Back to Basics... with Man-Bread

Right at home with bony rickety things outside my window, I love creeping around the edges. While folks consider the peak of leaf season, when the leaves are kissed by the sun, to be the royal view worth gawking over, I’m finding immeasurable beauty in the barrenness left behind. The leaves on trees are near fallen exposing stunted misshaped limbs injured from last winter’s ice storm. The giant stores of acorns once unloading playful vengeance upon industrious critters are now spent, crushed into dust underfoot and the crabapples last week- waterlogged and eerily luminescent are now slightly wizened. It is all happening fast as nature scrambles to tuck in and close the shutters. Finally it seems I’m back in synch with time, smack dab in the decay and decline of the season.

We are down to the wire, the last few weeks before the holiday tumble, every bit of summer sensuality wrung out. The bare trees now expose ungainly piles of junk from the neighbor’s too-close-for-comfort yard. Roots have grown in; highlights faded out, in fact most I know are sporting hair more akin to shrubbery. Once horrified by the unrelenting practicality of an entire town’s wardrobe, I too have submitted to the unspoken wisdom of fleece. This is territory unspeakably honest- without the gloss and cosmetics of warm month pageantry.

So it is really no wonder that I’ve been gnawing on what I’ve dubbed man-bread*, for about a week now. Yes, the loaf was overcooked a hefty 10 minutes which further accentuated the coarse nature of the beast, yet didn’t destroy it at all. Sure this fig, nut, and lentil bread sounds exotic and sophisticated first upon the ear, but a slight scratch below the surface reveals a substance possibly representative of the entire category of Food- at its most base requirement. Mortar like and gnarly in batter form, it bakes into a stout brick durable for adventures far and wide. No need for fancy Tupperware or plastic wrap, just cut a slab, stick it in your trouser and go. Surely some version of this bread stowed away in yesterday’s traveler’s bindlestiff serving as head rest, hammer, and staff. Man-bread is primitive, touching an ancient survival memory long lost. Not plied with deft hands like baguette, nor fanciful as cake, this bread’s sole purpose is to feed the hungry masses and do so in an unobtrusive way. I suppose that is what I’m really responding to. Durable, plain faced and practical… it fits the bill this November month. No cozy, No fluffy, No decadence- it is unadulterated food that shames all the crock pot-casserole-monstrosities we will be inundated with come January. And yet, man-bread manages to help me dig in and occupy the bones of this place in season, and that is no small feat.

* this name bestowed upon the loaf is reference to Sam Martin’s study of manspace.


Balsamic and Lentil Bread: one loaf adapted from Susan Jane Murray great site. Ingredients: 1 C millet flour
½ C quinoa flakes
½ C sunflower seeds
½ C pumpkin seeds
1 C walnuts
½ C dried figs
¼-1/3 C chopped dried cured olives (optional)
2 Tblsp. balsamic vinegar
3 Tblsp. Olive oil
2 eggs
1 C of cooked beluga lentils plus ½ cup of leftover water from the cooking.

Directions: Dump the dry ingredients (first 6 or 7 if including the olives) into a large bowl. Mix the rest of the wet ingredients into another smaller bowl with a fork. Dump the wet mixture into the dry and mix with a few strokes until just incorporated. Pour into a greased loaf pan. Pop into a 325 degree preheated oven. I did 350 degree for 50 minutes and mine was a little too brick-ish. Could have been not enough lentil “juice”, too high of a temperature, too long? Bake until just firm. It is quite nice with scoops of cottage cheese/avocado. Enjoy with other manly people.

A Sweet Passage

Some changes happen so slowly that a collection of months can go by without any perceptive difference and then in a blink, there is movement. These past few weeks have ushered in cool damp weather signifying to me an early Fall. In the air I detect traces of a distinct odor that as a child reminded me of watermelon rinds green, full of brisk wetness. Perhaps slivers of rind have been left discarded after the pink fullness of a summer day picnic or there is a concentration of morning dew collecting under curled leaves scenting the shortening days. Both possibilities have its hidden story and I wonder into each and other.

In my hand I hold a generous sized tin of pure maple syrup. It comes from Sheila, clinical secretary over at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Hospital. Her professional title belies her warmth and significance to me. I remember so clearly calling her from my small room in Berkeley, feeling out to her sunny voice which carried from a different time zone. Her radiant kindness was a line that I held onto giving me reassurance and hopes for better medical care and in turn, a higher quality of life. The syrup is melted amber, inspissated store of carbohydrate turned sucrose. It takes approximately forty gallons of sugar maple sap, boil and toil to create one gallon of liquid gold. Tawny, bronzed and glassy with a touch of viscosity, sweet tinged with smoke, maple syrup is intimate kiss between sun and tree. It seems to be the quintessential by-product of New England generosity: a combination of simplicity, heartiness, hard work and charm. I set to work dreaming of ways to properly celebrate this food-of-the-tree, the giver and acknowledge the change in season as well. With a primal pull towards storing up energy for winter, I fall upon oil rich fruit-of-the-tree, the walnut.

There was a time when I snubbed pedestrian walnuts and peanuts in favor for the more exotic almond, cashew and pecan. It might have been that growing up, these nuts were always stockpiled within a pottery bowl on the coffee table posing as interior decoration as well as afternoon snack. For a short while, I was greatly impressed with how much the nut meat looked like a miniature brain insulated within its very own fitted traveling case. This interest quickly waned; I was repelled by the bitter acrid taste which filled my mouth. Fortunately a chance lunch with a college friend set me straight. E_ compiled a small plate which cradled a few slivers of apple with a scatter of walnuts encompassed by a puddle of golden honey. What I didn’t know then but years later realized, was that she had organized the tastes and elements of a traditional Passover charoset (symbolizing mortar, which represented the back breaking work of the Jewish slaves) upon her co-op dessert plate. I remember how newly delicious each taste was, one heightening the other, clear notes hung in space. Unbeknownst to me within this crowded public dining hall, we had just consumed a private sacrament. I reflect upon this some fifteen years later as I consider the invisible power within that afternoon. Foods are intimately linked to memory and story and harvest time makes visible the passage of time showing us the end-product of growth. It is a marker that allows us to examine where we have come from and where we are going. I draw upon the sweet story of friendship and experience and layer today onto the back of yesterday to compose a new beginning. This journey back East has been long in coming, a movement up a sometimes bumpy path. But there is nothing like a rich confection decorated with good company to make the passage undeniably sweet.

CANDIED WALNUT WEDGE adapted from Sunday Suppers at Lucques by Suzanne Goin
While flipping through Sunday Suppers at Lucques, I stopped fast in my tracks at Candied Walnut Wedge. The book raves that it tastes similar to the pried of chewy nut layer of a pecan pie. To my mind this is the perfect repository for NH’s finest tree syrup. A small note: this wedge did crumble a bit in parts. I suspect that the pieces of my coarsely chopped nut layer were too big. I also wonder if the maple syrup had as much adhesive properties as the corn syrup. For the most part, storage in the refridgerator helped the crumble. Also a further nod to New England and Passover- the wedge can be served with accompanying apple slices and dare I suggest a crumbly chunk of good sharp Cheddar or even Blue? May our hard times be made easier with Candied Walnut Wedge!

INGREDIENTS:

3 Tblsp. unsalted butter, plus more to butter pan

1 1/4 Cups coarsely chopped walnuts

1 1/2 Cups walnut halves

1/2 vanilla bean

3 Tblsp brown sugar

3 Tblsp sugar

2 Tblsp dark rum

6 Tblsp maple syrup (Goin uses light corn syrup)

1 extra-large egg yolk

1 extra-large egg

DIRECTION: Preheat oven to 375. Butter then line a 9 inch springform pan with parchment. Place the pan upon a large sheet of aluminum foil and fold up and around the sides of the pan to prevent leaks. Place upon a cookie sheet. Toast the chopped nuts and walnut halves separately until browned. Place butter in a small pan with the scraped pulp and seed of the split pod. Add the opened pod to the pan as well and cook over medium heat until browned. Discard the pod. In a mixer beat the sugars, syrup and rum at medium for 4-5 minutes. Add the brown butter and mix another 2-3 minutes. Finally add the egg and yolk and a pinch of salt and continue to mix for another minute or so. Place the chopped walnuts in an even layer into the prepared pan. Arrange the walnut halves on top in concentric circles. Pour the sugar mixture over this and bake for about 40 minutes until the filling is set. Cool for about 30 minutes, remove from pan and then serve in wedges.