American Bread, German Style

I have just survived two-and-a-half weeks of house guests. And not just any old house guests either. Marc's parents, my in-laws, were staying over. It was the first time they had visited us in our State-side home, and accordingly, we wanted things to be perfect. Having owned and operated an interior design store specializing in sleek, sophisticated Italian and German furnishings for the last 30 years, Klaus and Ursula are not only stylish and sleek themselves, but they also live in a house that is beautifully decorated and immaculately kept.

And so it was that they came to stay in our wee housie, and I not only found myself presented with the challenge of keeping things neat and tidy, but also with the three-times-daily question of what to feed them. Back home in Germany, Klaus and Ursula eat bread for breakfast, either simply with butter and jam on the weekdays, or more lavishly with cheeses, eggs and cold cuts on the weekend. Such breakfasts are all easy enough for them. Just a few doors down from their house an artisan bakery sells a stunning array of pastries and breads. These range from sesame-seed-studded hard rolls to soft, salty pretzels to wholesome peasant loaves made with robust flours like spelt, semolina and dark rye, the likes of which we down here in the land of White Lilly can only imagine.

In short, knowing what kinds of glorious breakfast foods my German in-laws are accustomed to, I could not exactly place a bowl of cereal in front of them and call it a meal. Come to think of it, I have never actually seen them eat a bowl of cereal. I also could not stomach the thought of making a full-fledged American-style breakfast every day for two-and-a-half weeks. And so it was that I turned to my already dog-eared and dough-splattered copy of the book ARTISAN BREAD IN FIVE MINUTES A DAY and set to work recreating in the Aga the kinds of breakfasts Klaus and Ursula typically eat back home on the weekends.

Bread baking was one of the primary reasons I had wanted an Aga, and put to the ultimate test of baking for my chic European in-laws, it did not disappoint. Every day for two-and-a-half weeks (did I mention they were staying with us for two-and-a-half weeks?) I pulled deliriously fragrant loaves out from the depths of the roasting oven. And while my offerings could not quite compete with those of an authentic German bakery, the scent alone of freshly baked bread had us swooning.

As the days progressed, Klaus, Ursula and I perfected the art of the leisurely breakfast. We sat outside on the terrace under the shade of a big umbrella and ate slice after heavenly slice. Certainly it was delicious spread with soft cheeses and topped with South Carolina peach jam. But my Aga bread achieved perfection when eaten in combination with the tomatoes spilling off the vines in the garden. We slathered our slices with a thick layer of cool, salted butter, spooned over a bit of softly scrambled egg and topped them off with thin rounds of bright red tomato, crunchy from a sprinkling of fleur de sel and flecked with black pepper.

To my delight, every morning as he reached for the last bit of bread in the basket and stabbed the remaining wedge of brie off the cheese board with his fork, Klaus praised my efforts. Leaning across the table to me in his exquisitely ironed polo shirt, his mouth satisfyingly full, he said, "Sabrina, you must someday come to Germany and open a bakery selling your American breads!" In vain, I explained to him that I was actually trying to imitate German breads, but he never quite caught on. Still, I was not disappointed. My work had paid off, the Aga had come through brilliantly once again, and if such perfection goes down in the history books as American, then so be it!

AGA PEASANT BREAD

Adapted from ARTISAN BREAD IN FIVE MINUTES A DAY by Jeff Hertzberg and Zöe François (St. Martin's Press: New York, 2007)

Makes three to four one-pound loaves

3 Cups lukewarm water

2 Packets granulated yeast

1 ½ Tablespoons coarse salt (for lack of something more chic, the green plastic spoon found in boxes of Miracle Grow works great here!)

½ Cup rye flour (51 grams)

½ Cup whole wheat flour (60 grams)

5 ½ Cups unbleached all-purpose flour (687 grams)

1. Combine yeast, water and salt in a five-quart container. The container should have a cover but should not be airtight. I recommend using one with a flat lid so that you may stack other things on top of it in the refrigerator for extra space.
2. Add flour. I prefer to put my container on top of a kitchen scale and measure the flour directly into the bowl by weight rather than by cups.
3. Mix ingredients together with hands until thoroughly combined. The dough will be wet and sticky.
4. Cover and let rise for two hours. Refrigerate for at least three hours and up to 14 days.
5. Sprinkle a section of the dough generously with flour and pull off a one-pound piece. Shape it into a ball and leave to rise, uncovered, on a piece of parchment paper for about 40 minutes.
6. Sprinkle the top of the loaf with more flour and slash a few times decoratively with a serrated knife.
7. Using a pizza peel, transfer dough including the parchment paper to the floor of the roasting oven.
8. Fill a small, heat-proof beaker with water. Pour a little bit of it (carefully and with the aid of an oven mitt!) directly onto the floor of the oven to create a burst of steam. Place the beaker next to the bread and shut the door.
9. Bake for 30 minutes until golden, fragrant and utterly irresistible.

If you can stand to, let it cool on a rack completely before slicing and eating.