Tag Archives: olives

Kalamata olive bread

3 May

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I promise not to bore you. Fact, let me get straight to the point and move along. This is basically round two of the bread-making exercise that I posted here a few weeks back. Here is the link to that recipe, along with full instructions.

All I have done is turn the original Jim Lahey recipe into an olive bread. A really good olive bread, too.

Below is the original recipe, with olives added (in bold red lettering) at the point where they should be mixed into the dough. Again, the original link that I mentioned above offers step-by-step instruction, so refer to that and then simply add the olives.

That’s about it.

Good luck.

 

JIM LAHEY’S NO-KNEAD BREAD RECIPE

WITH OLIVES…WITH OLIVES…WITH OLIVES…

Ingredients

3 cups (400 grams) bread flour

1 1/4 teaspoons (8 grams) table salt

1/4 teaspoon (1 gram) instant or other active dry yeast

1 1/3 cups (300 grams) cool water (55 to 65 degrees F)

1 cup loosely chopped Kalamata olives (drained of brine)

Wheat bran, cornmeal, or additional flour, for dusting

Equipment

A 4 1/2- to 5 1/2-quart heavy pot

Preparation

1. In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, salt, and yeast. Add the water AND OLIVES, using a wooden spoon or your hand, mix until you have a wet, sticky dough, about 30 seconds. Make sure it’s really sticky to the touch; if it’s not, mix in another tablespoon or two of water. Cover the bowl with a plate, tea towel, or plastic wrap and let sit at room temperature (about 72 degrees F), out of direct sunlight, until the surface is dotted with bubbles and the dough is more than doubled in size. This will take a minimum of 12 hours and (my preference) up to 18 hours. This slow rise—fermentation—is the key to flavor.

2. When the first fermentation is complete, generously dust a work surface (a wooden or plastic cutting board is fine) with flour. Use a bowl scraper or rubber spatula to scrape the dough onto the board in one piece. When you begin to pull the dough away from the bowl, it will cling in long, thin strands (this is the developed gluten), and it will be quite loose and sticky—do not add more flour. Use lightly floured hands or a bowl scraper or spatula to lift the edges of the dough in toward the center. Nudge and tuck in the edges of the dough to make it round.

3. Place a cotton or linen tea towel (not terry cloth, which tends to stick and may leave lint in the dough) or a large cloth napkin on your work surface and generously dust the cloth with wheat bran, cornmeal, or flour. Use your hands or a bowl scraper or wooden spatula to gently lift the dough onto the towel, so it is seam side down. If the dough is tacky, dust the top lightly with wheat bran, cornmeal, or flour. Fold the ends of the towel loosely over the dough to cover it and place it in a warm, draft-free spot to rise for 1 to 2 hours. The dough is ready when it is almost doubled. If you gently poke it with your finger, making an indentation about 1/4 inch deep, it should hold the impression. If it doesn’t, let it rise for another 15 minutes.

4. Half an hour before the end of the second rise, preheat the oven to 475 degrees F, with a rack in the lower third position, and place a covered 4 1/2–5 1/2 quart heavy pot in the center of the rack.

5. Using pot holders, carefully remove the preheated pot from the oven and uncover it. Unfold the tea towel, lightly dust the dough with flour or bran, lift up the dough, either on the towel or in your hand, and quickly but gently invert it into the pot, seam side up. (Use caution—the pot will be very hot.) Cover the pot and bake for 30 minutes.

6. Remove the lid and continue baking until the bread is a deep chestnut color but not burnt, 15 to 30 minutes more. Use a heatproof spatula or pot holders to carefully lift the bread out of the pot and place it on a rack to cool thoroughly. Don’t slice or tear into it until it has cooled, which usually takes at least an hour.

Mom’s cured green olives

6 Oct

One of my strongest childhood memories of autumn goes something like this.

Uncle Joe pulls up to our apartment building in Brooklyn in his red dump truck. He is greeted by his sister, my mother, who emerges from the family’s fountain service store onto the concrete sidewalk outside. My uncle goes to the back of the truck and drops the tailgate, his sister following close behind, but not too close.

There are wooden crates stacked along the back edge of the truck bed, eight or ten of them I would estimate. Soon my uncle begins to unload them. He carries the crates through the store, past the two small rooms behind it, ending in the backyard where my grandparents used to keep chickens, ducks, lambs and, at one point I am told by Cousin John, even a baby calf.

One by one he places the crates on the ground, underneath the huge trellised grapevine where 30-odd family members spend many hours together every summer. Being autumn many if not all of the grapes, white ones, have already been harvested, either made into Aunt Laura’s famous jellies or simply eaten straight from the vine as they have ripened.

Two or three tables are in place for the work that is ahead, sturdy ones because that is what they must be. After he unloads the last crate Uncle Joe goes back to his truck to gather the tools that will be needed once the crates have all been opened. There are several of these tools, but all are the same.

They are hammers of various shapes and weights, normally used for my uncle’s work but here put to use in order to pound away at the contents of the crates.

They are filled with hundreds of pounds of fresh raw green olives. Where the olives were grown I do not know, but they were surely purchased at the Brooklyn Terminal Market in Canarsie, about a twenty minute drive away, longer in a dump truck. My mother is the designated curer of olives in the family and as her son I am expected to lend an assist.

My work is simple, if a tad tedious. Grab one of Uncle Joe’s hammers and, one by one, crack open each and every olive until not a single whole one remains. It is impossible to finish the job without bruising my fingers, but this is the price of autumn’s work. I don’t mind paying it.

In the end I will have helped my mother produce many glass jars filled with strongly flavored cured green olives for appreciative family members and friends.

That is the memory that stays with me, not the bruises.

Anyhow, this is a very long-winded way of saying that I got my hands on some fresh olives last week when visiting my brother Joe in New York. Mixing up a batch of cured ones did not at all seem an unacceptable thing to do.

And so.

This is 4 pounds of raw green olives. They’ve been rinsed thoroughly and allowed to dry.

Though I was tempted to use my old claw hammer, for old time’s sake, I decided on a kitchen mallet instead. One by one you’ll need to give each olive a little whack in order to break open the skin and expose the inner flesh.

Like so. Now, you can see that this is a nice clean cut, but don’t worry if it isn’t. Even if some olives come completely apart they’re still okay.

Some of my olives even broke in half. Not a problem.

A fennel bulb, three carrots and a couple celery stalks.

Cut them all up, like so.

And place them in a non-reactive container along with the olives. I used a large dutch oven, as it’s lined with porcelain and also has a lid for covering the olives as they cure.

Add 2 1/2 cups of white vinegar, 1 1/2 cups water and 3 tablespoons Kosher salt. Then drizzle a bunch of olive oil on top and cover. Set aside where it won’t be in the way because the olives will remain in the mixture for a couple days or longer. Try and stir them once in a while, too.

Knowing when the olives are ready is a little bit tricky. Just-picked olives will need to stay in the vinegar mix longer than those that have travelled a bit. I’d say start checking them after two days. The color should have darkened some by then, and the olives will have softened too. Just don’t allow them to get too soft. Pick out a couple olives and give a taste. When the texture seems right then it’s time to wrap things up.

These olives were ready in three days.

Pour the olives into a colander and let them drain fully.

At this point you’re ready to jar the olives. I transferred them into a large bowl and added several sliced garlic cloves and a little hot pepper, but you don’t need to add anything at all if you don’t want to.

Either way, stuff the olives into jars and fill the jars with extra virgin olive oil.

Make sure the olives are completely covered in oil, then tighten the lids on the jars and set them aside in a cool place. Be patient because they won’t be ready to eat for a good couple months.

I filled seven pint-sized jars out of this batch. My guess is that five of them will be distributed to others at Christmas.

It’s always better when you share, no?