[amazon pdf books] Bread Baking by Daniel T. DiMuzio, 0470138823

  • Full Title : Bread Baking: An Artisan’s Perspective
  • Autor: Daniel T. DiMuzio
  • Print Length: 272 pages
  • Publisher: Wiley; 1 edition
  • Publication Date: February 24, 2009
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0470138823
  • ISBN-13: 978-0470138823
  • Download File Format: pdf
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A guide to making artisan breads practically and profitably, Bread Baking: An Artisan’s Perspective includes step-by-step instructions on mixing, fermentation, shaping, proofing and retarding, and baking. Written for both experienced and novice bakers, Bread Baking contains more than 150 helpful photos and drawings that illustrate techniques and showcase beautiful artisan bread products. Covering the business of bread-making, this book features practical advice from successful artisan bakers as well as forty plus tested artisan bread formulas, including ciabatta, pain au levain, bagels, honey whole wheat, croissants, and many more. Artisan bread baker and teacher Dan DiMuzio provides invaluable information on troubleshooting, ingredients, laminated dough, and creating dough formulas. Professional bakers and baking and pastry students will benefit from this practical resource to artisan breads.


Editorial Reviews


“Bread Baking is a professional book that really keeps in mind theteaching of young students a skilled craft and sharing knowledge tomake them successful.”–Vincent Donatelli, Asheville-BuncombeTechnical College

“This text is the first to offer a comprehensive resource on theart and science of Artisan Bread Baking. With the growingpopularity of artisan breads, this book will help prepare the nextgeneration of chefs to continue the long tradition of fine breadbaking.”–James Usilton, Atlantic Cape Community College

From the Back Cover

how to make artisan bread properly and profitably

While artisan bread in America was once limited to a few small urban bakeries, today artisan bread is available at the local supermarket. Wherever it's found, however, excellent flavor and texture are still the hallmarks of any true "artisan" bread product, and these qualities cannot be faked. They require craftspeople skilled in the art and science of bread baking.

Written for both experienced and novice bakers, Bread Baking: An Artisan's Perspective offers a complete guide to making artisan breads practically and profitably. Its clear style and straight- forward organization give readers start-to-finish coverage of steps in the bread-baking process, along with explanations of essential techniques, scientific and historical background, and other useful information. This resource also features:

  • More than forty formulas, including ciabatta, pain au levain, bagels, honey whole wheat, croissants, and many more
  • More than 150 helpful photos and drawings that illustrate techniques and showcase beautiful artisan bread products
  • Artisan profiles that offer insights and tips for success in the artisan bread business
  • Extensive coverage of the basics of ingredient selection, mixing methods, fermentation, shaping, and baking
  • In-depth coverage of flour milling, wheat composition, and baker's math

Bread Baking: An Artisan's Perspective also offers many helpful resources for students. "Learning Outcomes" lay out a road map of each chapter; sidebars highlight important information; bread baking formulas provide the flexibility to bake various batch sizes; and lab exercises, experiments, key terms, review questions, and discussion topics are included for each chapter.

Aspiring bakers, as well as professionals wanting to further hone their craft, will find Bread Baking: An Artisan's Perspective an essential resource for their pursuit of artisanship in bread baking.




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Recipes, History, and Lore

Jennifer McLagan

For Haralds, love you to the bones



Title Page



Beef and Veal









Suggested Reading

Author’s Note


About the Publisher


The connection between flesh and bone is primordial and fundamental. Yet today, bones have fallen out of favor. We are all familiar with the expression, “The nearer the bone the sweeter the meat,” but we demand everything precut and prepackaged, and that is, increasingly, all we can buy. Our world is full of recipes for boneless, skinless (and often tasteless) pieces of meat, chicken, and fish, and we scarcely recognize whole fish or birds. We have become so obsessed with ease of preparation and speed that we have lost touch with the visceral appeal of cooking with—and eating—bones. No carcass to cut around, no whole fish to fillet awkwardly. When was the last time, other than Thanksgiving, you ate a meal that was carved at the table? Carving has become a lost art.

My passion for bones was rekindled during a wedding anniversary dinner several years ago, at a well-known Paris restaurant. The evening began tentatively, with my furtive glances at the man seated at the next table. No, I wasn’t plotting a change of mate, I was envious. Envious of this stranger’s bones: a plate of three towering marrow bones, each crowned with a different topping. I wanted those bones. Luckily, my husband is patient man who shares my passions. There was no need to stray, we celebrated with our own plate of bone towers. As we scooped their soft, creamy centers onto toast, dusting them with salt, I reflected sadly on how such a simple, indulgent pleasure was vanishing.

Not just marrow bones, but all bones are disappearing from our kitchens. As bones fade from our consciousness, the ways in which they enhance and improve the food we eat are forgotten and ignored. But bones play an integral role in the art of cookery, adding taste and texture while enhancing the presentation of the food. Think of osso buco, rack of lamb, fish grilled on the bone, spareribs, roast chicken.

The food of my childhood was enriched by bones. Every Friday morning, my mother and I crossed the butcher’s sawdust-covered floor, joking with the ensemble of jolly, big men in long white aprons. We passed the refrigerated counter, with its carefully arranged cuts of meat, and headed directly for a side room where whole animals hung suspended by metal hooks. Entranced, I watched as the butcher skillfully cut an animal into more familiar pieces. After much earnest discussion, we would leave with an assortment of meat with its bones. Once home, bacon bones were transformed into thick pea soup, while oxtail was slowly braised with red wine until the sauce was so rich and sticky it glued your lips together. Irish stew was made with lamb shoulder chops layered with thickly cut potatoes, which readily absorbed the lamb’s flavor and fat.

Once I began to travel, I discovered more exotic bones. A warming bowl of pho, beef soup, shared with three old Vietnamese women on a rainy, damp market day in Hue, brimmed with the aromas of long-cooked beef bones and star anise. In Italy, I relished a tiny songbird, bones and all, much to the horror of my companions. The little bird, impaled with toothpicks to a piece of toast, had been deep-fried until the bones were so soft they dissolved in my mouth. All that remained uneaten was its beak. In Berlin, fork-tender, juicy Eisbien (pork hock) crowned a massive platter of sauerkraut.

I am often in France, where bones are still revered. I eat lip-smacking pig’s feet, sucking the meat from the many small bones. In the spring on the banks of the Sâone, in Burgundy, tiny fish are passed quickly through flour and hot oil, eaten like French fries, their bones so tiny you simply crunch them up. The highlight of a stay in Provence is whole rougets grilled with wild fennel.

So appreciated worldwide, bones and many of the cuts containing them are often overlooked in North America. The pig’s feet at my local Toronto farmers’ market spark only the interest of recent immigrants, and my butcher gives away his veal bones. (He confides to me with regret that he rarely buys whole animals anymore because he can’t sell the “odd parts.”) Why don’t we buy these tasty, often cheap, cuts? Because we no longer know how to cook them and have forgotten the recipes for them. I had to write a book to help solve the problem.

Restoring bones to their deserved place in our kitchens will not be easy. First, we must fight against the current fascination with fast and quick, boneless food. Then we need to familiarize ourselves with the whole animal, its essential structure. When we understand where the bones are, we will be able to co
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And how many times have we celebrated a gorgeous summer day with a cold beer and a perfectly grilled double-thick T-bone steak, rich and juicy inside and charred just right on the outside?

Obviously, we love meat. And with this book, we want to share that love with you, to give you an even deeper appreciation of the flavor that you already savor—because red meat is a bedrock part of our culinary heritage, a taste that is right down in our genes.

But we’re not blind to all the nutritional information that is going around today concerning red meat. We agree that the typical American diet probably includes too much of it. In fact, that’s how this book got started in the first place. We were concerned about our own meat consumption and decided to try to make the meat we ate really count. This had 1

the ironic effect of raising our appreciation and our dedication to proper preparation of meat. Once we gave up the lousy ham sandwiches and the fast-food burgers, we found ourselves becoming more enamored of not only roasts and steaks, but also some of the overlooked and less popular cuts. Pretty soon cuts like short ribs, veal breast, and fresh ham began to gain ground as new favorites.

When we started exploring meat in this way, it led us to both rediscovering some old classics and appreciating the way meat is used in other cultures, where the roasts and steaks of European-derived cuisines are almost unknown. This opened up a whole new world to us, and we want to share that world with you. We want to share the classic cuts, we want to share the international favorites, and we want to share the overlooked cuts, the unpolished gems of the meat world.

At the same time, we want to teach you how to cook every cut exactly right. Because if you’re going to eat less meat, then it’s even more important that you derive maximum enjoyment from every experience.

There’s actually a lot to be said for red meat in a nutritional context too. It remains the single most nutrient-dense, efficient food delivery system available to human beings. It contains all the essential amino acids (those are the ones that our bodies need but cannot synthesize from other foods) and, more important, it contains each in exactly the proportion that our bodies require it. Red meat is also an unrivaled source of iron and crucial trace elements such as zinc and copper, along with vitamins B and B . As for saturated fat, many 6


cuts are leaner these days, and even within current nutritional guidelines you can eat ten ounces of lean red meat every day and not exceed the recommended fat intake.

Meat is also a core part of the human experience, intricately intertwined with our history as a species. Hunter-gatherers weren’t hunting for vegetables, after all, and the need to band together to hunt for meat was the primary motivation for the early social bonds that eventually created civilization. Anthropologists vary in their estimation as to whether the eating of meat represents humans’ desire to show their power over animals or to identify with them, but they all agree that it has a deep-seated relevance to our understanding of our place in the natural world.

As Americans, we are particularly meat-oriented, because our country has perhaps the most consummate carnivore history of all. Native Americans had always hunted and eaten meat, and European settlers took to the practice with a passion. In their native countries meat had for the most part been a privilege of wealth. But in this new land, game was astonishingly plentiful, and with the vast amount of land available, the new Americans began raising both cattle and hogs in large quantities. Europeans who visited colonial America consistently marveled at the amount of meat consumed by the average citizen.

Like rice in much of Asia, meat became the center of our national dinner plate.

The odd thing, though, is that despite its prominent place in our national diet, many of us don’t know all that much about meat anymore.

During the culinary revolution that has swept the United States over the past couple of decades, the greatest attention has been paid to products once less commonplace in the American kitchen. Greens, grains, and vegetables of all kinds have rightfully been praised, 2


explained, and brought to a well-deserved place of greater significance on our plates. But that led to a certain amount of indifference about some aspects of meat cookery. We know about steaks and chops, and we have some idea about roasts, but braises and stews and many lesser-known cuts have fallen into disrepute or neglect.

As a result, most Americans tend to go to the grocery store and pick out the same cuts of meat they always have, then take them home and cook them the same way their parents did. This is a shame, both because meat has changed in character and because folks are losing out on a whole world of exce
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chkeit Quellwasser. Aber Sie werden auch Rezepte mit Milch, Joghurt, Buttermilch, Saft und Malzbier in meinem Buch finden, denn das sorgt für Abwechslung.

Wie viel Flüssigkeit der Teig benötigt, hängt davon ab, welches Mehl Sie verwenden, von dessen Ausmahlungsgrad, Alter und von der herrschenden Luftfeuchtigkeit. Deshalb ist es ratsam, nicht das ganze Wasser auf einmal zuzufügen, sondern nach und nach. Achten Sie bei den Rezepten darauf, wie die Teigbeschaffenheit beschrieben ist, und fügen Sie je nach Bedarf etwas mehr Mehl oder Wasser dazu.


Hefe, Sauerteig und Backpulver haben nicht nur Einfluss auf das Volumen, sondern auch auf den Geschmack der Brote. Für Weizenmehle verwendet man in der Regel Hefe, für Roggen eher Sauerteig oder Sauerteig plus Hefe und mancherorts, wie beispielsweise in Irland, nimmt man auch Backpulver.

Hefe: Im Supermarkt finden Sie frische und trockene Hefe. Frischhefe wird meistens in 42 g-Würfeln angeboten, Trockenhefe in kleinen Papiersäckchen mit 7 Gramm, beide Angebotsformen reichen für je 500 Gramm Mehl. Hefe besteht aus einzelligen Pilzen, die für die Bildung der Kohlenstoffdioxid-Bläschen im Teig verantwortlich sind. Je mehr Zeit Sie dem Teig zum „Gehen“ geben, desto weniger Hefe braucht er.

Achtung: Hefe ist eine Diva, sie erwartet die richtigen Rahmenbedingungen. Damit die Hefe die Gärprozesse in Gang setzen kann, braucht sie Wasser bzw. Flüssigkeit und die richtige Temperatur. Warm, aber nicht zu warm (etwa zwischen 36 °C und 40 °C) fühlt sie sich am wohlsten. Aber aufpassen, ab 45 °C sterben die Hefezellen ab. Hefe liebt Zucker, deswegen habe ich häufiger eine Prise dazu gegeben. Und sie mag kein Salz, denn Salz bindet das Wasser, das sie braucht. Deshalb wird Salz in den meisten Rezepten erst beim letzten Kneten zugegeben.

Backpulver: Obwohl Backpulver fürs Brotbacken bei uns so gut wie keine Rolle spielt, soll es hier kurz erwähnt werden. Die chemische Substanz, die die Bildung von Kohlenstoffdioxid im Teig hervorruft und damit ähnlich wie Hefe wirkt, aber keine Gärzeiten braucht, wurde um die Mitte des 19. Jh. entwickelt; das Ziel: Backwaren schneller produzieren zu können und haltbarer zu machen. Allerdings erreicht Backpulver auch nicht diesen besonderen Geschmack, für den Hefe und Sauerteig im Brot sorgen. Backpulver wird bei uns hauptsächlich zum Kuchenbacken verwendet, in den USA, England und Irland nimmt man es auch zum Backen spezieller Brote.

Sauerteig: Seit einiger Zeit muss man Sauerteig nicht mehr selber ansetzen, sondern kann ihn auch im Supermarkt kaufen, wo er meistens flüssig in 75- und 100-Gramm- Beuteln angeboten wird. Ich habe in den Rezepten grundsätzlich flüssigen Sauerteig verwendet. Wieviel Sauerteig Sie brauchen, hängt davon ab, ob Sie Weizen-, Dinkel- oder Roggenmehl verwenden.

Sauerteig besteht aus Hefepilzen und Milchsäurebakterien, die den Teig durch Bläschenbildung auflockern. Außerdem verbessert Sauerteig die Verdaulichkeit, das Aroma, den Geschmack und die Haltbarkeit eines Brotes. Das gilt vor allem für Teige aus Roggenmehl oder mit Roggenmehlanteil. Während für Weizenmehl in erster Linie Hefe als Triebmittel verwendet wird, ist bei Roggenmehl die Zuführung von Milchsäure erforderlich, damit der Teig aufgeht.

Sauerteig selbst ansetzen

Sauerteig mit Weizenmehl

300 g Weizenmehl (die Mehltype ist egal, es sollte nur kein Vollkornmehl sein)

25 g Hefe

200 ml lauwarmes Wasser (38 °C)

Mehl, Hefe und Wasser zu einem Brei verrühren. Schüssel mit einem Tuch abdecken und 5 bis 6 Tage bei ca. 25 °C stehen lassen. Am Tag vor der Verwendung 1 bis 2 gehäufte EL Mehl und etwas lauwarmes Wasser zufügen, verrühren und bei 25 °C gären lassen.

Restlichen Teig in ein Glas mit Schraubverschluss geben und in den Kühlschrank stellen, aber vor jedem Gebrauch Zimmertemperatur annehmen lassen. Einmal pro Woche „füttern“: 2 EL Weizenmehl mit 100 ml Wasser verrühren und unter den Sauerteig rühren.

Sauerteig mit Roggenmehl

200 g Roggenmehl (die Mehltype ist egal, es sollte nur kein Vollkornmehl sein)

2 EL Buttermilch oder Joghurt

400 ml Wasser

Roggenmehl, Buttermilch und Wasser vermengen und für 3 Tage in einem abgedeckten Glas mit Schraubverschluss an einen 25 °C warmen Ort stellen. Jeden Tag ein- bis zweimal umrühren. Am 4. Tag 150 g Mehl und 250 ml lauwarmes Wasser zufügen und umrühren. Wieder warm stellen. Am fünften Tag ist der Sauerteig gebrauchsfertig. Im Kühlschrank aufbewahren, aber vor jedem Gebrauch Zimmertemperatur annehmen lassen.

Einmal pro Woche „füttern“: 2 EL Roggenmehl mit 100 ml Wasser verrühren und unter den Sauerteig rühren.

Feine Hefebrote

Klassisches Hefe-Mischbrot

Arbeitszeit: ca. 20 Minuten | Gärzeit insgesamt: ca. 2 Stunden | Backzeit: 45 Minuten

für einen 3 l Topf

Brotlaib ca. 850 g

15 g Frischhefe

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n confit. At a restaurant in Seattle, I once ordered deep-fried pork belly confit—more or less a chunk of deep-fried fat—and I nearly fell over backward it was so good, crisp on the outside, melty and spicy inside (see page 264 for the recipe).

A pâté, a way of alchemizing scraps into culinary treasure, is another form of food preservation. As are sausages, bacon, ham, smoked salmon, smoked trout, or simple lox, salmon cured with salt and seasonings. All these items are part of the specialty called charcuterie, and each grew out of the need for preservation. Contemporary chefs have adopted some of these preservative techniques for foods you might never think of trying to preserve. Halibut confit would sound ridiculous to a French farmer, but prepared carefully, it’s delicious.

Derived from the French words for flesh (chair) and cooked (cuit), the term charcuterie came to designate the shops in fifteenth-century France that sold products of the pig including offal. The Romans, who made standards of raising, killing, and cooking of pork points of law, regulating its production, were likely the first to turn pork butchery into a trade, but it was the French charcutier who brought the greatest ingenuity to pig preparations. In the fifteenth century, charcutiers were not allowed to sell uncooked pork (though they could sell uncooked fat, which would be rendered into lard at home and used for cooking there), and so they created all manner of cooked (or salted and dried) dishes to be sold later—pâtés, rillettes, sausages, bacon, trotters, head cheese. The charcutiers of the late fifteenth century, the time when the first guilds were formed, were highly esteemed. These tradesmen in charge of pork butchering played a critical role in maintaining the food supply in their towns; charcuterie then meant cooking and preserving the meat for a community. Long before the Renaissance, and through the Industrial Age, societies, civilization depended on such preservative techniques. By the time of the French Revolution, nearly one hundred master charcutiers were plying their trade in the country’s capital.

The history of charcuterie, in the sense of salting, smoking, and cooking to preserve, may date almost to the origins of Homo sapiens. It has been carried on in many forms through virtually every culture, and it has been one of the foundations of human survival in that it allowed societies to maintain a food surplus and therefore helped turn early peoples from nomads into clusters of homebodies. Sausage recipes date to before the golden age of ancient Greece. Even before that, the Egyptians were fattening geese for their livers—and possibly making the first pâté de foie gras.

In fact, the need to preserve food may well have been what led us to cook it in the first place, and then only by accident. It’s not unlikely that the ancestors of Homo sapiens hung surplus raw food over a fire to keep away bugs and animals. In the morning, they discovered that it was smoked hot, tender, and delicious.

Other historians have suggested that our ancestors first discovered cooked food in the form of animals that had perished in forest fires, and then began to cook food on purpose. Regardless of how they discovered cooking, they surely realized that cooking made food not only taste good but last longer as well.

At about the time my fascination with confit, and then preservation techniques generally, plateaued, I met Brian Polcyn, chef of Five Lakes Grill in Milford, Michigan, about forty-five miles west of Detroit. I’d just finished a year’s study at the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York, in order to write a book about how one learns to cook professionally. I was green, but I’d learned the core cooking fundamentals and was eager to know more about the profession. I finagled a magazine assignment that allowed me to return to the CIA to observe the Certified Master Chef Exam, a ten-day marathon of cooking in all kinds of styles—classical French, traditional Asian, regional American, nutritional, patisserie—all fiercely graded. There was something insane about the test and those who took it, but by then I’d learned that insanity can sometimes more than adequately describe a chef. Imagine performing ten Iron Chef competitions back to back every day for ten days. The test is given by the American Culinary Federation at the Culinary Institute; that particular test in the spring of 1997 included a total of seven chefs, Brian among them.

Covering the test, I gravitated toward and spent the most time with Brian because he was unfailingly articulate and so he made for both good copy and a good education; also, as he was on the verge of passing until the very end, his story was dramatic. Incidentally, he was expert in the specialty called charcuterie.

The judges graded the participants’ pâtés and terrines, the backbone of charcuterie


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