Dear bread fans,
It feels kind of strange to be carrying on as life takes new dimensions. The flash floods & wildfire smoke are really bringing climate change home to me in the Northeast, and I know these are just the disasters I’m seeing. I hope everyone is all right no matter what challenges & heartbreaks are near you, or upon our world.
Here is what’s been on my baking mind.
I've been thinking about the textures of baked goods and what makes them so appealing. Isn't it a wonder that ingredients come together to create satisfying bites? Could we as humans collaborate in a similar fashion, and be pleasing to each other? I love a bit of sponginess and resistance, which I find in bread, pancakes, and cakes.
I’ve been noticing I get similar pleasure from some savory foods, like the masa in a tamale or gordita, or the spongy puff of idli’s and dhokla, which are savory Indian cakes. How to define the characteristics I adore? All these foods are carbohydrate rich, and this makes me consider whether my deep love of starch is connected to formative eating experiences, or something less personal and more broad, a primary food craving in people who have long relied on starches?
Idli and dhokla are made from rice and dal. I have been fermenting split urad dal and idli rice to make them, and reading recipes that use gram or besan flour, a.k.a. chickpea flour — some of the latter are fermented and some are cooked right after they’re mixed. I bought a box of frozen Khaman dhokla from the big Indian market near me because I wanted to see what I was trying to make. These cakes are dotted with a little turmeric, ginger and garlic, and topped with some spices, but most of the flavor comes from what you serve with them, such as sambar, a thin lentil stew, and chutneys.
I can make a whole meal around these cakes. Dinner cakes are so fun! I used to make a semolina cake in a skillet, starting with sautéing peppers and onions and soaking the semolina in hot milk; eggs stretched out the batter and then I would add cheese and pour everything on top, and bake in the oven. I felt like I'd tricked the world into my shape, getting to have cake for lunch or dinner. Cornmeal pancakes topped with black beans and salsa are another route to such gladness. I can’t count how many griddle suppers I’ve made.
What do we want from food?
Physical nourishment is just the start. Food is a way to travel through our memories and through cultures, our own and someone else’s. Beyond the savory cakes I’ve been exploring, I really noticed this at Apteka, a Polish restaurant in Pittsburgh.
My Polish-American grandmother died when I was nine, so eating Polish food is how I explore my roots. Eva Zaleska Sweeney didn’t make us food that reflected her heritage. I remember whack on the counter biscuits, loaves of frozen bread dough thawing in the fridge, eating poptarts when we had sleepovers. Grandma didn’t speak English till sixth grade, and assimilation was her first-generation goal. But my whole adult life I’ve loved Polish and Ukrainian restaurants, chasing tastes like ghosts.
When I lived in Seattle in the 90s I always went to Piroshky, Piroshky on my day off. I loved the savory breads. Stuffed with shredded potatoes, cabbage and mushroom, I regretted I could only eat one before I got full – maybe one and a half. I’ve made imitations of them at home, but never hit the right notes. Friday, though, I had an amazing iteration.
I almost cried when I tried the Paszteciki Drożdzowe, yeasted buns filled with sauerkraut, burnt carrot, and popped flaxseed. It reminded me of Seattle, 30+ years ago (!), but the taste was older than me. This food was me, looking for a link to my grandmother and Babcha, her mother, who I never met, but whose life is a legend. When Anna Duda Zaleska was at Ellis Island, a man marked her coat with an X that meant she was damaged goods and would be shipped home. Because she’d been dropped as a baby, she walked with a limp, and her irregular body suggested she could be a burden. Another man wiped the mark away, letting her come into this country with her five nephews, letting her meet my great grandfather and make my soft wonderful hardworking grandmother who died too soon.
The part of me that wants Polish food feels mysterious and deep, like a cellular curiosity. If I lived in Pittsburgh I’d have to get another job so I could eat at Apteka every week and explore this puzzle in their realm, which is a puzzle itself. They call themselves a vegetable restaurant, and all the dishes are vegan — quite a twist for a cuisine known for kielbasa and sour cream. Periodically the team travels to Poland to research and study ingredients and dishes.
I was in Pittsburgh last fall with CRAFT, the Center for Regional Agriculture, Food, and Transformation at Chatham University for a grains day, and the fabulous women who work there wanted to take me to Apteka then, but the restaurant was closed for such exploration.
I returned to Pittsburgh for the Summer Community of Writers, a conference for Chatham’s MFA program. It was ten great days of learning and writing, and I want to tell you about everyone I met and all the reading I did, but that’s not bread-centric, or even baking-adjacent, so, if you want to hear about that, let me know.
Fondly yours, Amy
I would love to hear about your time in Pittsburgh! Xo