Read The Cornbread Gospels Online
Authors: Crescent Dragonwagon
The Cornbread Gospels (12 page)
LASSIC
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OSTON
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ROWN
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AKES ABOUT
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SLICES
Classics and clichés generally get to be that way for a good reason—because they fulfill or express some basic principle. So it is with this New England mainstay, hard to beat with a traditional accompaniment like Brattleboro Baked Beans Borracho (
page 312
).
For instructions on steam cooking, see Steam On,
pages 64
–
66
.
Vegetable oil cooking spray
1 cup stone-ground yellow cornmeal, plus extra for dusting the molds
2 cups whole wheat flour
1½ teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
½ cup blackstrap molasses
¼ cup honey
2 cups buttermilk
1 cup raisins, currants, or pitted, diced dates
Boiling water, for steaming the bread
1.
Have ready the mold(s), heat-proof trivet, and cooking vessel of your choice (see Steam On,
pages 64
–
66
). Wash and dry the molds well, spray the insides thoroughly with oil, and dust the insides with cornmeal. Also have at hand some foil, and kitchen string or rubber bands to secure the foil to the top of the mold(s).
2.
Combine the cornmeal, whole wheat flour, baking powder, baking soda (sift the leavenings in if they are at all lumpy), and salt in a medium bowl. Stir or whisk together well.
3.
Run hot water over the jars of molasses and honey until the contents are nice and flowy. Place the molasses, honey, and buttermilk in a medium bowl and whisk together well.
4.
Combine the wet and dry mixtures, stirring just enough to blend well but not overbeating. Stir in the raisins with just a few more strokes.
5.
Scrape the batter into the prepared mold(s), filling each about two-thirds of the way full.
6.
Tear off a piece of foil that is twice as large as the mouth of a mold. Fold it in half, and spray one side with oil. Place it oiled-side down on top of the mold, puffing it up a bit to allow for the bread’s expansion as it steams. Repeat with any remaining molds.
7.
Secure each piece of foil tightly with kitchen string or a rubber band. Place the trivet or equivalent in the cooking vessel. Place the mold(s) on top of the trivet.
8.
Pour enough boiling water into the cooking vessel to come halfway up the sides of the mold(s). Secure the lid of the vessel and steam the bread according to the directions for the particular cooking vessel you are using.
9.
Cook the bread for the length of time suggested, then test the bread with a long skewer: you want to get way down deep into the bread’s interior. When done, the middle of the bread is moist, but not sticky. Visible wet batter means the bread should steam longer. If it’s wet, keep steaming patiently, checking about every 20 minutes until the moist-but-not-sticky point is reached.
10.
When the bread is done, remove it from the cooking vessel, and let it cool in the mold(s), uncovered, on a rack, for at least 45 minutes. Reverse the bread out of the mold(s)—it should come out quite easily—slice it, and serve.
S
TEAM
O
N
:
G
ENERAL
D
IRECTIONS FOR
C
OOKING
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OAF
B
READS WITH
S
TEAM
What’s that?
“Steamed
bread?” you say, perhaps raising an eyebrow skeptically. Well, while steamed bread is more of a production to make than its baked brethren, it’s worth it. Why use this cooking method? Not only because it’s traditional, but because of the wonderful sui generic texture of bread that is baked above water rather than in the dry heat of an oven. In earlier American days ovens were uncommon, and in many parts of the world that remains the case; steaming in hot water is the way folks got or get their daily bread. And good bread it is—flavorful and ultramoist without being gummy or packed with fat. You taste history, and it is delicious.
How to do it? First, you’ll need something along the lines of a pudding mold. You say you don’t happen to own a pudding mold? Well, how about a one-pound coffee can, or a couple of large soup or tomato cans? How about, even (with some attention), a regular old 9-by-5-inch loaf pan or some mini pans? Got ’em? Good.
Next you’ll need something that acts as a heat-proof trivet: a few metal canning rings, some wadded-up foil, or a cake rack. The trivet keeps the pudding mold (or its improvised approximation) from coming in contact with the bottom of the pot, thus preventing the bread baking inside from burning.
Finally, you’ll need a nice large pot, or, perhaps, a slow-cooker or pressure cooker, in which the almost-trivets and tightly covered molds are
set. The pot is the one piece of equipment you really cannot improvise. It must be big enough to hold the breads in their molds, the trivets, the water the breads cook in,
and
it must have a tight-fitting lid. This is because this stovetop cooking method itself is nonnegotiable: The tightly covered batter-filled cans are half-submerged in simmering water, and then the pot lid traps the steam. A loose pot lid would allow the steam to escape; it would be like baking with the oven door ajar.
A few other points:
• Bread recipes calling for 3 cups of flour and meal, the quantity I’ve used in all the selections here (and in Mealiebrod,
page 112
), fills one 9-by-5-inch loaf pan, one 1-pound coffee can, three 20-ounce cans, or five 12-ounce cans. I prefer cans to loaf pans unless I am doing the bread in a large oval slow-cooker, because the taller the can, the more surrounding water you need, and the less you have to worry about its boiling away (these breads cook for a long time).
• Be sure your molds
and
their foil are very well greased.
Now let’s get down to the basics. There are three types of vessels in which you can steam your breads—two stovetop and one plug-in. Read on.
•
Using a large conventional pot on the stovetop.
Put the trivet or equivalent down first, then place the covered breads on them. You’ll pour enough boiling water into the cooking vessel to come halfway up the sides of the molds. Cover the pot and steam: Typically, breads steamed in a large coffee can or loaf pan take 3 to 3½ hours; breads steamed in smaller, shallower cans, like large soup or tomato cans or small loaf pans, take 1¾ to 2 hours. Test the bread(s) with a skewer, as directed in the individual recipes. It’s pretty easy to identify an underdone bread. Just recover it and
go on steaming, checking it again after about 20 minutes.
•
Using a slow-cooker.
This is probably the most hassle-free way of steaming breads—I recommend the very large oval ones. Place the prepared batter-filled mold(s) on a heat-proof trivet or the equivalent on the bottom of the slow-cooker. Pour enough boiling water into the slow-cooker to come halfway up the sides of the mold(s). Cover the slow-cooker and steam the bread, using the High setting, for 2½ to 3½ hours (the shorter time is for tomato- or soup-can size molds or small loaf pans; the longer time is for large loaf pans). Remove the mold(s) from the slow-cooker, and test and cool as directed in the recipe.
•
Using a pressure cooker.
When you’ve placed the prepared batter-filled mold(s) on the rack of the pressure cooker or a heat-proof trivet, pour boiling water into the cooker to come halfway up the sides of the mold(s). Lock the pressure-cooker lid and bring to high, steam-emitting heat, then immediately lower to the mid range. For one large bread (in a coffee can or loaf pan), cook under mid-range pressure for 40 minutes; for smaller cans or loaves, cook for about 25 minutes. Turn off the heat and let the cooker return to normal pressure. Unlock the lid, remove the bread, and test. If the bread is done, cool as directed in the recipe; if not, re-cover the bread, bring the cooker back up to pressure, lower it to mid-range for 1 to 5 minutes (depending on how close to done the bread is), then turn off the heat and let the pressure come down to normal again. The pro of using a pressure cooker: cooking time is shortened. The con: it’s more of a hassle to make adjustments if the bread is not quite done.
• • • • • • • • • •
Chiles, Tortillas, and Flame, Oh My!
So ubiquitous and well-loved are cornbreads accented with jalapeño or green chile that it’s hard to remember a time when they weren’t on the scene. But until the mid-1970s, they were largely unknown to most present-day Americans. In
Southern Cooking
, Craig Claiborne’s book of that era, he described them, a little breathlessly, as “one of the great adventures in taste.” And so they were, and are.
Yet although the habit of adding peppers and spice to what would
otherwise be basic conventional American cornbreads (Southern or Yankee) may be relatively recent, its roots are ancient. The combination of chiles and corn goes far, far back: It is yet another gift Native Americans gave us newcomers. Corn tortillas and salsa, or chile-spiked bean pots, or bean-and-meat-pots—that is where contemporary “Mexican cornbread” really begins.
What most of us know as such was born in the Lone Star State, where Tex-Mex began its border crossing into the hearts, minds, and palates of Americans. These breads had fertile cultural and agricultural ground from which to spring: first, the felicitous, ancient flavor combination of corn and chile, and second, the hot and savory corn casseroles that turn up in parts of Mexico and Central and South America. (You’ll find some of them on
pages 91
–
96
.) Most important of all was that phenomenon called fusion. Increasing numbers of Latino immigrants helped awaken palates to increasing amounts of heat, and cornbread—long a part of Texas cuisine—surfed the chile-jalapeño-salsa heat wave brilliantly.
Earlier, in the 1950s, the late Helen Corbitt, doyenne of Texas cooking, entertaining, and recipes, who ruled the influential culinary roost of Neiman Marcus’s Zodiac Room restaurant for many years, first gave the imprimatur of upscale gringo respectability to these native flavors in her cookbooks, newspaper column (“Kitchen Klatter”), and, of course, the department store. More recently, a host of New Southwestern chefs—Stephen Pyles (Texas), Mark Miller (New Mexico), Jay McCarthy (Texas and Colorado)—as well as chefs who live outside the region yet are inspired by Southwestern or Mexican flavors, like Bobby Flay in New York and Rick Bayless in Chicago, have been at play with these seasonings and certainly have helped continue their popularization: The odds are good that almost any breadstuff served in their restaurants will contain both corn or cornmeal, and some form of chile.
And so these cornbreads blend old and new,
right now
with an ancient
then.
And that is sweet indeed, and timeless.
HOU
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SQUARES
This is a particularly good, early Tex-Mex cornbread from my particularly good friend Chou-Chou. It is more elaborate than some, and quite rich, with a slightly sweet, almost cake-like texture. Chou-Chou makes hers with sliced pickled jalapeños straight out of a can and she uses ½ cup instead of the ¼ cup I use. I have made it with fresh jalapeños, charred directly on the stove, then peeled and chopped (with seeds included, as I like things hot), which is the tastiest but most time-consuming way to go. When in a hurry, I use the jarred fire-roasted pickled jalapeños, such as the Mazetti brand; delish and simpler.
Chou-Chou remembers that back in her non-vegetarian days, she added crisp crumbled bacon to this cornbread.