Twas the Night Before Christmas

…aaaand I didn’t give a reindeer’s fluffy behind, honestly. I have zero holiday spirit this year. Literally zilch, zip, nada, rien, nichts. There are no lights or ornaments up, no stockings have been hung with care, and I’m planning on spending the majority of my Christmas Day getting acquainted with TSA measures and enjoying all the other delights of trans-continental air travel these days. The Grinch ain’t got nothing on me.

But since I can’t let the year ring itself out without one more blog post no matter how Scroogey my outlook, I would like to share a recipe that just might make your heart grow two sizes, should you need a no-fuss showstopper of a brunch or dessert item between now and Twelfth Night. I whipped it up during my November novel writing-related insanity, so if I say you can do this one with only half a functional brain, you can take my word for it.

As is my wont this time of year, I had bought a panettone before Thanksgiving, but since it’s just me and His Lordship, I quickly sated my eggy, fruity cravings and still had a little over a quarter of the loaf left, forlornly sitting in its box. I thought about making French toast, which is a perfectly lovely application for leftover panettone, but decided bread pudding would be even better. I adapted an America’s Test Kitchen recipe and made four individual puddings in the high-sided ramekins I picked up at IKEA some time back, and have found a bazillion uses for since.

And then, because I’m me, I also decided that a salted caramel sauce would make it even more inspirational to my writerly efforts, and modified Nigella Lawson’s quick butterscotch sauce to fit the bill.

The puddings, I’m not ashamed to say, are stupendous. The custard is neither too eggy nor too sweet, and the bread absorbs just enough of it to stay airy and light without going mushy. The bits that stick out the very top get lovely and crispy, while the dried fruit in the panettone stays moist and chewy. You could leave off the sauce if you like, and as His Lordship did, but I think it adds both elegance and a nice intensity to contrast with the soothing softness of the pudding.

So there you have it, my little Cindy Lou Whos. I may have a raging case of the bah humbugs, but you can’t say I didn’t deliver any holiday cheer. Ho, ho, ho!

Panettone Bread Pudding with Salted Caramel Sauce
(Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen’s The Best Recipe and Nigella Lawson’s How to Eat)
Serves 4

For the puddings:

4 cups panettone, sliced into 2-inch cubes (approximately 1/4 of a standard panettone)
2 eggs
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1 cup milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons bourbon
1 tablespoon vanilla
Pinch of salt

For the sauce:

4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 tablespoons light brown sugar
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/3 cup Lyle’s Golden Syrup
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large pinches Maldon salt

Move the oven rack to the lower-third position and preheat oven to 325 F. Generously butter 4 large, high-sided ramekins.

Spread the panettone cubes in a single layer on a baking sheet and bake 5-7 minutes to dry them out a bit, removing immediately if they start showing signs of browning. Divide the panettone evenly between the ramekins and set back on the sheet.

In a large measuring cup, whisk together the eggs and sugar until well combined, then blend in the milk, cream, bourbon, vanilla and salt. Pour a quarter of the custard mixture into each of the bread-filled cups.

Bake the puddings 30-35 minutes, until golden brown on top and rising up in the cups, and just barely jiggly when shaken. Set aside to cool to just warm while making the sauce, or cool completely and refrigerate for later.

To make the sauce, combine the butter, sugars and golden syrup in a small, heavy pan and melt together over medium heat. Allow to simmer enthusiastically for 5 minutes, then remove from heat and stir in cream, vanilla, and salt. Stir well to melt the salt, then decant into a pitcher.

Notes:

This recipe can be scaled up easily to accommodate however much leftover panettone you have. Should you not have any leftover panettone (though why wouldn’t you, since they’re everywhere now and will be everywhere and on sale after the holidays?), you could use raisin challah or brioche instead.

If you can’t find Lyle’s Golden Syrup, you could substitute light corn syrup or honey. Likewise, if you don’t have Maldon salt, another good-quality coarse sea salt will do.

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Drama-Free Rye Bread

While there are a number of advantages to living in our neighborhood, which is one of the outermost zip codes but still technically-within-the-urbs, access to stores is not one of them. We have just one tiny mom and pop convenience store within walking distance, so any real grocery shopping requires a car trip.

Even then, the stores that are handiest to us do not, alas, offer particularly good pickings when it comes to the bakery section. During the summer and fall months, there’s a farmer’s market near work at which I can conveniently pick up artisan bread along with vegetables during a lunchtime walk, but that hasn’t started up yet. Since we aren’t going to make a special trip into the city every weekend just for the bakeries or the farmers markets that have already phased in, that frequently means settling for whichever of the supermarket’s bland offerings don’t have a shelf life of eight months thanks to corn syrup or transfats.

This ongoing frustration is what recently prompted me to resume my long-dormant habit of baking bread on the weekends. I have neither the time nor the patience to maintain a sourdough starter again, but I have been making some lower-impact breads every few weeks while the oven is already warmed up for the Monday office treat baking.

One of my newfound favorites is this dark rye bread, which gives you deli-style payoffs with just a little more time and effort than your average quick bread. It uses a bit of a cheat, getting the complex, tangy flavor that usually comes from long fermentation from buttermilk instead, but you’d never know the difference if I didn’t tell you. It also packs in some extra heartiness by using one third whole wheat flour and a spoonful of wheat germ along with the rye and some bread flour for stretch and lift. You’d think, given all that whole grain, that it would be a dense and heavy bread, but it’s actually delightfully soft and easy to slice.

While it makes great sandwiches, the best topping I can think of for a just-baked slice of this bread is a smear of cream cheese and a glistening, sweet and tangy layer of my mother’s pepper jelly, which she was kind enough to make and mail to me after I expressed nostalgia for it. Should you have a less accommodating mom, raspberry jam or currant jelly work very nearly as well.

Buttermilk Rye Whole Wheat Bread
(From Bernard Clayton’s New Complete Book of Breads)
Makes one loaf

1 package (2 1/4 teaspoons) dry yeast
1 cup dark rye flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 tablespoon wheat germ
1 tablespoon caraway seeds
2 teaspoons salt
1 cup buttermilk
3 tablespoons molasses
2 tablespoons canola oil
2/3 to 1 cup bread flour

In the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the yeast, rye and whole wheat flours, wheat germ, caraway seeds, and salt. Run the mixer briefly to integrate the dry ingredients.

Heat the buttermilk, molasses and oil together in the microwave or a small saucepan until hot, 120-130 F. Add to the dry ingredients and mix at medium speed for 3 minutes. Gradually add just enough bread flour for a firm but not stiff dough to form.

Exchange the paddle for the dough hook and knead the dough in the mixer for 8 more minutes. If necessary, add more bread flour, but err on the side of a slightly sticky dough.

Place the dough in a large greased bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let rise in a warm place until doubled in bulk, approximately 1 hour.

Pat out the dough on a lightly floured surface to a 14 x 7 inch rectangle. Roll the dough up tightly, pinch the edges to seal, and tuck into a nonstick or greased 9 x 5 inch loaf pan. Lightly cover the pan with plastic wrap and let rise again until doubled, 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Preheat the oven to 375 F. Bake for 35-40 minutes, until it’s well browned and sounds hollow when thumped on the bottom.

Turn out of the pan and cool completely on a rack before slicing.

Notes:

As with all yeast breads, resist the urge to slice it when it’s still warm, since the steam will promote gumminess in the still-cooling crumb.

This loaf keeps well on the counter in a loosely folded brown paper bag for several days, but you’ll probably devour the loaf well before staleness is a going concern. You can also tightly wrap the loaf in plastic and a layer of foil and freeze it for later use.

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It’s Not a Bug; It’s a Feature

Don’t you, like me, hate that moment when, in making pancakes or waffles, you mix the melted butter into the other liquid dairy products and the butter immediately seizes up? Yes, the resulting clumpy mess still works in the recipe, but it’s a dismaying sight.

What if I told you I had a recipe that not only makes that clumpy mess a good thing, but also lets you have light, crumbly, yummy biscuits with such little effort that you can add them to any working-day dinner? Or, given what is coming upon us in a matter of days, so that you can instantly have bread for your Thanksgiving table if you were so tied up with turkey wrangling that you didn’t realize until twenty minutes before eating that you forgot the rolls?

I will not say these are the best buttermilk biscuits ever, because that honor so clearly goes to Shirley Corriher’s Touch of Grace Biscuits from Cookwise that we might as well not waste time debating it. If you’ve never tried them, go out right now, do whatever you have to do to find southern self-rising flour, and make these biscuits, because they will blow your mind. (Incidentally, the first time I had them was from Shirley’s very own hand, since we happened upon her giving a cooking demonstration in Reading Terminal Market years ago when the cookbook first came out. You may envy me if you choose. I wouldn’t blame you.)

These are not as good, because they couldn’t possibly be. They do have, however, an amazingly high excellence-to-effort ratio. They come together in minutes, give you crisp edges and fluffy interiors perfect for absorbing extra butter, and you can play around to your heart’s content with adding herbs or grated cheese, or even a little extra sugar and lemon zest for a lightning-quick shortcake base.

The fact that deliberately causing clumping makes you feel like a teeny bit like a mad scientist is nothing to sneeze at either.

Buttermilk Drop Biscuits
(Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen’s Best Drop Biscuits)
Makes 1 dozen

1 cup each unbleached all-purpose and “white” whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon sugar
3/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 cup cold buttermilk

Adjust the oven rack to the middle position, and heat the oven to 475F.

Whisk the flours, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and salt in large bowl.

Melt the butter and allow to cool for 5 minutes. Add in the buttermilk, stirring until the butter seizes into small clumps.

Add the buttermilk mixture to the dry ingredients and stir with a rubber spatula until just incorporated. Using an ice cream scoop or a greased 1/4-cup measuring cup, scoop the batter and drop onto the baking sheet, spacing 1 1/2 inches apart.

Bake 12-14 minutes, until golden brown and crisp on top. Transfer to wire rack and let cool 5 minutes before serving.

Notes:

The reason that clumpy butter is a good thing is that melting and resolidifying butter into little bits accomplishes the same thing cutting cold butter into flour under the traditional method does: dispersing solid fat throughout the dough creates a fluffy end product. This gets you to the same place with much less work and mess.

ATK says you can use clabbered milk if you don’t have buttermilk on hand. To make it, add 1 tablespoon lemon juice to 1 cup of milk and let it stand until it curdles, around 10 minutes.

If you really are making these for Thanksgiving, I would use 2 cups total of all-purpose flour for a holiday-appropriate, lighter biscuit instead of the half-and-half mix I prefer for a more workaday dinner or post-Thanksgiving I-should-dial-it-back recovery brunch.

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