Yeast

Coca is the Spanish version of pizza. Here, it is spread with my Smoky Romesco Sauce, a basic in the Spanish pantry. When topped with green onions, roasted potatoes, and sliced hard-cooked eggs, it is an edible canvas of the sunny colors and flavors of this part of the Mediterranean.

Though pita bread is made throughout the Middle East, we have come to identify it with Greece. When baking, it puffs up like a small balloon and then deflates when removed from the oven. This version has a bit of whole-wheat flour in it for extra nuttiness and added flavor. Make a batch or two ahead and freeze some to use later; these pita reheat easily. Try these filled with strips of roasted Mustard and Lemon Chicken (page 92) and topped with a dollop of Greek yogurt.

These stuffed flatbreads are shaped much like meat-filled galettes. Lamb is the meat of choice in many Mediterranean cuisines, and here it is combined with other key ingredients of the region—eggplant and pomegranate—along with the warm aromatics often used in Turkish cuisine.

Peter Reinhart is a well-known cookbook author; his Crust and Crumb, The Bread Baker’s Apprentice, and Whole Grain Breads have been graced with prestigious awards. At Ramekins, where he occasionally teaches bread classes, Peter and I baked bread and pizzas together in the wood-fired oven after his last class. This recipe came from his The Bread Baker’s Apprentice. It is an amazing formula that can be turned into baguettes, ciabatta, focaccia, and pizza. That baking session was about a lot more than the recipe. It was about the primary message of this book: joyfully cooking and sharing with others at the fire.

Every baker has a favorite pizza recipe, and this one is mine. This is one of the easiest pizza doughs you can make, and it can be used for calzones, too.

It’s not always easy to find good sandwich bread, and when I need just one loaf I enjoy using the bread machine. I don’t bake it in the machine, because I don’t like the look of the loaf, but it’s neat and easy for mixing and rising. Here’s my formula, made in any standard-size machine.

Il Pane della Ninna Nanna (Lullaby Bread). Neither very sweet nor pizzalike in the flat, savory pie sort of way, this is a gold-fleshed, orange-perfumed cakelike bread that, if baked with care, will be tall and elegant, its crumb coarse yet light and full of the consoling scents of yeast and butter. Fabriziana is one of the several “middle” names of the Roman countess with whom I learned to bake the confection in the cavernous old kitchen of her villa that looks to the gardens of the Borghese. Ours were clandestine appointments, with our yeast and our candied orange peels and the tattered recipe book of her mother’s cook. You see, Fabriziana had never cooked or baked in her life, had never made anything from a pile of flour and a few crumbles of yeast. Forbidden in the kitchen as a girl, her adulthood has been always too fraught with obligations to permit interludes in front of the flames. But in the years we have been friends, she has always demonstrated more than a kind interest in my cooking, sitting once in a while, rapt as a fox, on an old wrought-iron chair in my kitchen as I dance about. And one day when I told her I was searching for a formula for an ancient, orange-perfumed Roman bread, she knew precisely where to find the recipe. Trailing off in some Proustian dream, she said she hadn’t thought of the bread in too many years, it having been her favorite sweet at Christmas and Easter. Once she even requested that it—rather than some grand, creamy torta—be her birthday cake. She told of poaching slices of it from a silver tray during parties and receptions, stuffing them deep into the pockets of her silk dresses to eat later in bed, after her sister was safely asleep, so she might share them only with her puppy. So it was that we decided to make the bread together. Wishing to avoid the chiding of her family and, most of all, her cook, we chose to do the deed on mornings when the house would be safe from them. It was wonderful to see Fabriziana at play. Flour and butter were forced under her long, mother-of-pearled nails, and her blond-streaked coif, mounted to resist tempests, soon fell into girlish ringlets over her noble brow. With a few mornings’ worth of trial, we baked Fabriziana’s lullaby bread, the bread of her memories. And once, on a birthday of mine, the countess came fairly racing through my doorway proffering a curiously wrapped parcel that gave up the telltale perfumes of our bread. The countess had learned to bake indeed.

This was Daddy’s “I quit smoking” bread. When I was in high school, he stopped smoking for good. Being a man who was never still, he started looking for ways to occupy his hands other than smoking. He bought some of the first bread flour ever to hit the shelves in Monticello, Georgia, and started experimenting. He became known around town for his homemade bread, and often made loaves for bake sales and church suppers.

To accompany the fine and fancy food at Holloway House, there has always been Sally Lunn bread. The recipe dates back to Colonial America, although history tells us there was actually no one named Sally. The words may be a corruption of sol et lune, French for sun and moon, probably used by French immigrants to describe the round shape of the buns, similar to brioche. Sunday suppers in Bloomfield wouldn’t be the same without it.

THIS LONGTIME PASTA & CO FAVORITE crosses a pretzel with a breadstick. (The word brezel is German for “breadstick.”) Flagship and Just Jack cheeses give the breadsticks a creamy flavor, but you can substitute Gruyère, Cheddar, or Parmesan. Don’t let the thought of making dough intimidate you; it’s easy to get the hang of and worth the effort. You can, however, use pre-made pizza dough; 2 pounds of dough will make 10 breadsticks.

THESE CINNAMON BUNS WERE INSPIRED BY the Magic Bakery Café on Whidbey Island, a small island north of Seattle, known for its handmade baked goods. Waking up to the aroma of freshly baked buns is guaranteed to start your weekend on the right note. Adding the potato to the dough results in a very light and moist bun. If you prefer your sugar later in the day, serve the buns as a dessert with Three-Citrus Honey-Butter Syrup (page 218) drizzled over the top.

A crusty yeast-raised bread requires time and planning, but not necessarily more work, as Jim Lahey’s recipe proves. Long, slow rising (fermentation) is the secret to this flavorful loaf of country-style bread.

People can never seem to get enough pizza, and how many a pizza will serve depends on the heartiness of the toppings, the thickness of the crust, and whether you’re serving anything along with it. But I’ve found generally that this dough recipe will make two twelve- or thirteen-inch pizzas and that pizzas made with the following toppings will serve at least four people.

I won’t claim that this is the best bread you’ve ever eaten, but it’s the fastest yeast bread imaginable, and it’s better than anything you can buy at many supermarkets. It requires little effort, less attention, and rounds out most simple dishes into filling meals.

Even more than the Italians, the Spanish eat sweet breads for breakfast. I like these in mid-afternoon—they are great with tea—but suit yourself. These rich rolls don’t keep especially well, so if twenty-four is too many for you, divide the recipe in half or freeze half the dough before baking; it will keep well for up to a month.

This is what I think of as real coffee cake—not extraordinarily sweet and for some people not even a dessert. If you want it more cakelike, double the sugar in the dough and consider adding a couple more tablespoons of butter. But this is wonderful with a cup of coffee in the afternoon or toasted, with a little butter, in the morning. With the food processor, this dough becomes quite quick to make; just keep the processing to a minimum. You want to avoid building up the gluten in the flour so it doesn’t become tough. If you don’t feel like braiding the dough (it really is fun, though, and takes only a few extra minutes), by all means bake this in a loaf pan.

Served on the street in the medieval city of Pérouges, not far from Lyons, this sweet, crisp pastry, preferably served hot, makes a fantastic snack or a surprising dessert. Serve, if you like, with crème fraîche, whipped cream, or sour cream and cut-up fruit.

Loukoumades are served across Greece and Cyprus, with a wide range of garnishes. I’ve suggested honey and cinnamon because they’re a simple, delicious, and authentic combination. But you could add a sprinkling of chopped pistachios or a dusting of confectioners’ sugar or even substitute the syrup used in making Baklava (page 628) for the honey.

To make these classic steamed rolls at home, you might pick up char siu—barbecued pork—in one of the myriad of Chinatown restaurants that have roast meats hanging in the window. Or you can make the Barbecued Pork (page 373) and the buns a day or two later. Fortunately, the buns themselves are easy to make, and they can be made as much as a month in advance: let them cool to room temperature after they’ve steamed (which should only take 15 minutes or so), then line them up on a baking sheet, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and freeze. Once they are frozen you can transfer them to a freezer bag or other airtight container. To serve, reheat the dumplings in a steamer over an inch of boiling water for 5 minutes. Serve these as a starter or a snack.

One could call this dish pizza bread, and it is a cross between a focaccia and a pizza. In Sicily, they make a high pizza called sfincione, topped with tomatoes, oregano, and a few anchovies. It is sold in warm squares as street food from a cart. The idea for deep-dish pizza came from the early Sicilian immigrants who settled in Chicago, although the excessive toppings are not something one would find in Sicily.