Sourdough Pizza, at Last

A lot has happened. Aside from emerging on the other side of our little global pandemic, we had a child.

I thought I was ready. I had all the things that the articles targeted to Type A parents tell you to get: a highchair with footsteps, two sets of mattress protectors, a temporal thermometer. But overnight I became a shareholder in a new parental currency of sleep with a value greater than gold, food, and sex. I lost all sense of self and time.

I was ill-prepared for how hard it would be to have two full time jobs. I had a new tiny manager who held the power to keep me from eating and sleeping. Occasionally, she would hold workshops on how best to poop all over the floor. This new position also cost more than a second mortgage to maintain.

If it sounds like I am complaining it is because I am. We have the most amazing three-year-old, but some days I still wish I could drink a whole hot cup of coffee and read the paper. Instead Saturday mornings you can find me under-caffeinated and using a stuffed lavender rabbit to cajole a screaming girl to enter the water of her swim lesson. This is not an effective technique, if you are in the market for parenting advice.

To all the parents out there, I am sorry. I had no idea.

As you might imagine, I have not had much time to indulge in my previous life. Most of the time I now cook an uninspired rotation of chicken dressed up in various ways, which catapults us from week to week. The motivation to cook has become one of necessity to sustain life and get to bed before 11 PM. The new boss rejects pretty much everything unless it contains chocolate. It is a real lesson in humility.

But I am slowly clawing back. And I have somehow managed to keep our sourdough starter alive for a decade. So I have a pizza recipe for you.

As a parent this feels particularly indulgent. There is a revolution of perfectly good frozen pizzas out there.  I have become somewhat of an expert on this matter and usually have very little desire to go through the trouble of making pizza when delegating to the Screamin’ Sicilian Pizza Corporation is so easy.

But I have started to do certain things to prove to myself that I still can. I suspect this is not a great long term strategy, but for now it has helped recenter my identity beyond being a mom, finder of lost things and keeper of laundry.

Pride aside, the recipe is worthy of sharing. It is one part fluffy focaccia and one part personal pan pizza.  It is a ridiculous item to present after three years of silence, since it requires maintaining a starter and takes many days of advanced notice. But if you are a parent and a planner you are already well suited to this type of torture.

You will need to start this process at least two days before you plan to serve the pizza. At this point I will likely lose the more sane people among us. For the lunatics still reading, the process is mostly hands off and very well suited to winter hibernation at home since it requires multiple points of proofing. It is a nice project if you do not have plans that require leaving the house. Or if you need a distraction and want to stretch a project that is typically tackled in a few hours into a whole weekend.

The result is a crispy-edged pizza with a chewy bottom. It is important not to overly sauce the top, which takes real restraint since pizza with a miserly blessing of tomato is typically upsetting. It will feel like there is not enough sauce as you dollop. But too much in this case will only cause sogginess, so it is best to just let go. The crust is worth it. The result hovers between a New England bar pizza and garlic bread minus the garlic breath.

If you could distill ego into a pizza it would probably look like this one. It is overly complicated to make, requires a lot of attention, and will likely eclipse the rest of your dinner. But even the boss likes it. It is a treasure of recipe, especially if you have a starter and something to prove.

Sourdough Pan Pizza

Inspired by King Arthur Flour and Anthony Falco (formerly of Roberta’s Pizza, with controversy)

Ingredients:

for the dough

• 158 grams water, room temperature

• 40 grams ripe starter

• 5 grams olive oil

• 250 grams bread flour

• 6 grams kosher salt (David’s or Morton brand)

for the pizza

• ½ cup tomato puree (see notes)

• pinch of kosher salt

• 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided

• 6 ounces low-moisture mozzarella cheese, grated

Instructions:

Two days before pizza:

Feed the starter.  For this timeline you will be making the dough in the morning, so aim to feed it the night before (at least 8 hours). (Here are instructions for maintaining a sourdough starter.)

One day before pizza:

You will need over 9 hours for this step, so plan your timeline accordingly.   Here you will make the pizza dough.

In a large measuring cup, add the water and spoon in the starter. (When you add the starter to the water it should float to the top, if it sinks it is not adequately ripe and your dough may not rise properly.) Add the oil and stir it all to combine.

In a large bowl, mix the flour and salt. Make a well in the center, like you are making pasta dough.  Pour the liquid slowly into the middle and, with one hand, swirl the liquid into the flour until no bits of flour remain.  This will form a rough, shaggy ball.  Cover with plastic wrap and let rest for 30 minutes.

After resting the dough will still be shaggy and a little sticky.  Pick the dough up and with your fingers, pull the edges of the dough out and under, making light, quick motions with the tips of your fingers. This should take no more than 30 seconds give or take. Once the dough surface has smoothed a bit, cover it again and let it rest in the bowl for 3 hours.

After the first proof, lightly dust a plate or quarter sheet pan with flour. Pick up the dough and, like before, pull the edges of the dough out and tuck them under to form a smooth ball. Place on your floured surface and wrap well with plastic wrap. Let rest for 6 hours.  (If you kitchen is very cold – less than 70 degrees – this may take longer.) During this time, the dough ball will expand and puff a little. Then wrap well with plastic wrap and place in fridge. (The dough can stay in the fridge for a few days, if you cannot make pizza the following day.)

The day of pizza (about 3 hours before you would like to eat):

Take the dough out from the fridge. You may notice there are some tiny bubbles that formed overnight. In a cast iron pan (aim for one about 9-inches in diameter at the bottom) pour in 1½ tablespoons olive oil and spread it around with your hands. Place the dough in the oiled pan and turn it once to coat both sides in oil.

Spread the dough out to the edges of the pan, dimpling it with your fingers.  It may resist a bit, but do your best to bring the dough to the edge. (If it does not spread all the way, cover it with plastic wrap and let it rest for about 20 minutes and try again.)

Cover with plastic wrap and let it rise for 2 hours. During this time it will expand and puff up.  You may also start to see some larger bubbles forming in the dough.  Meanwhile, prep the sauce. (If using whole tomatoes, puree them – see notes.) In a small bowl, combine the puree with the pinch of salt and remaining ½ tablespoon of oil and place in the fridge.

About 30 minutes before baking, set the oven to 450 degrees and ensure there is a rack in the bottom third of the oven.

When ready to bake, sprinkle three-quarters of the cheese over the dough, being sure to go all the way to the edge of the pan.  Dollop the sauce with a spoon evenly on the top, but do not spread it.  Top with remaining cheese. Place in the bottom third of the oven. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes.   

The pizza is done when the cheese is brown and the pizza edges are golden.  Ensure the bottom is fully cooked by lifting it up carefully with a knife or spatula.  If not, put it back in for a few minutes.  If the top needs a little more time consider placing it close to the broiler and turn it on – this will not take long (take care not to burn the edges).

Run a knife or spatula between the pizza and the pan to loosen the edges to help prevent the pizza from sticking to the pan as it cools. As soon as possible, transfer the pizza to a cutting surface to cool (the knife or spatula will help with this – keep the cutting surface very close).  Let the pizza cool 5 to 10 minutes before slicing.

Makes 8 small slices

Notes:

• For best flavor, puree whole peeled tomatoes for the sauce. Bianco DiNapoli brand is my favorite. Their tomatoes are not salt-free and so keep this in mind when seasoning your sauce.  It should taste flavorful with the pinch of added salt.  Canned tomatoes vary in sodium content so if your sauce still tastes quite bland, add a little more salt.

• This is an excellent and entertaining video to watch on making sourdough pizza at home.

• Avoid fresh mozzarella - it has too high a water content for this style of pizza.
  
  
  
  

Adult SpaghettiOs in the Age of Corona

“Don’t touch your face,” I say. I have become someone who nags. We haven’t gotten “the thing” yet, but it has sent my anxiety into overdrive. Being pregnant doesn’t help. Except when I use it as an excuse to lie down. We were prepared for a child to change everything, but not for something tinier – a microscopic hijacker – to steal the show.

These days we count stuff. Days spent quarantined at home. Fetal kicks. The number of people in the ICU at the hospital where I work. Remaining rolls of toilet paper. I regularly check the availability of a temporal thermometer I had on our baby registry. The one that used to cost 30 dollars costs 69 now.

We have a new vocabulary too. We talk of viral loads and air currents. We debate whether it is truly safe to go outside. Brett and I bought our condo in an area we hoped would become a hot real estate market. It is now a hot spot for “the thing.” Just living here is a risk factor, according to the latest medical guidelines. So I stay inside and, when it’s not raining, open a few windows and let in the cold spring air.

Our packages have a quarantine period that corresponds with my current anxiety level. On good days we wait 24 hours before opening them. When I have bad stretches, a parcel can sit in postal purgatory for a week. We don’t order anything readily perishable.

I have, however, become obsessed with ordering the type of food one might want on hand if foolishly trying to outrun the apocalypse. We are flush with dried fruits – cherries, apricots, and figs. Someone once told me figs gets invaded by wasps looking for a safe space to reproduce, so I no longer enjoy them. But I felt compelled to buy some anyway since so few options were available. Eating insects is the least of my worries these days.

Flour has been impossible to find for weeks, but I located a 10-pound bag online. It’s artisanal and cost as much as a four-pound rib roast. Our 800-square-foot condo will make room. The kitchen cabinet is crammed with canned sardines flavored with lemon, stewed in tomato sauce, packed with peppers, and smoked. I hope to make a lunch of these tiny fish at least once a week (this basic formula is a winner). The omega-3 fats are good for the baby. They are good for the part of me that thinks I have control over this.

Beans aren’t as easy as sardines to find, but my apocalypse-style shopping helps a bit with the sourcing. Back when we were both leaving the house for work, pasta con ceci was a favorite weeknight dinner. A dish of pantry staples that now feels like a luxury. Brett recently referred to it as adult SpaghettiOs and its new name has stuck. The grated cheese is entirely optional, as the real umami magic happens when the garlic, tomato, and olive oil meld into a clingy, addictive sauce. It’s a fast meal to make and one that feels wholly therapeutic. There is something comforting about a dish that won’t let you stray too far while cooking it. Staring into the bottom of a pan while you stir is calming in times like these.

And I’m grateful for it – for all of it. I am thankful we can afford the food we need and that we are healthy and, also, haven’t killed each other yet.

Brett and I are doing well, all things considered. Though we are pretty much down to fist bumps to show affection. Fear of passing “the thing” has limited physical contact between us. We show love in other ways though. He spares me the last of our yogurt and rubs my calves. I make chocolate chip cookies and save him the final scoop of our adult SpaghettiOs. He tries not to touch his face.

Pasta Con Ceci (“Adult SpaghettiOs”)

Adapted from Victoria Granof Courtesy of Food52

Ingredients:

• ½ cup olive oil

• 3 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced

• ¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons tomato paste

• ½ pound (or about 2 cups) of uncooked pasta (aim for a small shape, like ditalini)

• 1 to 2 teaspoons kosher salt (or to taste - this will also depend on the brand and flake size)

• 1-15 ounce can chickpeas, drained and rinsed (or about 2 cups cooked chickpeas)

• Pecorino or Parmesan cheese, grated (to taste) – optional garnish

Instructions:

In a small pot, add 3½ cups water and bring it to a boil.

In a large pot on medium to medium high heat, add the oil and then the garlic, stirring regularly until the slices become toasted and fragrant. This should only take about a minute or two. (Keep an eye on the pot, as the garlic quickly goes from cooked to burnt). Stir in the tomato paste and cook for about 30 seconds more.

Add the pasta, boiling water, and salt (if you are sensitive to salt or using a brand with a finer grain, start with the lesser amount). Stir to help prevent the pasta from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Turn the heat down to medium low, so the mixture is at a low simmer. Continue to stir occasionally for about 15 minutes or until the pasta is just shy of al dente.

Add the chickpeas and continue to stir occasionally until the pasta is fully cooked and most of the liquid is absorbed. (If the mixture starts to get a little dry, just add a splash or two of water to loosen it.) Taste and adjust the seasoning, if needed.

Top with grated cheese, if you are feeling fancy.

Serves 3 or 4

Sourdough at Sea Level

Learning how to bake bread is like wanting to climb a really big mountain.  You do it because it is there.  Because you can.  Because it is a challenge.  And also because you are a slightly insane person.

I have spent a good portion of my thirties refining how to make bread at home. For many years, I practiced a beautiful technique from Tartine that took all day.  Initially, it was romantic starting the process soon after the sun came up and eating it after the sun went down.  But this is really best suited for home cooks who do not like other humans very much, since it does not allow for much interaction outside of a rigorous yeast feeding cycle.  

I still use that recipe when I have the better part of a day to spare indoors.  It is excellent on wintry bomb cyclone days or when I do not want to leave my house (or shower).  But the older I get, the less time I am typically willing to part with tending to sourdough and sticky countertops as the rest of the world spins on. So, mostly, I use an alternative method, with some techniques borrowed from the recipe that time forgot.

My approach comes from The New York Times by way of Jim Lahey of the no-knead bread fame. Lahey initially got me into making bread because it was easy. His original recipe calls for dry yeast, but my acquisition of sourdough starter about five years ago left the no-knead version defunct. Sam Sifton has since adapted it using natural leaven and this has been life changing.

We have access to a variety of freshly baked loaves and many okay factory-sliced breads, so no one should be faulted for saving precious minutes buying bread instead of baking it.  But paying five or six dollars for a decent loaf seemed outrageous, given a sack of flour costs about as much. So I set out to make bread with minimal life disruption.

There is a good deal of sandwich-making in our household these days.  Peanut butter on toast is cheap, filling, and nutritious.  (Please do not contact me if you are morally opposed to gluten, I am not.) We go through a lot of bread and so having a regimen is helpful.

I have learned that if I feed the starter at bedtime and take five minutes to mix the dough in the morning before work, it is sated with carbon dioxide when I get home.  The loaf still requires some shaping, a little more waiting, plus an hour in the oven, so its presence at the dinner table is unlikely that same evening.  But it will be ready for breakfast. 

This waiting is important. My main complaint about homemade bread is that it often produces angular irregular slices when cut that call to mind the jagged coast of Maine.  From there is it easy to end up with sandwiches that look like a madman with poor attention skills made them (I am not naming names). Letting the loaf sit overnight makes it much easier to slice.  The microbes in the starter also release compounds that help preserve the bread, so it lasts longer before going bad.

All that aside, it is delicious, as most sourdough breads tend to be.  The crumb is toothsome and chewy.  Adding a little whole grain flour offers a slightly more complex flavor, but you can still get good results without it—so do not plan a special trip to the grocery store. Regardless, it will be bread of finest quality that still allows you to interact with friends.

It is not made quickly, but most of the work is done while you are outdoors living your very best non-reclusive life. Eating homemade bread that tastes good feels both life sustaining and affirming in the moment. Which I suspect is the allure of climbing a very big, dangerous mountain too.  Luckily, baking at sea level is enough for me.

Sourdough Bread

Adapted from Sam Sifton of The New York Times with some guidance from Tartine Bread by Chad Robertson

Ingredients:

• 325 grams (2⅔ cups) bread flour
• 100 grams (¾ cup plus a tablespoon) spelt (or whole wheat) flour
• 6 grams (1 teaspoon) kosher salt
• 180 grams (¾ cup) fed sourdough starter (see night before instructions)
• additional flour for dusting
• handful of oats

Instructions:

the night before

Feed the starter.  This involves replacing part of the starter with roughly an equal portion of flour and water.  See here for more technical additional instructions.  I usually discard two-thirds of the starter during the feeding. (For instructions on how to make pancakes with your discarded starter click here.) Allow about 8 to 9 hours for your starter to grow before prepping the dough.

the day of

In a large mixing bowl, combine the flours and salt.  In a medium bowl, combine the fed starter with 300 grams (about 1¼ cups) lukewarm water—stir until fully combined. Pour into the bowl with the flour and mix until just combined.

Cover with plastic wrap and then with a kitchen towel; let sit for 11 to 12 hours. (During this time it will double in volume and become light and puffy.)

Place the kitchen towel on a table and dust with a very generous amount of flour (no need to dust the whole towel, just a large circle where you intend to place the dough).  Use more flour than you think you need, it helps prevent the dough from stickin to the towel.  Dust the surface of the dough with a little flour. 

Using flour-coated hands, pull the dough out of the bowl and onto the floured towel.  Take an edge of the dough and pull it up and towards the center of the dough. Continue with the next section and repeat until you form a round loaf. (This will take five or six sections until you have worked all the way around the dough.)

Then gently roll the dough so that the seam is on the bottom by taking the section near you and wrap it up and over while gently rolling the rest towards you. The top of the dough should be the smooth side, with the seam underneath.

Gently cover the dough with the edges of the kitchen towel (be sure your towel is big enough to cover the whole loaf so no area of the dough is left exposed).  Let rest for about 2 hours (it will roughly double in size).

Thirty minutes before you intend to bake (usually 1½ hours after the shaping) set the oven to 500 degrees and place a Dutch oven or roasting pan with a lid in the oven to preheat.  (Be sure what you use has parts that will safely withstand high heat—I have one of those speckled Granite Ware roasting pans.) This helps to trap enough moisture from the loaf to expand and create a robust crackling crust. 

I also recommend scoring the bread, which you can do with a bread lame.  In all honestly, I have had better luck with new replacement blades for box cutters.  You can buy a whole box fairly cheaply—but use them at your own risk.  Whatever you decide to use, have it nearby when you are ready to put the loaf in the oven.  (Alternatively, you can forgo scoring the bread.  You will still have a very nice loaf, but the scoring helps the bread fully expand in the oven.)

When you are ready to bake the bread, carefully remove the hot pan from the oven and take off the lid.  Scatter some oats on the bottom of the pan.  Gently peel the loaf from the towel and place it, seam side down, into the hot pan. 

Working quickly, score the bread if you are doing so. I often make a square with four cuts in the center.  For the loaf you see above, I made one long cut on the side and then four small cuts at an angle on the right.  Scoring bread is a process that takes time and I am still learning.

Place the hot lid back on the pan and lower the heat to 450 degrees.  Bake for 30 minutes then remove the lid and continue to bake for another 20 minutes or so, until the top is dark golden brown and chestnut in spots with a crackled crust.

Remove from the pan and allow to fully cool before slicing.  (I let mine cool overnight uncovered and slice in the morning.)

Makes one loaf

Note:

1. Weight measurements are listed first because I bake using weight instead of volume measurements whenever possible.  Depending on how much flour I have I typically use 50 to 100 grams of whole grain.  The total weight should be 425 grams of flour.