BakeSpite.net

Warning: Do not dip sashimi into this candy. (Photo: Jeremy)

Welcome to the second episode of Kit-Kat Densetsu! Please note that for proper effect, you should shout “KITTO KYATTO DENSETSU!!” in a booming voice whenever you read one of these.

The flavor this time out is Shouyu, or soy sauce. This is one I was really curious to try, because the prospect of a soy sauce-flavored candy bar has tremendous potential to be incredibly rank. But it could also be very, very good; the Japanese excel at mixing sweet and savory. Teriyaki sauce is basically a mix of sugar and soy sauce, right? So you can see why I was intrigued by the notion of a soy sauce Kit-Kat.

Cat and I went all out for this shoot. We even put the bar in a shouyu saucer for maximum irony! Sadly, the reality of a shouyu Kit-Kat is rather… well, shall we say, undeserving of such efforts. If I didn’t see the word “shouyu” on the package, I’d never have guessed that this is supposed to taste like soy sauce. It’s not salty, nor is it savory. In fact, it’s cloyingly sweet.

When you open the wrapper of the candy, you’re hit with the overwhelming scent of maple, of all things. It smells like you could melt this thing down and drizzle it over pancakes and no one would be any wiser.

And then there’s the appearance. It’s white! Completely white. Soy sauce… isn’t white. I expected this to be made with white chocolate, sure, because someone at the International Kit-Kat Planning Bureau has the mistaken impression that white chocolate is good and as a result half the flavors I come across stray from the holy cause of milk chocolate. But even so, I figured the wafers and creme would be dark, to symbolize the sweetness of the chocolate around the saltiness of the interior. Alas, though; in the words of one M.D. Tannen: “You thought wrong, dude.”

What about this wall of white says "soy sauce" to you? (Photo: Jeremy)

White chocolate is never as good as milk or dark chocolate because it lacks the bitter richness of cocoa, and I guess the same holds true of Kit-Kat wafers. The filling is more or less an extra-sweet version of the normal wafers and creme. There might be a slightly salty aftertaste, but I have a sneaking suspicion that’s a psychosomatic product of my imagination. It says “shouyu” on the package, so my brain tries desperately to invent a flavor to match. Shouyu Kit-Kat: It will make your neurons misfire!™

I’m definitely not imagining the overwhelming sweetness of this particular flavor, though. Cat remarked on the powerful maple smell — one tiny bar filled the kitchen with its aroma — and on its surprising lack of anything resembling soy sauce-like salinity. Interestingly, other Japanese Kit-Kat mini-bar flavors trumpet the fact that they’re 66 calories per serving, but this flavor is 68. I never realized you could cram so much sugar into two calories.

A little Internet research reveals that this is a limited-edition Kit-Kat sold only at the airport in Tokyo. I’m guessing it’s meant to be omiyage purchased by Japanese buyers as gifts for foreigners, because surely if someone from Japan ate one of these they’d call shenanigans on the distinctly not-soy-sauce-like flavor and the International Kit-Kat Planning Bureau would be forever disgraced.

Anyway, unlike Suppai Orange Kit-Kat, I don’t feel like we’re missing out with this one. White Kit-Kat is readily available here in the States, and I never buy it as it is. But if you’re ever in Tokyo and feel like gagging on the scent of pure, cloying sweetness, you know where to look.

Cat and I walked over to Howard’s Cafe at 9th and Judah for lunch this morning. It was an extremely early lunch, but I just can’t bring myself to call it brunch. Brunch has always been one of those things other people do, kind of like watching football or owning handguns. I know it happens, and it’s popular, even! But something about it bothers me on a level I can’t quite explain, so as far as I’m concerned it was just a premature lunch. Truth be told, I’m not so crazy about diners, either.

But Cat loves going to diners for brunch on the weekends from time to time, so I nod and smile and ask for the lunch menu. She has brunch, I have lunch, and we meet peacefully in the middle.

And I do enjoy the ambiance at Howard’s. It’s relaxed, and it’s built with a huge plate glass view of one of the neighborhood’s most trafficked intersections, so you can people-watch as you eat (and feel your stomach knot in horror as inattentive pedestrians come within inches of being flung beneath the wheels of the N-Judah train). Its employees fall into the “likable and friendly” category rather than the “surly fat guy in a greasy wife-beater” category. You can tell that most of the customers tend to be regulars, and the staff knows their tastes and habits by heart. I can definitely see the appeal; the problem is that most food I associate with diners tends to be stuff I can make on my own, like bacon and eggs. And the way I make that sort of thing is much less deleterious to your cardiovascular health.

Fresh-made New England clam chowder, garnished with... Saltines. (Photo: Jeremy)

Fortunately, Howard’s isn’t all just breakfast food, and they seem pretty good about making everything from scratch. The soup of the day, for instance, is always New England clam chowder on Saturdays, and it’s always their own idiomatic take on the dish: Not as thick or oily as most places serve, but not watery, either. It’s rich and a little buttery, and full of vegetables and herbs. “Flavorful” would be the word. That’s a good word when it comes to food, so I approve.

I love clam chowder, but I also love being able to fit into my jeans, so I was content simply to watch Cat enjoy a cup of soup as a starter.

House omelette, with the home fries cooked French-style. (Photo: Jeremy)

Since Cat cheerfully endorses the “brunch” thing, she almost always orders a breakfast-style meal at diners. Pancakes, eggs and toast, that sort of thing. Today she went with the house omelette, which is made with spinach and bacon and served with sour cream. It also comes with a toasted English muffin and home fries, although she substituted French fries in place of the latter. She also sprinkled the omelette with jalapeño Tabasco sauce, adding a little heat to complement the sour cream and a hint of sweetness to match the bacon’s saltiness. I haven’t eaten an omelette in about 15 years, but I have to admit it looked compellingly tasty.

Fish and chips, for that international touch, wot wot. (Photo: Jeremy)

As for myself, I accept that it’s impossible to eat healthily at a diner, so I figured I might as well just surrender and go all-out by ordering a portion of fish and chips. I was a little disappointed by the fish; I prefer the smoother style of batter-dipped fish to the rough, crumbly breading Howard’s uses. But they do make their fish and chips in-house from scratch as well, and the cod inside the batter was tasty and fresh. Whatever they use in their breading is delicious with a sprinkle of malt vinegar. I tend to skip the vinegar on my fish and chips, because it often overpowers the flavor of the food, but their cook put together a sufficiently bold batter that the vinegar becomes an accent rather than the main flavor.

On the whole, I prefer eating places where the secret ingredient isn’t year-old grease… but that’s diners for ya. And so far as diners go, Howard’s is pretty respectable fare. Even if they do take cash only.

Cat and I just finished watching Eat Drink Man Woman, and it was a beautiful movie. A beautiful story, filmed beautifully. But the most beautiful thing of all was the food! The glorious food. Classic Chinese cooking, prepared meticulously and elegantly by expert hands. And it reminded me, oh, hey, we have this food blog, huh? So, hey. Food blog.

Tonight, I’m getting back in the swing of things by launching a recurring feature called Kit Kat Densetsu. That’s “Kit Kat Legend” in Japanese, for those who don’t know Japanese terms that have become terribly generic through overuse in videogame parlance. The name fits, though, because this section is devoted entirely to the unique and exotic flavors of Kit Kat sold only in Japan. Yes, that’s right: The common, everyday Kit Kit, available in a pitiful three flavors here in America (plus a gross orange-colored white chocolate version at Halloween) exists in a cornocopia of flavors over in Japan. I make it a point to try every kind of Kit Kat I can find when I travel to Tokyo; some are unpleasant, like the “vegetable health drink” kind they were selling last fall. Some are utterly amazing, like the seasonal winter black tea bar I picked up two years ago at a convenience store at Inara. I’ve acquired more than a dozen different sample flavors, and at a needlessly high cost — but it’s all for the noble purpose of writing about the fascinating variants of Kit Kat sold in Japan. It’s funny, but my favorite Japanese mass-manufactured snack is actually an American candy bar.

Sour Orange Kit-Kat: Far too delicious to sell in America. (Photo: Jeremy)

To inaugurate this section, we’re starting with the classic: Orange Kit Kit. Technically, this edition is “Suppai Orange,” or sour orange, but it tastes about the same as the Orange Kit Kat I fell in love with the first time I ever went to Japan. Interestingly, they actually did offer Orange Kit Kat here in the states in select regions for a limited time, but like other great ideas of the early 21st century (see also: Diet Pepsi Twist), it was deemed unfit for this world. Except in Japan, of course. I bought like three bags of these things at TGS last year, and distributed most of them to friends. That is because I play a Paragon in real life, not just in Mass Effect.

The Orange Kit Kat is precisely as it sounds: A Kit Kat bar infused with a strong orange flavor. As we all know, chocolate and orange are one of nature’s most perfect combinations. Kit Kats aren’t exactly gourmet chocolate, but they’re one of the few candy bars I enjoy — they’re not overly sweet, and the chocolate is a great complement to the crispy wafer interior. I wouldn’t eat a bar made of just Kit Kat calibre chocolate, and I wouldn’t eat the wafers alone. Together, though, they’re pretty good! But mix in the taste of orange and you’ve officially reached “day-yum!” territory.

The orange mixes well with the chocolate, but it overpowers the flavor of the wafer. That’s OK, though, because the wafer is really more about texture. The orange flavor teeters at the precipice of being too strong, but it’s actually just right. More importantly, it doesn’t leave an unpleasant chemical aftertaste like a lot of fruit-flavored candies. The bar tastes sweet as you eat it (Cat described it as tasting “like an orange creamsicle chocolate bar”), but afterwards the lingering orange flavor becomes a little bit tart in your mouth. It’s something of a rarity in that it’s a mass-produced convenience store chocolate bar that you actually want to savor. It’s a pity this flavor never caught on in the U.S., but maybe they’ll bring it back someday. If not… well, I end up in Japan at least once a year, so I suppose it’s reason enough to suffer through those interminable trans-Pacific flights.

I’ve added a new section to GameSpite’s forums, specifically for food. In less than half an hour, it’s already seen a ton of activity! Clearly, you guys like talking about food. So: Please feel free to participate in the ongoing discussions by creating a forum account and chatting at Talking About Food.

Of course, you’re very welcome — nay, encouraged! — to comment here on the blog as well. I know you’re reading this, ’cause I can see the stats.

A recent Asian Crab recipe posted by FoodNetwork.com got me thinking about my long-standing love affair with crab.

Growing up in NY, my mom would take us in our red Plymouth station wagon into Chinatown, park with the windows down (imagine the er, aroma of the city streets on a roasting summer’s day) while she and my dad bustled down to the seafood markets south of Canal.  I didn’t know how good I had it.  I was hot and cranky, my legs sticking to the grey vinyl seats of our car.  When mom and dad returned, amongst the assortment of vegetation sticking out of white plastic bags with red calligraphic lettering, there would be a bag, sometimes two, lined with brown paper.  The bag would rustle in the trunk, all of its own accord.  Crab’s on.

We are Asian, specifically, Vietnamese.  This is not a fact I was always proud of growing up in a white neighborhood on Long Island; attending predominantly Irish, Italian, Polish Catholic private schools.  Sometimes there’d be someone else Asian, usually Philippino. The kids thought my last name was ridiculous, and given how hard it was for me to try and pronounce it correctly for them, I tended to agree.  Back in those days, I’d bring the traditional gio sandwich to lunch while my classmates chowed down on PB&J and deli meats that didn’t single them out as strange.

How I long for the days of my taken-for-granted youth: filled with Vietnamese cuisine.  Only then, it was just food.  What we ate at home.

Crab.  It’s not just an Asian thing, it’s definitely not just a Vietnamese thing, but oh the way my mom would prepare it.  Julia Child may have been fearless, but my mother was positively matter of fact.  We’d get home from Chinatown, bring the groceries in and the crabs would unceremoniously get dumped into the sink, awaiting execution.  I will say this, my mother was quick and spared them a prolonged death-by-boiling.  She’d pop off the tops of their shells, take a large and sharp knife and aim right between the eyes.  One quick stab to the heart.  It would be over.  (Don’t try this without gloves.  The better crabs are feistier, don’t bother with the ones missing limbs or barely moving around.  The fresher, the sweeter and tastier.)

After the crabs had been set to rest, my mom would go about cleaning them with a brush to dislodge any stray sand.  Then, she’d take off the gills.  I believe the secret to the deliciousness of my mother’s crabs was in the sauteeing rather than boiling.  She’d clean and chop scallions, garlic and possibly ginger.  She salted and peppered the crabs.  The scallions, garlic and ginger were sauteed in oil (though I suspect butter would not hurt this recipe) and then, the piece de resistance, adding whatever crab egg she’d scraped from the opened, cleaned crabs.  After the aroma would start to waft, fish sauce, which makes all things Vietnamese.  After the sauce has simmered a few minutes, you add the crabs, which she’d break into halves or quarters (depending on the type of crab).  Mix them into the sauce.  Turn the heat a bit lower and cover them to let the flavors settle in.

Crabs cook quickly, so check under the cover after a few minutes.  Once the shells have turned bright red, they’re most likely done.  If you want to be sure, open up a leg and check that the meat is no longer translucent.

The crabs themselves were so divine but the sauce, oh how I loved their sauce.  I would save it to eat over jasmine rice at the end.

If you’d like a variation (and possibly measurements/a more specific recipe) I found this Vietnamese-style Spicy Crab Recipe from Sunset Magazine’s test kitchen.  If you’re in San Francisco, Yummy Yummy in the Inner Sunset has three variations of Vietnamese crab (butter, red pepper and black bean) that are pretty good as well as reasonable for dungeness crab in the area.  Dragonfly, also in the Sunset serves a slightly higher-end version with garlic noodles.  And to round out San Francisco’s offering, Thanh Long in the Outer Sunset has what some say are the most delicious Vietnamese-style crabs in San Francisco.  I would say Dragonfly is just as good, but not nearly as pricey.  My favorite is having crabs at home, where you can eat them as messily as you like!

Witness now with your weak human eyes: The immaculate brownies which birthed BakeSpite.net!

Well, sort of. I made some friggin’ delicious brownies the day before New Year’s Eve and, in my enthusiasm, mentioned them on Twitter. I was then inundated with people talking about how awesome they sounded, and even suggestions to launch a food blog. That was such a good idea that I did! Or rather, we did. This site would not be kickin’ without Cat. Nor would I have this gorgeous photo of this succulent brownie.

Our inspiration for Bakespite.net. (Photo by Cat)

Seriously, this is why we exercise. So we can indulge in things like this. “Heaven brownies” was the appellation suggested on Twitter, and I can’t think of a better name. We made these at the same time that we made our New Year’s Eve Beef Bourguignon, and that is why my next weigh-in pummeled me with a dizzying setback. But it was worth it. I mean, look at those.

I can’t claim the credit for the basic recipe here. There’s a story behind these brownies. But isn’t that always the case for the best food?

Cat spent most of the summer traveling for work, and luckily a good portion of that time was spent in Michigan, allowing her to use my parents’ home as a base camp for a few weeks. It’s lonely work out there, and eating nothing but restaurant food gets pretty tiring in a hurry, so I was glad she was able to enjoy the occasional home-cooked meal. She’s had nothing but good to say about my mother’s baking, but aside from those nigh-impossible-to-replicate rolls, the one thing that’s most stuck with her are the muffins Mom made one night before Cat headed out for an extended drive.

So, I inquired about the muffins so that I could master the recipe myself. Turns out Mom just used a box of Ghirardelli double chocolate muffins and added some extra chocolate chips and fresh cherries. Easy enough; I headed over to the grocery store and grabbed the ingredients.

But! Once I got home, I realized I had grabbed a box of double chocolate brownie mix by mistake. I was mortified, but Cat reassured me with an important secret: She actually likes brownies a lot more than muffins. What luck, eh?

So, I went ahead and made the brownies, just like it said on the box. I mixed in a cup of frozen cherries, thawed, and half a cup of Guittard milk chocolate chips. Using milk chocolate chips was a great idea, since they added a pleasant mildness to complement the obscene richness of all the dark chocolate in the box mix. (I’m pretty much 100% in love with Guittard’s chips, by the way. They’re much, much better in baked goods than the standard Nestlé chocolate, or even Ghirardelli chips.)

For this photo, Cat wanted to make the brownies look extra beautiful, so we sprinkled them with extra cherries and milk chocolate chips. Then we realized that was kind of a brilliant idea for actually serving them, so that is how we ate the brownies themselves. The verdict: Delicious.

If you don’t want to go with the box mix on these, the recipe is available at Ghirardelli’s website. Just be sure to include the milk chocolate chips. And the cherries. Oh, the cherries.

Well, I guess that liveblog didn’t work out quite as smashingly as I’d hoped, but it’s not my fault. Nor was it the gin-and-tonics. Right after I posted the last update, Chef Ryan glared at everyone who was hanging out in his kitchen eating all his fried eggplant and demanded we go sit at the table. A few moments later, the completed repast was served. It was weird, because when I left the kitchen, all the dishes seemed to be in their base components; yet about two minutes later, we were served golden-brown pan-fried sole over a bed of sauteed brussels sprouts and a potato au gratin. I would theorize that he simply dumped all the raw ingredients into the trash and whipped out meals he had secretly prepared in advance of the dinner party, but I know better. He’s simply that awesome in the kitchen.

The salad

"The beets in this salad are delicious," I opined. Wait -- beets? Delicious? But I hated them as a kid! That's when I knew I had pupated at last into my adult form.

Besides, now that I think back on it — which is of course completely contrary to the entire purpose of a liveblog — I recall that he led off with a salad. Simple mixed greens, beets, and an Italian cheese whose name eludes me. I’m sorry for the vagueness; I was the least “foodie” person in attendance, which is why I was liveblogging and not, say, helping to prepare the food. Part of the reason we launched this blog is so that I may learn more about food by immersion. (Not literal immersion.)

The salad kept our mouths and brains occupied for several minutes, which must have been when the chef put the finishing touches on the meal. Tricky!

The main course

Fish is the greatest thing. I grew up in West Texas, so to Young Jeremy fish was this sort of foul-smelling, rubbery thing that was sometimes inflicted upon us, or else a curious foul-smelling sandwich meat that was sold in cans. Now that I live somewhere near the water and can eat fish that was plucked from the ocean somewhat recently, I have discovered that there is very nearly no kind of seafood I don’t like. I’m not so big on raw squid, but even that’s palatable if served correctly. Unsurprisingly, I really enjoyed last night’s meal.

I’m not sure that I’ve ever had dover sole before, but it seems like the sort of fish that requires an expert touch. Ryan said he selected it over the more common types of sole because he likes its thinness and delicacy — which, in cooking terms, means it’s the sort of meat that can go from succulent to overcooked in an instant. Ryan lightly breaded and pan-fried the fish, and he did it just right, so that every bite was perfect. I know from experience this isn’t easy to do, since the thinnest extremities of a fillet often end up overdone if you leave it on the heat long enough to properly cook the thickest portions.

Sole in itself isn’t a terribly flavorful fish, even prepared in such a fattening manner. In this case, the sides balanced it out: The fish was served on a bed of chopped brussels sprouts sauteed with mushrooms and olive oil (among other things), which had a very slight bitterness that complemented the neutrality of the fish. Sitting aside the sprouts were homemade potatoes au gratin — not overpoweringly cheesy, but just rich enough to balance the other flavors.

The finished dinner.

Unfortunately, food photography is as difficult as Cat keeps telling me, so I’m afraid this photo doesn’t properly convey the excellence of our meal. I fear you will have to take it on faith that it was, indeed, excellent.

You’ll probably be pleased to know that I don’t intend to liveblog meals. It was an interesting experiment in irony, but on the whole I think I prefer to socialize and enjoy the food — at least, when it’s this good.

Tonight’s menu, according to Chef Ryan:

“A pseudo-Turkish… sort of an appetizer, I guess. Pan-fried eggplant and arugula with mint. Pan-fried dover sole with a potato, leek, and cauliflower gratin. And a side of….”

“Delicious? With a dash of bring it on?”

“…shredded brussels sprouts and mushrooms.”

Club 54 is the official nickname for our friend Ryan’s house, so named because his street address is 54 (redacted) Court. Clever people, we are. What we lack in wit, however, we more than make up for with our enthusiasm for Ryan’s cooking. He loves great food, and he loves making great food. And we love eating it. He invited us over for a small, impromptu dinner tonight, and when this happens it is the highlight of our week!

And I am going to write about it, or at least I will until the G&Ts knock me out of commission.

The beverages

Possibly the world's finest gin and tonic, courtesy of Scott Z.

Pretty much any dinner at Ryan’s begins with a heavy dosing of gin and tonic, which is the official awesome specialty of his boyfriend Scott. I am not really a drinker myself, but I really can’t turn these things down. They’re like joy in a glass, slightly sweet and deceptively potent.

To my credit, I’ve developed a decent tolerance for these over the past year or so and no longer find myself asleep on the couch midway through.

The big spherical ice cubes are great, too. I’m not sure where Ryan found ice cube trays in a spherical shape, but it’s an awesome idea. The sphere is the most compact Euclidean object possible, meaning it has the least possible surface area of any geometric form in real space. And minimizing the surface area of an ice cube (or not-cube) means it melts more slowly. Which means the drinks retain their flavor longer. And potency, I suppose!

Maybe I’ll need that lie-down after all.

Appetizer 1: Turkish eggplant

Turkish-style eggplant, all presented and yogurted up.

The first appetizer is on the counter, and I have just made a glutton of myself. It’s cool, though; we all did. We have: pan-friend breaded eggplant dosed in a Mediterranean sauce consisting of Greek yogurt and mint and a drizzle of butter whipped in a skillet with a light dusting of sumac.

It probably goes without saying, but it’s delicious.

I think I offended Chef Ryan when I said it tasted kind of like potato chips, but I didn’t mean it in a bad way! It’s a starchy vegetable that’s been fried and served with a sour, creamy, spicy accent, that’s all. The difference between these eggplant slices and potato chips is that these are amazing and wonderful and fresh and I don’t even care that my exercise efforts have been completely nullified in half an hour because I just ate my own weight in fried eggplant.

Hello, friends and mortals! Welcome to BakeSpite.net, our very exciting (maybe?) new food blog. I’m the guy who decided it might be interesting to have a food blog, and accompanying me is my fiancée, Cat, who decided to take the idea and run with it. Some credit is also due various people whose enthusiastic responses to my random Twitter posts about the food we’ve been creating recently made me realize that, hey, maybe people might be interested in seeing me write about something other than videogames.

Right. In my day job, I write about videogames. In her day job, Cat takes photos of interiors and architecture. Both of us have been looking for excuses to venture beyond the boundaries of our normal work — surely I can’t write about games forever. And even if I could, I don’t think I’d want to.  And Cat, for her part, doesn’t have many opportunities to write, to cook (when she’s on the road) or to experiment with lighting for food.  BakeSpite will hopefully be a great way for both of us to stretch about things we both enjoy (namely, cooking and eating).

It might also be an excuse for me to eat more interesting cuisine; I’ve been on a pretty restricted diet over the past year and a half, which paid off with my having lost 50 pounds and feeling great about myself. The variety of my diet suffered, though. But, if we’re writing about food, well, I’m obligated to eat things that are more diverse than what I’ve been subsisting on for the past 18 months.

I think both Cat and I have fairly different ideas about what this blog should be, so that should make for an interesting amount of variety in the tone and topics of our posts. But we’ll both be writing, and we’ll both be photographing food. (Please note that the nice photos will be hers.)

Garlic Parmesan English Muffin Loaf

Emboldened by yesterday’s small triumph in the roll-making department, I was inspired by a recipe for an English muffin loaf I found at the blog morethanburnttoast.

Some say signs are where you see them and stumbling across the above recipe as well as today’s article on high-end English muffins via TastingTable’s San Francisco edition entitled, “Thomas Who? The Bay Area’s outstanding toast to English muffins” led me to open another packet of yeast and start sifting flour.

The recipe from MoreThanBurntToast calls for shredded cheddar cheese. I was in the mood for something a little less gooey and a little more subtle: grated parmesan. The recipe also calls for greasing two bread pans, but doesn’t specify with what. I like any excuse to use our Meyer’s Lemon Olive Oil. Lastly, rather than cornmeal as is traditionally English muffin, I reached for garlic and herb bread crumbs. This could be very good or very very bad.

In the past, I’ve been known to take recipes and swap out for ingredients I like better with mixed results. A Julia Child almond cake without the 1.5 cups of crushed almonds, is the wrong consistency and not really tasty (unless you like the taste of cardboard). My baking self esteem at a high, I made substitutions and then didn’t measure the flour. I went by the feel of the dough. Rather than two baking pans, I used one.

The finished loaf served with Meyer lemon olive oil, a pinch of salt and ground red pepper

Waiting for the dough to rise

As I waited for the dough to rise, I realized why the recipe calls for two pans instead of one: the dough had become a monster, rising over the sides of the pan and continuing to grow on the pan underneath. Luckily, I grabbed some of the extra dough and put it into muffin pans. The remaining dough, once baked was delicious. And I’m talking about the stuff on the bottom of the baking pan used to catch the spillover: some sort of mix between an English muffin in texture and a focaccia in taste.

The loaf itself, while irregularly shaped, was also quite tasty. I loved the crustiness of the outside. The bottom-most portion of the loaf suffered a bit of undercooking, but the bread overall is tasty. I can salvage the next loaf by investing in a second bread loaf pan.

Parmesan Garlic English Muffin Loaf
Makes 2 loaves
1 T sugar
1/2 cup warm water (110 degrees F)
2 envelopes Fast Rising Active Dry Yeast
2 cups milk
2 tsp salt
6 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp baking soda
1-1/2 cups grated Parmesan cheese

• Dissolve sugar in warm water. Add yeast an let stand 10 minutes then stir well.
• Combine milk and salt in saucepan. Heat over low heat until lukewarm only. Add milk mixture to dissolved yeast.
• Combine  3 cups sifted flour with baking soda and grated cheese. Mix until smooth. Stir in enough of the remaining 3 cups of flour to make a stiff batter. Divide batter in half and press into two 8-1/2 x 4-1/2-inch loaf pans, that have been greased (with Meyer lemon olive oil) and sprinkled with garlic parmesan breadcrumbs.
• Sprinkle tops with garlic parmesan breadcrumbs and cover.
• Let rise in a warm place 45 minutes or until centre of loaf is about 1-1/2-inches above edge of pan.
• Bake at 400F for 25 minutes.
• Remove from pans and cool.
• To serve, slice and toast. Spread with butter.