, slow rise, overnight in the refrigerator not a warm rise.

Scali nee Crusty Italian Bread

Well I did it.  This weekend I baked my first loaf of bread from scratch.  I know it probably seems odd for a person about to undertake a year long Professional Chef's course not to have baked bread before, but there you have it.  My morning confession.
I was walking down the baking aisle the other day looking for some chocolate for the cookies when I spied a 3 package of yeast.  A little seed of thought popped into my head and so I dropped it into my basket and squirrelled the thought away for later cross reference. Saturday I was up at 7:30 making cassoulet for dinner.  Mom and S.D. were up for the night and I had offered to cook dinner.  I baked some almond squares for dessert ( recipe later) and made some appetizers.  They arrived around noonish and we headed up to N.H. to stock up on liquor for the holidays and the coming months and then headed back home.  I made a fire in the kitchen and we had dinner early since they had both been out of bed since 3:30 in the morning to drive up from Virginia. 
After we sent them off to S.D.'s brother for the night and I poured myself a final glass of wine that little thought came racing out of its residence in the back of my grey matter.  Tomorrow, you should bake bread.  I picked up my unused copy of 'The King Arthur Baker's Companion' and started flicking through recipes.  I wasn't about to start on a French Baguette so I opted for what they called 'Crusty Italian Bread', but I would call Scali.  I whipped up the Biga or starter in no time and headed off to bed while the yeast started farting and burping up a storm overnight.