Cooking, like writing, is an act of learning, finding one’s voice, cutting away the clutter, and paring down to the essentials. It is exploration and celebration. Getting from A to B to C.  Cooking is also the magic of memory. Touch.  Taste. Commemorate.

Ruhlman thinks of ratios, adding fixed proportions of ingredients, as the “truth of cooking.” While working on The Making of a Chef, his book about the basics of cooking, he interviewed  Uwe Hesnar, a dean at the Culinary Academy of America (CIA). Hesnar is like the mysterious stranger every seeker encounters on their journey. A sorcerer, he comes and goes, hiding behind the fog of cooking, the mystery of silence. As they talk about the craft of cooking and how one learns to cook, Hesnar hands Ruhlman two sheets of paper. Like the Ten Commandments handed to Moses, these are the holy foundations of cooking. They contain a chart or grid of 26 items and their ratios. This meeting is the genesis of Ratio.

What I find appealing about Ruhlman’s book is that it is instructive. He says that ratios help you to better understand cooking in general. I also think they can help you become a more confident cook. For the curious or inquisitive cook, or dare I say, obsessive cook, ratios will quickly become habit forming. You will find yourself starting your sentences with “What if I” or “How about…”

I wanted to have fun with the ratio for bread dough: 5 parts flour to 3 parts water (plus yeast and salt). My daughter was leaving for 3 weeks of sleep-away camp and I wanted to grace her with white bread as a parting gift. I knew I would be able to indulge my love of whole grain breads in her absence. I admit that I was also up for sinking my teeth into an unadulterated loaf of white bread. Her first bite yielded a big smile with a thumbs up yum of approval. Ruhlman’s aim isn’t to make the “perfect” or “best ever” bread. It’s to set a baseline. I had been downplaying my expectations so I was surprised at how good my sandwich loaf tasted. I was thrown off by the word “basic” and overlooked his other words: satisfying and delicious. I next tried the ratio with whole-wheat bread that I shaped into a boule, buckwheat rolls, and focaccia made with leftover potatoes.

The real test, however, was when I tried my hand at pie dough. I bake bread often, but baking pie is my wife’s domain—one that I always stay clear of. But now, how could I not, in the name of research, put my hands on a rolling pin. I’ve avoided making a pie since the last and only time I tried to bake one.  We needed to bring dessert to a dinner party. My wife, who was busy that day, forced me into service. “Don’t worry, “ she cautioned, “just don’t overwork the dough.” I arranged rings of strawberries and blueberries atop a pastry cream. It was picture perfect. I was a proud papa and I was whistling a happy tune on the drive over. After dinner I escorted my picture perfect pie to the table. The rumor of appreciation going around the table was interrupted by two small voices coming from twin brothers, voices that brought me to my knees. They were sawing away with their forks at this impenetrable mystery. “Daddy, can we pick it up and eat it with our hands?” I could hear a clattering of forks dropping to the table as everyone else picked up their pie. “Well, I guess it’s a little tough,” their father added politely. Though my wife tried to reassure me that it wasn’t that bad, I noticed she stopped eating her pie after just a bite.

For my attempt at Ruhlman’s recipe (3-2-1 ratio), I cut the ingredients  in half because I wasn’t looking to make a big pie. Plus, I didn’t have two sticks of butter in my test kitchen refrigerator (who do I need to talk to around here to get a bigger budget?) I mixed the dough by hand, trying my best to gently press it together.  In no time, I was able to roll out dough for 3 individual pies and 4 turnovers.

I can now puff out my chest and say these words: flaky and tender.  My pie dough was a success. I’m not just saying this because my teenage son and his friend licked every last crumb off their plates or because of their wide-eyed admiration for the turnovers that I placed in front of them the next morning. My crust easily gave way to my fork’s caress. My wife happily, very happily, ate her piece.

Ruhlman tells a story about inviting neighbors over for dinner and needing to make some kind of dessert. He knew he could rely on the ratio for pound cake and quickly assemble it when he arrived home from the grocery store. We were invited to a barbeque a few days ago and I was asked to bake rolls for burgers. Hmm??!! I looked at the clock. No problem. Thanks to Ratio, I didn’t need to spend time searching through recipes. I knew that I could easily up the quantity to ensure that I had enough rolls to bring and keep aside a few for breakfast. I mixed oat flour into my dough for a change of pace and sprinkled poppy and sesame seeds on the rolls before loading them into the oven. In case you were wondering, they were satisfying and delicious.

Ratios enable cooks to perform sleight-of-hand tricks in the kitchen. No recipe required. Bread dough, pasta dough, pie dough, cookie dough, vinaigrette, and mayonnaise are among the 33 ratios in Ruhlman’s book. They can be as easy as 1-2-3 or is it 3-2-1 or 3-1-2?

Food writer Mark Bittman let the genie out of the bottle when he wrote about Lahey and his no-knead method a few years ago. I felt compelled to try his technique several days later, as did many others. Bittman’s article expanded like rapid-rising yeast across the web and within days a new religion was born. We were believers. We had the spirit. We testified.  It was like a great laying on of floured hands. Baking guru Rose Levy Beranbaum took the journey along with us.

I would love to say that my initial attempts were a piece of cake. But they weren’t. This is a wet, sticky dough and I added more flour than was necessary when I shaped the loaves. This is not to say that they weren’t a revelation. Each time I took a loaf out of the oven, I knew without having to taste it, that this was the real deal.  I was ready to buy 30 Dutch ovens, open a bakery, and wait for the lines to form. I still have that WOW moment every time I bake a no-knead loaf. It’s that good.

Like a loaf of bread loaded into a pre-heated oven, Lahey’s first chapter in his recently published My Bread: The Revolutionary No-Work, No-Knead Method, is a burst of biography leavened with inspiration. He is a thaumaturgist popping out from behind the curtain or a barker selling his magic elixir at the midway. His passion for baking bread burns with an artisanal fury. Reading his story made me feel that it was possible to achieve any pie-in-the-sky dreams that I might have.

The no-knead method is pretty much what it sounds like. Stir together flour, water, yeast, and salt.  No-kneading required. What it does require, however, is patience. Patience to let it rise.  Greater patience to let it cool off before cutting into it. The dough needs to sit 12-18 hours before it can be shaped and baked. I’ve never gone under the 12 hour mark, but I have let it sit longer than 18 hours.  I have also stuck it in the refrigerator after shaping it and baked it the next day. Similar to a jazz tune, this method has endless improvisations. I have yet to make a bad bread. They are usually downright heavenly.  Lahey begins with the master recipe or formula in the book. You should also start with the master recipe before going on to your own improvisations. His recipes for chocolate coconut bread and olive bread immediately became family favorites. One slice guarantees  overwhelming joy. The laws of the bread deities forbid me to say what will happen when you bite into a second slice. Use discretion when sharing a loaf. Yes, you want to spread the joy, but do you want everyone becoming your friend—for life? I often play around with different flours. My semolina version makes my wife swoon and causes my daughter’s eyelashes to flutter uncontrollably. Lahey’s adaptation for pizza is a great change of pace. For other no-knead versions, including video tutorials, check out Breadtopia. My favorite is the seeded sour.

Playful and inventive, Thelonius Monk danced at the piano. When I listen to his music, my feet become frisky and start tapping out a dance of their own. Lahey’s no-knead approach, like a Monk tune, is an economy of ingredients, a song of simplicity. Both hit all the right notes.

Guided by the vision of a warm flame, I gathered a bunch of beets and a scattering of turnips. I always have what seems like an inexhaustible supply of organic carrots because I buy 10 lb. bags from Costco, so I pulled out 3 or 4 carrots. I grabbed a head of cabbage because I wanted to throw a little into the mix. Beets and cabbage does not a borscht make. (If you are having a problem making sense of that sentence, try reading it aloud with a Yiddish accent.) I could’ve easily pulled out two other vegetables from the fridge. Or I could’ve taken out a bowl of cooked wheat berries. But I was after the comfort of the colors red and orange.

Potluck. That’s the best way to describe my method of making soup. And, so far, it’s been a big pot of luck. Ask my wife, she’s the one not eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.

Off the Beet‘n Path Soup

1 bunch of beets (3-4 beets), chopped

3-4 turnips, chopped

3-4 carrots, chopped

2 stalks of celery, diced

6-7 cups of water

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

1 or 2 onions, diced

3 or more large garlic cloves, chopped

orange zest (optional)

salt and pepper to taste

In a large pot, heat the oil over medium-low heat. Add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally for 5-7 minutes. Add garlic and continue cooking for another five minutes. Stir in celery and cook briefly before adding water. Add beets, turnips, and carrots. Cook until vegetables start softening, about 20-30 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Add orange zest (optional).

Leftovers, usually a grain or legume, are the master keys to my soups. Whole Grains Every Day, Every Way by Lorna Sass is a wonderful guide to grains. I encourage you to read it and learn about buying, cooking, and integrating grains into your meals. She even gives advice on storing leftover grains in your refrigerator. Start thinking of them as the prepared food aisle.

After a quick forage into my refrigerator, I start marrying ingredients together faster than an all-night chapel in Las Vegas. And unlike Vegas, what happens here, doesn’t have to stay here. For my latest soup, I used spinach, carrots, and leftover polenta. If you’ve been reading my posts, you know I have a penchant for pesto. I added pea shoots pesto to jazz up the broth. The focaccia sitting on my bread board was a few days old. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to spill a few tablespoons of olive oil in the skillet, and toss in garlic. In a few minutes I had croutons to float in the soup. For good measure, I topped each bowl with grated parmesan cheese.

There is a subtle beauty in the poetry of these everyday soups. You can use the template below to get you started. Soups on. Grab a spoon and celebrate your daily roll call.

Polenta Soup

1-2 cups cooked polenta

7-8 cups water

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

1 or 2 onions, diced

3 large garlic cloves, chopped

3 carrots, diced

spinach (I threw in a few handfuls)

salt and pepper to taste

a few spoonfuls of pesto

croutons (for each individual bowl)

grated parmesan cheese

In a large pot, heat the oil over medium-low heat. Add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally for 5-7 minutes. Add garlic and continue cooking for another five minutes. Stir in carrots and cook briefly before adding 7 cups of water. Cook until carrots start softening and then stir in polenta. Add salt and pepper to taste. Add spinach and pesto and continue cooking for a few minutes. Serve with croutons and parmesan cheese.

Fran Gage explains that these treats are similar to brioche. Olive oil, instead of butter, is kneaded into the dough. Like a good salesman, jam or marmalade served on the side, closes the deal and guarantees requests for more. When it comes to dessert, I’m at the head of the line. Sugar is the guest of honor and everyone should dress to the nines and join the party. But when it comes to bread, I am a sugar miser and am reluctant to join the conga line. Challah is usually the exception; sugar or honey dances in my dough. In this recipe, I used ¼ cup sugar instead of ¹⁄₃ cup. Cutting back didn’t deter my family from asking—or were they demanding—that I make these again the next morning.

If you are on the prowl for family love or need to bank some for that rainy day you know will come, these are the way to go. But you don’t need to wait for clouds in the sky. They are just as good on a sunny day.

Sweet_Breakfast_Fougasse

Sweet Breakfast Fougasses (from The New American Olive Oil)

½ cup (4 ounces) warm water, plus more if needed

2¼ teaspoons active dry yeast

3 extra large eggs at room temperature, beaten with a fork

1 tablespoon (½ ounce) orange blossom water

3 tablespoons (1½ ounces) extra-virgin olive oil

3½ cups (17½ ounces) all-purpose flour

¹⁄₃ cup (2¹⁄₃ ounces) granulated cane sugar

2 teaspoons salt

2 tablespoons brown sugar for topping

Put the water in a mixing bowl. Sprinkle on the yeast and wait until it dissolves (about 3 minutes).

Add the eggs, orange blossom water, and olive oil.

Stir the flour, sugar, and salt together and add them to the yeast mixture.

Mix until dough comes together, about 2 minutes. It will look rough and shaggy.

Let the dough rest for 20 minutes. Knead until dough forms a ball and is elastic.

Cover the bowl with plastic and let dough rise until doubled (about 3 hours).

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured work surface. Divide it into 8 pieces. Cover with a kitchen towel and let the balls rest for 10 minutes.

Flatten each piece into a 5-inch disk. Make 2 perforating cuts in the dough with a pizza cutter (or sharp knife). Pick up each piece and rap it on the work surface a few times to open the perforations. Transfer the shapes to a baking sheet.

Cover with towels or plastic wrap and leave at room temperature until the dough doubles, about 1½ hours.

Preheat the oven to 350°.

Moisten the shapes with a pastry brush dipped in water. Sprinkle the brown sugar on top.

Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, rotating the pan 180 degrees halfway through the baking time. Fougasses should be puffed and brown, and sound hollow when thumped on bottom.

I poured a few tablespoons of olive oil in a pot and diced an onion while the oil got hot. This is called buying time. It’s similar to writing a letter when you don’t yet know what you’re going to say, so you start with the salutation. It makes you think that you’ve started. And guess what. You have. Once again you’ve tricked yourself into believing that you know what you’re doing. And guess what. You do.

What could I pull off the shelf that was within arm’s reach and not buried behind my memory’s cobwebs—something that wouldn’t require pre-soaking or take hours to cook? Split peas.  If you’re keeping score, that’s multiple choice answer A. No time to look at the other choices, certainly not E, none of the above. I chopped a few garlic cloves and threw them into the pot, added carrots and continued cooking for a few minutes before adding water. In no time, I was carrying a container of soup to my wife. I had a bowl myself. “Pretty good,” she said. I had to agree. A man doesn’t argue with his wife.

Quick Split Pea Soup

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

2 onions, diced

3 large garlic cloves, chopped

3 carrots, diced

1½ cups split peas

7 cups water

salt and pepper to taste

a few spoonfuls of pesto

In a large pot, heat the oil over medium-low heat. Add the onions, and cook, stirring occasionally for 5-7 minutes. Add garlic and continue cooking for another five minutes. Stir in carrots and cook briefly before adding 7 cups of water. Add split peas when water starts boiling. Simmer for approx. 30-40 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste. Stir in pesto when split peas are cooked and continue cooking for a few minutes.

Of course, I’m talking about the kind of white sandwich bread that is squashed into plastic bags and left suffocating on supermarket shelves. Now, hand a loaf of homemade white bread to that same atheist and stand back. Watch him get down on his knees and repent. It’s a powerful experience.

Another powerful experience is taking the first bite of the soft white sandwich loaf from Home Baking by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid. This appreciation for the art of home baking, like their other books, shares dual citizenship between kitchen counter and coffee table top. I call it a cookie jar cookbook because I am always sticking my hand in the jar to try more recipes. You will, too.  While my wife was quickly cutting another slice, she paused to give it a “this is really good rating” (TIRG). And my daughter? Let’s just say that I checked under the couch cushions and found enough change to treat my wife to a caffé latte.

Soft White Sandwich Loaf, American Style (from Home Baking by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid)

Biga

¼ teaspoon active dry yeast

1 cup lukewarm water

About 2¼ cups all-purpose flour

Bread

¼ teaspoon active dry yeast

2 cups lukewarm water

4 to 5½ cups all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon salt

Make the biga at least 12 hours before you wish to bake the bread. Dissolve the yeast in the lukewarm water and then stir in 2 cups flour. Knead until smooth. Place in clean bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let stand for 12 hours to 3 days. Refrigerate if letting stand for more than 24 hours.

When ready to make the dough, turn the biga out and cut into 4 or 5 pieces.

By hand: In a large bowl, dissolve the yeast in the lukewarm water. Then add 2 cups of flour and stir well, always in the same direction. Add the pieces of biga and mix in. Sprinkle on the salt. Add about 2 more cups flour and fold and turn the dough to blend in the flour. Turn the dough out on a well-floured surface and knead until smooth and springy (about 8 minutes).

Transfer the dough to a large clean bowl, cover it tightly with plastic wrap, and let stand for 1 to 1½ hours, until doubled.

Turn the dough out onto a very lightly floured surface. Cut in half. Lightly grease or butter two 9 x 5 inch bread pans. Shape into sandwich loaves and place dough in pans. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let rise about 2 hours, or until doubled in volume.

Place a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 475°.

Just before placing the breads in the oven, slash each one down the middle with a razor blade or sharp knife. Place in the oven, lower the heat to 400° and bake for about 45 minutes, or until golden on top. Remove from the oven, take out of the pans, and place in the oven for another 5 minutes or so. The loaves should sound hollow when tapped on the bottom, and the corners should be firm when pinched. Let stand on a rack to cool and firm up for 1½ to 2 hours before slicing.

My shepherd’s pie is an easily adaptable, versatile, always changing recipe that is usually inspired by leftover potatoes of any kind. The version below is like picadillo with a toupee.

Shepherd’s Pie

2 onions

1 lb. ground turkey

2 large carrots, diced

2 celery stalks, diced

2 red bell peppers, diced

a handful of frozen peas

1 shallot

4 cloves of garlic

a handful of raisins

a handful of pecans (for the vegetarian one)

cooked sweet potatoes

cumin, cayenne, chili powder, oregano

salt to taste

Caramelize onions in olive oil. Add garlic and vegetables . Sauté until soft. Add ground turkey and stir, breaking up clumps, until cooked. Add raisins, pecans, if using, and spices. Cook for a few additional minutes.  Transfer to a baking dish (or keep in a cast iron skillet, if used) and cover with a layer of mashed sweet potatoes. Dot with butter. Bake at 350° in a pre-heated oven until heated through.

A warm blanket of sweet potatoes that covers a cozy bed of vegetables and ground turkey, not a bad way to shepherd in dinner on a winter night.

Whenever we are in New York visiting my wife’s family, I always have to make a last-minute, out-of-the-way dash to Royal Crown before heading to the airport. And though my wife asks, do we really need to go this time, she is always happy to devour the bags of bread and rolls that accompany us on the plane. But now, thanks to Maggie Glezer, whenever I have leftover potatoes, I can say that a “bread grows outside of Brooklyn.”

Royal Crown’s Tortano (from Artisan Baking Across America)

Pre-Ferment

¹⁄₄ teaspoon yeast

1 cup warm water

3.5 ounces (²⁄₃ cup) unbleached bread flour

Dough

20 ounces (3¼ cup) unbleached bread flour

14.6 ounces (1¼ cups plus 3 tablespoons) lukewarm water

All the pre-ferment

0.4 ounce (2 teaspoons) honey

2 ounces (¹⁄₄ cup packed) potato puree

0.5 ounce (1 tablespoon) salt

Day 1: Make the preferment.

Stir the yeast into the water in a glass measure and let it stand for 5 – 10 minutes.

Add 1/3 cup of this yeasted water to the flour and beat this very sticky starter until it is well combined.

Cover with plastic wrap and let it ferment until it is full of huge bubbles, about 12 hours.

Day 2: Mixing the Dough.

In the bowl of the stand mixer, stir together the flour and water into a rough, very wet dough.

Cover the bowl and let it rest 10 to 20 minutes.

Attach the dough hook.

Add the pre-ferment, honey, potato and salt and mix the dough on low speed 15 – 20 minutes, or until very silky and wraps around the hook and cleans the bowl before splattering back around the bowl.

This dough is almost pourably wet.

Shape the dough into a ball and roll it in flour.

Place it in a container at least 3 times its size, and cover tightly with a lid or plastic wrap. Let it ferment until doubled in bulk and filled with large air bubbles, about 4 hours.

Using plenty of dusting flour, turn and fold the dough 4 times in 20 minute intervals: that is, after 20, 40, 60, and 80 minutes of fermenting, then leave the dough undisturbed for the remaining time.

Do not allow this dough to over ferment to the point of collapse, because the flavor and structure of your bread will suffer.

Shaping and Proofing the Dough:

Turn the fermented dough out onto a well floured work surface, shape it into a round and let it rest for 20 minutes.

Sprinkle a couche, tea towel or wooden board generously with flour, and place a baking sheet under the couche / towel if you are using one for support.

Sprinkle a couple tablespoons of flour over the center of the ball.

Push your fingers into the center to make a hole, then rotate your hand around the hole to widen it, making a large 4 inch opening. (The bread should have about a 12 inch diameter).

Place the dough smooth side down on the floured couche or board and dust the surface with more flour.

Cover and let it proof until it is light and slowly springs back when lightly pressed, about 1 1/2 hours.

Immediately after shaping the bread, arrange a rack on the oven’s second to top shelf and place a baking stone on it. Clear away all the racks above the one being used.

Preheat the oven to 450°.

Unwrap the bread and flip it onto a floured peel or a sheet of parchment paper. (Don’t worry about damaging the bread as you handle it; it will recover in the oven as long as it is not overproofed).

Slash it with 4 radial cuts in the shape of a cross.

Slide the loaf onto the hot baking stone and bake until it is very dark brown, 40 – 50 minutes, rotating it halfway into the bake.

Let the bread cool on a rack.

Royal Crown's Tortano

Royal Crown's Tortano Sliced

Cilantro, the leaf of the coriander plant, is often used in Latin American, Asian, and Middle Eastern cooking. In the U.S., despite its versatility, it is a second child living in the shadow of its very popular and highly regarded older brother, basil, an herb that doesn’t need to be reminded to stand in the spotlight. It is often treated with such scorn that I am sure there are people walking around, proudly wearing I Hate Cilantro tee-shirts. Each week when I feel compelled to pick up a bunch at the farmers market, my wife reminds me that we still have some in the refrigerator from the prior week. It isn’t that she doesn’t like cilantro, because she does. She just wants me to use what I buy, which is why I made cilantro pesto with this week’s purchase. More a whim than a recipe, cooking with cilantro can be like playing in a jam session. I follow my hands as they find their way into the heart of the song, blending the cilantro with a few cloves of garlic, swirls of olive oil, salt, and a handful of walnuts. That’s the acoustic version. If you want to go electric, add jalapenos or red pepper flakes, ginger, a few squeezes of lime—whatever it takes to hit the notes you want to reach. I like spreading it on bread, jazzing up a pedestrian grilled cheese sandwich. You can flavor broth while heating soup, mixing it in when the soup is almost done or adding it to individual bowls. When it’s time to switch dance partners, replace your basil version with cilantro pesto—you won’t miss a beat.

If basil provides the melody in a dish, then cilantro is part of the rhythm section. It’s like a good drummer, keeping the beat and maintaining the tempo. Pick a bunch up the next time you’re at the farmers market or grocery store. What song are your hands going to play?