According to Gil Marks’s Olive Trees & Honey, Georgians (as in the Republic of Georgia, not state in the American South) traditionally won’t consider an array of food to be a meal unless something hot is served. I know several people—don’t we all?—who have a hard time with the idea of a meal that does not involve meat in some way. The traditional Jewish definition of a meal, though, as far back as recorded history can bring us, has always included bread in one form or another. On Shabbat and holidays, as I once mentioned in passing early in this blog’s run, the first two meals of Shabbat (dinner after evening services, and breakfast/lunch after morning services) are each supposed to feature a minimum of two intact loaves of bread to distinguish them from more mundane, single-loaf meals.
Normally those two loaves, which along with either wine or grape juice form the bare bones of a Shabbat dinner or lunch, are not so hard to come by in our home. This past Friday was different, being yet another early sunset winter Friday and one in which I was distracted by another project for part of the day. As it became clear that I was not going to have time to bake challah—my usual recipe usually takes around three hours, most of it devoted to rising and baking time—I decided not to worry too much about missing a chance to create a bread midrash for this week’s parasha and fell back on an old favorite recipe.
“Dear,” I said to Terri, “what would you say to beer bread for Shabbat lunch?”
She nodded. “That would be appropriate. Joseph and his brothers are still in Egypt this week, and beer was invented by ancient Egyptians.”
If you don’t know why I married this woman, you haven’t been paying attention.
My standby recipe for beer bread is a quick bread, meaning a bread that is chemically leavened (usually with baking powder or baking soda) rather than leavened with yeast. That means there’s no rising time, just a mix and a bake. I’m not sure where I first came across it, but I’ve been making it since college and have it committed to memory by now. It’s incredibly easy to make, savory and slightly bitter without being unpleasant, and in case you were wondering, ultimately non-alcoholic.
Beer Bread, for when you want fresh-baked bread in an hour and a quarter.
- 13½ oz. all-purpose flour (Equivalent to three cups of sifted flour. Scooping and leveling will compact the flour and result in a dense, bricklike bread. If you don’t have a sifter, drop individual spoonfuls of flour into a one-cup measure, and when the measure is overflowing, run a straight edge across the top to level it without shaking the measure, since shaking will compact the flour. Trust me, baking is just one of those cases where a food scale is the easiest way to be consistent.)
- 1 tablespoon baking powder
- 1 teaspoon table-grind salt (or 1½ teaspoon kosher salt)
- 1 tablespoon caraway seeds (optional)
- 12 oz. beer (one standard American bottle or can) at room temperature
- ¼ cup oil
- Heat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit (190 Celsius). Grease and flour a loaf pan.
- In a bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, salt and seeds (if using). Stir to combine.
- Pour the beer and oil into the flour mixture. The beer will foam. Quickly stir the batter until it is more or less uniform (a lump or three won’t hurt anyone) and scrape the batter into the prepared loaf pan. Bake for an hour, turning once halfway through.
- When the loaf is done, let it sit outside the oven for a few minutes and then transfer from the pan to a cooling rack. You can eat it immediately—it is delicious hot—but if you want any hope of slicing it without the whole thing falling apart, let it come down to room temperature first.
Notes: The type of beer you use will have a strong effect on the taste of the bread. For example, some people find that India pale ale produces an excessively bitter bread. I have read that stouts shouldn’t be used in this kind of beer bread, though I don’t know why. Anyone have a clue?
