Bread Alone (8 page)

At least I had sense enough to put my dough in the fridge so it wouldn’t overrise and fall flat. I take it out and set it on the stove to come to room temperature while I shower and dress and clean the apartment for therapy.

By noon it’s workable, so, in David’s honor, I shape it into two of the oval loaves the French call
bâtards.
I give them a two-hour rise, spritz them with water for a crackly crust, and pop them into a 425°F oven for thirty minutes.

I’ve read somewhere that the smell of baking bread is a proven antidote to depression. It’s true. By the time my little bastards are cooling on the counter, I’m starting to revive. I feel good enough to take a walk. And I feel the need of something chocolate. I know the Queen Street Bakery closes at two so they can do wholesale baking, but I grab one of the warm loaves and put it in the bottom of a paper grocery bag to bribe my way in.

Instead of baking, Ellen and Diane are sitting at one of the tables, with coffee cups and stacks of paper. When I bang on the door, they look up and smile, but Ellen points at her watch. I unsheathe my secret weapon. I can tell they’re wavering. I hold it up to my face and inhale deeply, close my eyes, smile. In a second, Ellen’s unlocking the door.

“Where did that come from?” She sniffs appreciatively.

“CM’s kitchen.”

She touches it gently. “You made this? Ooh, it’s still warm.” I pull it back. “Not so fast. This isn’t a gift. It’s a barter. I need chocolate.”

Diane laughs, rocking back in her chair. “Have we got a deal for you.”

In less time than it takes to load a bread machine, I’m sitting at the table with them. They’ve ignored my suggestion that they let the bread cool completely before tearing into it and slathering the chunks with sweet butter. I’m eating a piece of Patty’s Cake, an innocent-sounding name for a lethal dose of moist, dense chocolate cake sitting on a pool of espresso-caramel sauce.

“Okay. Who is Patty and how does she make this?” I lick a smear of sauce off my fork.

“Patty was the woman who owned the bakery,” Ellen says. “This was the only recipe of hers that we had to have.”

Diane smiles. “And after we paid through the nose for it, we discovered that it’s embarrassingly simple. You can mix it with a wooden spoon in a saucepan. You don’t even need an electric beater.”

“I won’t ask for it then. Since you had to buy it.”

She tears off another chunk of bread. “Good. Because we don’t give it out.”

“Is this sourdough?” Ellen’s sniffing the interior of the loaf, examining it lovingly.

“Nope. It’s just bread.”

“It doesn’t taste like our bread. It’s more”—she gropes for a description—”complex or … developed or something. I don’t know. What’s the secret?”

I smile sweetly. “It’s embarrassingly simple. But I had to pay for a trip to France to learn how to do it, so I don’t give it out.”

After they stop laughing, we agree to an exchange of information. Diane goes back to the work area where I can hear the unmistakable sounds of cleanup in progress—pans and metal bowls banging, water
running, and women laughing. She returns with a sheet of lined notebook paper, hands it to me.

“Here’s the cake recipe. You can run across the street to Dan’s Market and make a copy.”

God, I can’t wait to make this for CM.

Patty’s Cake with Espresso-Caramel Sauce

7 (1-ounce) squares unsweetened cooking chocolate

¾ cup butter

1½ cups strong coffee

¼ cup bourbon

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 cups cake flour

1½ cups sugar

1 teaspoon baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt

Grease and flour two 8½ by 4½-inch loaf pans.

Put the chocolate, butter, and coffee in a heavy saucepan with a 4½-quart capacity. Place over low heat, stirring constantly, till chocolate is melted, then stir vigorously till mixture is smooth and thoroughly blended. Set aside to cool for at least 10 minutes. Beat in bourbon, eggs, and vanilla. Sift dry ingredients together and beat into the chocolate mixture till well blended. Divide batter between prepared pans and bake in a 275°F oven 45 to 55 minutes, or until a wooden skewer inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool in pans for 15 minutes, then turn out onto racks to cool completely. Serve with whipped cream, crème fraîche, or Espresso-Caramel Sauce.

ESPRESSO-CARAMEL SAUCE

1 cup sugar

? cup water

½ cup heavy (whipping) cream

3 tablespoons espresso

Whisk sugar into water and pour into heavy-bottomed saucepan—preferably one with a white or light-colored interior, so you can keep an eye on the color change of the caramel. Stir over medium heat until sugar is completely dissolved, about 1 minute. Increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Do not stir, but wash down sides of pan frequently with a clean brush dipped in water.

Meanwhile, heat cream to a simmer in another pan.

When sugar begins to caramelize and turn golden around edges of pan, lift pan very carefully and gently swirl mixture to ensure even caramelization. Boil until syrup is a beautiful, deep amber—3 to 4 minutes. Remove from heat and set pan in sink. Slowly pour in hot cream, whisking to combine. Mixture will bubble up and may splatter. You may want to wear glasses to protect your eyes. Stir in espresso and blend until smooth. If mixture starts to harden, return to low heat and whisk until dissolved. While sauce is still warm, strain through fine-mesh strainer. Makes about 1 cup.

Ellen clears her throat. “About the bread …?”

“The secret to more interesting bread is to use half the yeast and let it rise twice as long,” I tell them.

It’s very quiet for a full five seconds while they look at each other.

“That’s it?” Diane says. “Half the yeast and twice the rising time? That’s all?”

I feel almost as if I’ve cheated them. “I told you it was simple.”

“Shit.” Her hand slaps down on the table. “Linda would never do that.”

“Who’s Linda?”

Ellen sighs. “Our bread baker. She’s so set in her ways she’s practically calcified.”

“So get someone else.”

She waves her hand as if she were shooing away mosquitoes. “ember most n anonibre_13">ar,oldenas calibre2"/>