Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God. Matthew 4:4
I’m not here to debate passages from the Bible, but as a Lurpak butter advert a few years ago said, “Man shall not live by bread alone… though we can give it a damn good try”. And I have to say that I agree. As carbs go, bread is my absolute favourite. Don't get me wrong, potatoes are brilliant, rice and pasta are divine, but bread takes the crown.
I get bitterly disappointed if restaurants don’t bring bread to begin a meal, because there’s a joy in it arriving warm, when pats of butter melt lusciously when spread on top. That reminds me of the other week when we spoke of toast, but there's more to bread than the delights of toast. So, let's start from the beginning.
Bread is too much of a catch-all term really, as the breadth of baked dough is vast, from rolls to flatbreads, loaves to buns. Add in the type of flour grain, the addition of fruit or seeds, leavened or not, yeasted or not. It goes on and on. I love them all, but let’s focus on the loaf type for now.
Wales has a long tradition of bread making, having had wheat and grains to make bread for centuries, and the general nous to know how to mill and use them – and to know that the resultant creation was ideal for padding out meals when other ingredients were scarce.
Traditionally, loaves were cooked one day a week either in a wall oven, a communal street oven or in the heat of coals. This last one is interesting. Known as a ffwrn fach (little oven), it was a pot used to cook a whole variety of things, including loaves of bread. Think of it as a Dutch oven, a cast iron casserole with a lid. The bread dough would be placed inside and covered with the lid. It would be nestled in the hot coals or hung over them, as more coals were balanced on the top of the lid, offering heat from all sides. In more rural communities, this was often done outside in a hole in the ground and peat was used as fuel.
The other way of cooking bread in Wales was on the bakestone. It’s an absolute skill to produce a fully cooked loaf on the hot slab, but it is possible. Sometimes a cast iron pot was turned upside down to cover it and work in a similar way to the ffwrn fach. Way back in issue three of this newsletter, we made small roll versions of bara planc (bakestone bread).
I'll level with you, I rarely make bread from scratch. I'm never that well planned, and the prospect of waking up and realising I can't have my 11am banana on toast because I forgot to make the dough and let it prove etc. makes me shudder.
That said, when I can be bothered and do have time, I admit that there’s something deeply satisfying about making bread from scratch by hand. There's the almost high school chemistry lab scientific measurement of yeast and water and flour, all of which you can weirdly taste in the air at various points in the process. There's the tactile bit of kneading; the repetitive folding, squashing, plaiting, punching, and slapping on the counter until you've created a ball of smooth starchy dough.
Then the wait comes and first bit of magic happens, as the dough grows, doubling in size – although never if you watch it. You take a finger and poke the perfectly plump and puffed dome. It springs gently back like a disappearing footprint as the tide rushes to shore.
In the tin or on the tray it goes, when it gets another chance to show its leavened brilliance. Then into the hot oven until it erupts from the insides like a volcano, crisp and cracking like solidifying lava. It's crunchy, chewy, soft, sustaining, satisfying. It's food from higher plane. Bread from heaven you could say. There's a song in there somewhere.
How about this little clip from the time I was with Côr Y Boro (and others), and we were rehearsing in the tunnel of the Principality Stadium in Cardiff ahead of singing the anthems on the pitch. The conductor is Dr Haydn James.
The Recipe
Onion cake
This is another of those ridiculously easy but deeply satisfying recipes. It’s not a cake in the sweet sponge sense, more that it takes a cake shape, is often cooked in a cake tin, and is sliced up in wedges. It contains onion but really it should be a potato cake as there are lovely layers of potato and onion laced with butter and cooked until tender, which means this is an ideal side for loads of different meals. Try it instead of mash with roast meats or instead of jackets for a barbecue. I use my cast iron ffwrn fach (casserole/Dutch oven) to make it, but you can use a cake tin if you want to turn it out onto a plate to serve.
Ingredients (serves 6-8 as a side)
About 4 large potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced
2 small onions, finely chopped
Salt and pepper
100g butter
Method
Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F/ Gas Mark 6 and grease the tin well with butter.
Place a layer of the potato rounds on the bottom and top with some onion. Sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper and dot with small pieces of butter.
Repeat this process, creating layers of potato, onion seasoning and butter. Make sure the top layer is just potato and butter.
Cover with the lid or tin foil and bake in the oven for 1 hour 15 minutes.
Remove the lid and return the tin to the oven for a further 15 mins to brown and crisp the top.
Check the potatoes are cooked by inserting a knife, which should slide in and out with ease.
If you try the recipe out, don’t forget to tag any photos with #mywelshkitchen.
The Playlist
To me, cooking and music go hand in hand, whether that’s singing at the top of your voice using a wooden spoon as a microphone while waiting for pasta to boil, or dancing around with the oven gloves on as the oven timer counts down. Here are this week’s ideas for your Welsh Kitchen playlist.
This week we’re listening to the glorious tenor tones of the late Sir Harry Secombe, followed by singer-songwriter Rebecca Hurn from Porthcawl.
Bless This House by Harry Secombe
Something About Christmas by Rebecca Hurn
The Pantry
Good food is nothing without good ingredients and thankfully there are plenty of fantastic Welsh products on the market. Here is where you’ll find recommendations to stock up your cupboard, fridge or fruit bowl, or a really great place for food.
Merlyn Welsh Cream Liqueur
It’s that time of year again when all the good booze comes out that you’d never really drink any other time of year (looking at you advocaat!), and for me, cream liqueurs such as Baileys are one such thing. But forget Baileys and instead opt for the superior Merlyn. It’s made using the ever-wonderful Penderyn malted barley spirit and pure fresh dairy cream. Cheers!