how to make the perfect bagel

I have tried this before. And failed. When my little bagels plummeted into the boiling water they lost their shape and the the rest is history. I love a good bagel, and I have grown tired of eating the imposter: soft, non-chewy bread shaped like a bagel. Plus, it’s probably been 10 years since I tried making bagels and the shame of defeat has worn off, while Google has improved my discernment in picking a recipe.

Perfect! Crispy on the outside, Chewy on the inside!

So, here’s how it is done. Beware, this recipe is not a quick bread, but it is totally worth the time and effort! I found the recipe on the Ventura County Star, but the recipe is by famous breadbaker Peter Reinhart from his book The Bread Baker’s Apprentice.

My additions will be in italics…

Recipe for the Perfect Bagel

Start to finish: 15 hours (1 hour 15 minutes active) Start to finish for me was about 7 hours, because we were impatient and didn’t want to wait till morning for the bagels…and they were still delish! I’ll let you know if the ones tomorrow are even better, though…

Servings: 12 large bagels or 24 small bagels

For the sponge:

1 teaspoon instant yeast (this is NOT an entire pkg, just a tsp!)

4 cups unbleached white bread flour

2 1/2 cups water, room temperature (I made mine barely warm, just to give the yeast some umph)

To make the sponge:

the sponge, after 2 hours

In the bowl of a stand mixer combine the yeast and flour. Add the water and mix together with a spoon until it forms a sticky batter. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and leave at room temperature about 2 hours, or until foamy and bubbly. The mixture should nearly double in size and collapse when the bowl is tapped on the counter.

For the dough:

1/2 teaspoon instant yeast

3 3/4 cups unbleached white bread flour

2 3/4 teaspoons salt

1 tablespoon barley malt syrup or honey (I used barley malt syrup and found it w/ honey and syrups at Whole Foods…love that place!)

To make the dough:

Set the bowl with the sponge in the mixer with the dough hook attachment. With the mixer on low, add the yeast, then 3 cups of the flour and all of the salt and malt syrup or honey. Mix on low speed until the ingredients form a ball, slowly adding remaining 3/4 cup flour.

Let the mixer knead the dough 6 minutes. (I kneaded it by hand, b/c they don’t make kitchen aids like they used to…plus, part of the fun in making dough is getting to knead it!) The dough should be pliable and smooth, and feel satiny but not tacky. Add a few drops of water or a bit of flour as needed to get desired texture.

Dough balls ready for their 20 minute rest

To form bagels:

Wipe down a clean work surface with a damp cloth. Transfer the dough to the work surface, then divide into 12 pieces (for large bagels) or 24 pieces (for mini bagels).

One at a time, cup each piece in your hand and firmly press it into the counter. Move your hand in a circular fashion while pressing the dough against the table. In a short time, the dough should form a tight ball.

Cover the dough balls with a damp towel and let them rest 20 minutes. Meanwhile, line two baking pans with parchment paper (or wax paper). Lightly mist the parchment with cooking spray.

To shape the bagels, pick the dough pieces up one at a time and push your thumb through the center. Gently rotate your thumb around the hole to stretch it to about 21/2 inches wide (slightly less for smaller bagels). Try to keep the bagel evenly shaped (no thick or thin parts). (This method is sooo much easier than the previous time I made bagels and the recipe told me to make little logs and then pinch them together. Ridiculous!)

The magic happens in the fridge.

Arrange the bagels on the prepared baking sheets 2 inches apart. Mist them lightly with cooking spray, then cover loosely with plastic wrap and let them sit at room temperature another 20 minutes.

Refrigerate the bagels overnight (or up to two days). Or however long you can wait…2 hours…3 hours..

To finish:

1 tablespoon baking soda

Cornmeal or semolina flour, for dusting

Sesame seeds, poppy seeds, kosher salt or other toppings

To cook bagels:

To help the bagels brown during baking, the first step is to boil the bagels for 2 minutes in water with baking soda. (okay, at this point, I decided to follow part of another recipe that called for the malt syrup in the water. It’s supposed to give it a glowing crust. Bad idea. The chemicals collided to form a raging, foamy, overflowing pot. Don’t do it.)

When ready to bake the bagels, arrange the oven racks in the middle of the oven and preheat to 500 degrees. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and add the baking soda. Have a slotted spoon ready.

Bagels bobbing while being boiled.

Remove the bagels from the refrigerator and gently place two or three (or as many as will comfortably fit) into the boiling water. After 1 minute, flip the bagels and boil another minute. If you prefer chewy bagels, extend boiling to 2 minutes per side.

While the bagels boil, sprinkle the same parchment-lined pans with cornmeal or semolina flour. As the bagels finish boiling, return them to the baking sheets. If you want to top the bagels, do it as soon as they come out of the water.

When all the bagels have been boiled, place the pans in the oven and bake for5 minutes. Rotate the pans 180 degrees, switching shelves, lower heat to 450 degrees and bake an additional 5 minutes, or until they are a light golden brown.

Let the bagels cool on a rack for at least 15 minutes before serving. (or 30 seconds…they are worth a burned finger!)

To Mom: Your Birthday Garden

Snapshots from Mom's Garden

Happy late birthday, mom! I wanted you to see a little taste of your Mississippi garden while you are in the Great Northwest. I took these pictures in the morning before the full weight of the summer heat could get to them.

15 Stoplights and the Uninvited Guest

I counted all 15 stoplights on the way home tonight. Usually, I sit and chatter to Faris or find some good music or just look cautiously out the window (we drive through the rough side of town)…but tonight was different. To put it mildly, we had an unwelcome guest riding with us.

It began before stoplight #1 was even in sight. Faris packed our stuff in the car (we’ve been housesitting for my parents), I popped in, and he jumped like he’d hit his head, and while I knew he hadn’t, his face showed that something was terribly wrong. It was the face of a man who had just watched a roach bury itself somewhere deep into his mother-in-law’s highlander, full of crevices and packed to the gills with clean clothes, dirty shoes, poorly packaged food, and OUR FEET.

I JUMPED out of the car, but Faris calmly and bravely said, “The sooner we get in the car, the sooner we get home.” Implied was “and the sooner we get home, the sooner we can shake the roach out of our pants.” At least that’s where my mind went.

That is when the journey of 15 stoplights began…Red…longer Red. It began with a forthright conversation of things that are worse: giant African roaches, Camel spiders, that scene in Indiana Jones when her hair is crawling with bugs…Red…but that wasn’t very comforting in our precarious position. Yellowish. Green! My feet were already in my seat, and Faris was thinking up new remedies. He said that  roaches don’t like music…so he quickly inflicted it with a blaring radio and loud singing. It broke my concentration of listening for “it,” and all I could imagine was it’s anger at being tormented and trying relief on my side of the car. Red. Red. Red. Red.

Eking through the deserted streets of a forgotten neighborhood, we concentrated on one thing: willing the roach to keep hiding. Green! Yellow… Green! Green! So close…Red AND Red. Faris careened onto campus, we jumped out…and of course no sign of the roach. The car has been unpacked and “Raid”ed, goods given a shake, and here I sit prickling with the residual fear of roach.

Meanwhile, a medium sized roach is SOMEWHERE, a lifetime away from all it ever knew…a stranger in a strange new world. All I can say is perhaps this can be its final trip before THE final trip…and I can’t say I’m sorry.

starbucks, roadtrips, yes, i do…and gardening 101.

At this moment last year, Faris and I were sitting on my parents’ front porch…on our first date. It started at Starbucks (the date) and ended with my brave invitation for him to “set awhile” on the front porch. Thus began the best year of my life thus far. Our path to the altar was a quick one, with Starbucks to “I do” taking less than 7 months.

One Year as Seen from the Garden

I am constantly asking Faris questions about what he was thinking at this time last year, but I think I am a little more detail-oriented than he is…We are reading Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus right now which has been quite enlightening for both of us. “Does it REALLY bother you when I give you directions in the car?” (me) “Do you REALLY just want me to hug you and not offer solutions after you have had a stressful day?” (Faris) The answer of course to both is yes…

Our little apartment has become a work in progress, and it has revealed many areas that I aim to improve in the coming months: curtains, namely. The real work in progress is our garden, which is a meager 20 square feet but feels like acres when pulling out grass weeds. Ever since we got married, I have been aching for a plot of land and some chickens. I think the chickens will have to wait a while, but we do have a few things growing: tomatoes, eggplant, bell peppers, jalapeno peppers, zucchini, watermelon, and herbs galore.

Faris finishes up seminary this summer, so plans for the future are coming…

what I really gained from my trip down south…

My last post was full of gardenias, white linen suits, and even a mention of an evening enjoying the summer sounds on the front porch. What I neglected to mention was that the lovely evening aforementioned was spent with a very handsome young man that I had noticed on a previous visit down south. Enter Mr. Faris Paxton.

Yes, I had noticed him before most of you heard of him. His winning smile, easy laugh, and genuine nature had captured a bit of attention from me even before I moved to Idaho. But, the timing was not right. We were barely acquaintances, and move to Idaho I did. I have spent a wonderful year up here enjoying my dear family, meeting new people, making life-long friends, and learning a lot.  So, when I went back South in May to visit the southern half of the family, I did have a small glimmer of hope that my path would cross with Faris’. For all I knew, he was totally unavailable, but I still hoped…

When my parents decided to have “some people” over for Sunday lunch the first weekend I was home, I didn’t know that my life was about to change forever. Faris came over with a group of people, and what can I say? I was smitten at once. I was struck by his graciousness, his affability, his wonderful laugh (as long as it’s not in my ear), his convictions, and his easy-going nature. I was only there for two more days, so what kind of hope does that afford a girl like myself? Well, a lot if the good Lord is at work!

Faris (though he was soooo nonchalant at lunch) was apparently quite intrigued by me as well, and we went out on our first date the very last night I was in town. Since that day at the end of May, it has been a whirlwind of phone calls, emails, and 2,000 mile flights. Faris was even in South Korea for almost 3 weeks and still managed to call nearly every day! And I thank the Lord for an understanding manager who let me take off work when I needed to. Though many people remark on our relationship’s rapid pace (which it has been), I would be willing to bet that Faris and I have talked more than a couple who has dated non-long distance for 6 months!

Last Thursday night, Faris flew in from New Orleans (I cannot tell you how glad we were that the airport re-opened after Gustav on the very day of his flight up here!). On Friday night, he took me to a lovely dinner at a nearby town. He then brought me to the most beautiful butte overlooking all of Moscow AND the flaming sunset. There was a beautiful old tree stump laid with candles, flowers, and wine; a picnic basket with dessert, and a blanket to sit on. After some wonderful words…some of which were “Will you marry me?”…the most sparkly diamond ring I have ever seen…and a “yes” by me…We are engaged!

This is the short version of the story, but since so many people have asked for it, I wanted to go ahead and tell you how it all came about. We are getting married this December, Faris will finish seminary in May, and we will look forward to what God has for us in the future!

gardenias and white linen suits…or “my trip down south”

Summer nights are best when they are felt and heard, not seen. The lazy southern atmosphere wrapped its ample arms around me as soon as I stepped off the plane in Jackson. I felt warm, heavy air that cradled the fragrances of gardenias, grass, and asphalt. I heard low murmurs from bushes and grass, lilting songs from above. These are optimal conditions for porch-sitting, which I did plenty of.

I was also able to attend the wedding of a childhood friend in New Orleans. I have never felt so southern. White linen suits dotted the landscape of the cathedral with a flair that can only be described as “perfectly New Orleans.” The last golden rays melted through the stained glass and we all put our programs-turned-fans down at last. When we left, the night was still a dusky blue behind the black contrast of ancient, far-reaching oaks.

At the reception, I remembered why I love Louisiana. I looked around and I saw a sea of glimmering, familiar faces that I have seen at weddings and funerals for over two decades. From uncles, aunts, and cousins, to childhood friends, to the pastor who knew me as a small child asleep on the pew. These people are dear to me, and they have given my life a sense of place. No matter where I live, that part of my heritage comes with me.

Tonight I was thinking about all those dear, familiar faces I saw in New Orleans, and I thought of the Church. Thousands of years and an ever swelling sea of glorified faces. Living stones who form the body of Christ. Centuries of saints being refined and growing into a pure and radiant bride for Christ. What a beautiful  heritage and glorious future.

the flower farm

There is a wonderful place a few miles outside of town where a farmer’s wife makes it her calling to provide all of Moscow with lovely flowers all summer long. The cost: Just $7 for as many stalks as you can fit into a bucket. Today was our first trip of the summer, and I went with Melodie, the boys, and another friend to survey the options. The yellow tulips were so delicious that I couldn’t bring myself to pick anything else. With something blooming constantly, it will be sure to be a lovely summer.

real life is funny, and it’s beautiful

As an over-the-top optimist and an idealist, I realize that I see things differently than my more “realistic” counterparts. Couple those traits with a love of the literary, and things get even better. 

A recent example:  You might have read my post about the smells of the delectable homemade bread I made. What I neglected to mention was the fact that once I sliced a few slices of my lucious bread, there was a hole the size of my fist… This was AFTER I had posted my “smells like home” post, so I just stared at it and laughed. Twenty minutes more would have done the trick, but alas it was too late for that loaf.  It did smell like home. It did not, however, have the consistency of home…

There are so many fleeting moments in life when it is best not to take things seriously. To enjoy the beauty of real life is to laugh at my own humanity. To enjoy the beauty of life is also to take note of humanity. One of my clearest memories of doing this was on a college roadtrip.

I can still see the lanterns swinging under the tent in Centennial Park. I was visiting some of my best friends in Nashville, and we strolled down to one of the summer swing dances.  Bright swirls of humanity lit up the dance floor, as the live band echoed music from the early half of the 20th century. I glanced to the edge of the dance floor and a lovely elderly lady caught my attention. With a walker in front of her, I saw her feet make delicate patterns on the dance floor. Graceful taps marked the time with an unseen dance partner. I felt sure her steps were moving to the memories of a bygone time, her toes to the rhythm of an age that passed long ago. In that moment, I glimpsed a flickering shadow of her story. It was then that I realized there is a story behind every person, and to look for that story is part of the beauty of life.

The real story of humanity is still unfolding. To know that Christ clothed himself in humanity to “make all things new” gives every story hope. There is real sadness, tragedy, and yes, ugliness in this world, but there is a real Savior. And to know him is to know true beauty…and real laughter.

 

 

is everything fun?

I have a weakness for fun. I also have a weakness for trying to make everything fun. I also describe everything as fun. I have a fun problem. 

It is a genetic issue, as I am from the MOST FUN FAMILY: a big South Louisiana family overflowing with laughter, cousins, aunts, uncles, and joie de vivre. Just watch us at weddings. Some say it is out of control, we say it is fun.

So, it’s a natural tendency for me to search for the fun in everything. Perhaps it is also the reason I prefer to turn any event into a party. Parties are fun, right?

I moved to Idaho and my 2 year-old nephew started using the phrase “That’d be fun!” before he could even say “Truck” properly…guess who he got that phrase from? 

That’s when I realized that perhaps I had a fun problem on my hands. I’m still making the most of every opportunity, throwing parties for no reason, and enjoying life…but I’m also trying to teach myself that “FUN” is not the ruler by which I measure all things.

 

smells like home

Today my apartment smells like home. True, I am nearly 2,000 miles from the land of pines and oaks, from swamps and cotton fields, from men in seersucker suits and girls with bows the size of their heads…2,000 miles from 70 degree weather, azaleas, and my parents’ front porch…but today, in the face of another possible snowstorm, I embrace the smell of my mom’s homemade bread. 

The journey began three days ago, when my sister gave me mom’s homemade bread recipe.  I have never tried this before, because it involves a strange concoction, or “starter,” that includes sugar and potato flakes. I viewed mom’s breadmaking as a complicated feat that I appreciated but never attempted.  Our home often smelled of the sweet, wholesome fragrance of oats, wheat, and honey rising into mounds of goodness.

Mom has kept her “starter” for years, so I forgot that it is possible to create and “feed” my own, which I did on Thursday night post-Office.  Pouring the honey over the warm water, oil, and oats brought back the fragrance of growing up.  Wherever we lived, the consistent aroma of bread-making overarches my childhood memories.  Punching down the puffy first rise was one of our favorite tasks, and I still picture 2 or 3 of us begging for the “first punch” to deflate the dough. 

 This morning I punched down the dough and formed the loaves, and this afternoon I was rewarded with a house filled with the smell of home. It reminded me how important the aroma of a home is, both literally and metaphorically. Mom’s bread wouldn’t have been sweet to us had it been filled with anything other than the care she had for our family. Because she loved us, she fed us. 

Smelling the happy results of fresh-baked bread reminds me of God’s goodness in feeding us from His table every week.  He feeds us with physical bread and wine, so we can smack our lips and taste his goodness poured out upon us, as the everlasting aroma of the Gospel rises to the heavens. And it smells like home.