The past week I was graced with the presence of family for a whole week. And while most of my friends don't talk to their family members but maybe once in awhile. I talk to mine almost daily. I think it's mostly so they know I haven't pulled a full Miranda Hobbes and am naked on my bathroom floor hoping one of my stoned neighbors hears my cries.
But anyway, my family was in town for a visit. And while I may not have kids, a husband, or even a pet to use as bait, I do have food. Over a period of 6 days we worked our way around 1000 miles of North Carolina paved roads trying to squeeze in as much eating as possible.
Between BBQ take out, fried chicken hideaways, and mountain breakfast we consumed our fair share of carbs. Which got me thinking about bread. Namely how much I love it, and why do we have it at every meal.
Wherever you go there is bound to be some version of bread offered before a meal. A basket of flatbread is always the most disappointing. And only redeemable if accompanied by some cheeses or compotes. Always appreciated is a warmed pre sliced loaf of airy sourdough. The trick then being whether or not to risk filling up before the meal arrives.
Down south you are often presented with a biscuit slathered in butter and jam. Just as pleasing as any of the aforementioned options. Most desireable with a bloody mary and eggs.
As a child I recall seeing slices of Roman Meal being passed around the table. Occasionally a crescent roll or biscuit that involved beating a cardboard tube against the counter. Fresh homemade bread was not something I saw regularly. And it wasn't until I was balls deep in a variety of flours at baking school that I realized how easy and fulfilling it was to make my own bread.
I love making my own bread so much that I once gifted it on a first date instead of flowers. In hindsight I should have given the flowers. I would have gotten more out of the marble rye.
Living alone I don't make my own bread much any more. Only because I have a tendency to slice into it fresh out of the oven and not move until there is only enough left for me to make a sandwich for dinner with. However, when I do make my own I am mesmerized by the magic that happens and the happiness it brings.
Flour, water, yeast mixed with some aggression related pounding of the dough and a few hours later you are in bloated bliss.
This week I am in need of rolls. And have challenged myself to use everything in my freezer/cupboards/pantry before hitting the grocery store. So with half a purple onion and some poppy seeds I made the below No Knead Onion Rolls. With only slightly burned finger tips as I rushed to devour one fresh from the oven.
No Knead Onion Rolls
