One of my sisters likes to tease me about my ever-present need to elaborate, particularly with regards to cooking. “What did you make for dinner?” she’d ask. And instead of saying“lasagna” and leaving it at that, I’d have to describe that I made the noodles with half semolina and half 00 flour, and that I cooked butternut squash with a little sage and brown butter and layered that with garlicky sautéed kale and a béchamel sauce with ricotta and Gruyere.
“Po,” she’ll stop me. “I didn’t need to know of all of that.”
I know, I know! But I just…am constitutionally incapable of saying something plainly when I could describe it. My first instinct wouldn’t be to say, for example, “there’s a great running path near Dartmouth”. I’d have to tell you about how the first few minutes lead you up and over the gentle slope of the golf course, the carefully manicured grass a jaunty emerald green, before it turns into a wide path bordered on both sides by tall, stately pine trees. The path is soft with fallen needles that turn the ground a russet gold. Just visible to your left is the slow-moving Connecticut River, the current eddying and swirling as it passes.
But seriously! You did NOT need to know all of that! A simple: “took a jog, behind golf course” would have sufficed. But, I can’t resist. Restraint is a quality I tend to exercise either 150% or not at all, a personality flaw (or, area for personal growth as I delicately refer to it) that is not limited to writing.
Instead of saying that I have a cookie recipe I want to try, I’d feel the need to clarify that I discovered it because I was attempting to “do a quick tidying” of my stack of old Gourmet magazines, and instead ended up sitting on the floor in a square of weak winter sunlight, leaning against an armchair, my legs propped up, reading the indices of various issues, whereupon I encountered the curious title of “Financier, cumin” under the dessert section.
(Yes! Bizarre! Enticing! I will be making them soon! I still use too many exclamation points even though I’m not ten anymore!)
I couldn't just say: “changed up my nighttime routine”. I’d have to elaborate, telling you that now we do a tub (the little fellow) followed by a shower (me, with the little fellow in a seat on the bathroom floor, holding his starfish bath toy and waving it about enthusiastically in my general direction, alternating between babbling in garbled syllables that sound like a bird cooing and giggling madly. Next we do our lotion (both of us) and our pajamas (both of us), then dinner at the dining room table before a quick walk down the street to the water to wave goodnight to the moon and, on a clear night, the spangled expanse of stars and the twinkly dot dot dot of Orion’s Belt.
I’d tell you that we read a book, snuggled up against the pillows of my bed, his hand gently clutching the soft white fuzz of a stuffed animal in the shape of a cow, my hand propped behind the spine of Counting Our Way to Maine: a comforting and cheery story of a summer spent picking blueberries and digging for clams. And that he wriggles and kicks at first until drowsiness settles over him, his eyelids closing in tandem as if a curtain was being pulled shut.
And then I tug the door closed and take a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back in the hushed darkness of the bedroom, letting myself be still for the first time since 6 AM. I go downstairs to finish dinner—or have biscotti dunked in warm milk—and I wonder when, if ever, I’ll hear the word mother and picture myself before I picture her.
But you didn't ask about any of that!
And if you wanted to know what sort of bread is pictured above, I’m sorry to say that I’d take you down a similar path. I couldn’t just toss out Italian appetizer bread and leave it at that. I’d have to explain that I found an old recipe in the archives of the Land o’ Lakes website, and that I played around with it until I liked it. The dough is soft and pliable and easy to braid—without sticking or tearing. The filling has all the elements of the kind of sandwich you’d order at some tiny Italian deli in South Orange, New Jersey. You know the type? A white roll with a cottony, airy crumb and a slight crackly sheen to the outside. Layers of waxy provolone cheese and a stack of paper thin meats: salami and mortadella and soppressata. Crunchy shredded iceberg and soft sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil. Red wine vinegar and lashings of olive oil and a sprinkling of dried oregano.
That is not my sandwich. (Give me a tuna melt. Chicken salad with tarragon. A grilled cheese. A turkey club. A cucumber sandwich with mayo and Jane’s salt.)
But, I can appreciate the artistry of it all—thus, I gave it a shot and I quite like the effect when you disassemble the components and reassemble them inside a warm loaf of bread.
I use crumbled sweet Italian sausage (cook it first until lightly browned), sun-dried tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and lots of fresh basil.
I’ve also tried it with baby spinach along with the basil—so feel free to sub or add any greens here. You can leave out the meat, or swap in something saltier like pancetta.
You can even use the recipe as a template for different flavors altogether, so long as you stick with the same general quantity of filling ingredients.
For example, you could do any of the following riffs:
Greek: cooked crumbled ground lamb + crumbled feta + oregano + capers + olives + dill
Classic Deli: chopped pastrami + shredded cabbage + mustard + caramelized onions + celery seed + provolone
Pesto: toasted chopped pine nuts + pesto + extra Parmesan
Pizza: sun-dried tomatoes + tomato paste + mozzarella + basil + pizza spice
BBQ: pulled pork + BBQ sauce + chopped greens
French Onion: shredded Gruyere + caramelized onions + thyme
Again, I realize a single sentence would have sufficed, along with the recipe. But, as you probably know by know, my thoughts fill 99% of this space and recipes take up about 1% and I very much hope that you love it here because of, rather than in spite of, that fact.
Stuffed Italian Appetizer Bread
3 cups (360g) unbleached bread flour (you can also use all-purpose here)
2 1/4 teaspoons (1 envelope) instant or active dry yeast
1 teaspoon salt
1 egg
1/2 cup (113g) lukewarm milk
1/3 cup (75g) lukewarm water
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
2 cloves garlic, minced
3/4 cup sun-dried tomatoes, roughly chopped
1/2 cup chopped fresh basil
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup crumbled cooked Italian sausage
Combine the flour, yeast, salt, egg, milk, water, and olive oil in a large bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook. Mix until well-combined, then knead for at least 5 minutes until you have a smooth, elastic dough.
Place the dough in a lightly greased, covered bowl and set it aside to rise until it doubles in size (about an hour).
Using a light touch, deflate the dough and turn it out into a surface (the dough should be tacky enough to not need flour, but if you find it sticks too much, go ahead and lightly flour your work surface). Stretch/roll the dough out to a rectangle about 12" x 18" in size.
Combine the butter and garlic in a small bowl and heat it in the microwave (or you can do this on the stovetop) until the butter melts.
Brush the garlic butter evenly over the entire surface of the dough.
Sprinkle the sun-dried tomatoes, basil, dried oregano, mozzarella, and sausage evenly down the center of the dough, leaving about 3" bare on either side for folding.
Using a sharp knife, make 4" horizontal cuts into the dough down both sides. Each cut should be about 1" apart, so you'll end up with eighteen 1" strips that extend 4" into the dough on either side.
Starting at the top, fold each strip over onto the center filling, alternating between sides to create the braided effect. It helps to fold them at a very slight angle. When you get to the end of the dough, tuck and fold the final strips underneath the loaf. Don't worry about perfection here: Your main goal is to make sure that the filling is well-contained and won't spill out.
Carefully transfer the loaf to a parchment-lined baking sheet, cover with plastic wrap or a damp tea towel, and let it rise for about 30 minutes. Towards the end of the rising time, preheat the oven to 350°F.
Optional but nice: Brush the top of the loaf with an egg wash (one egg beaten with a splash of water).
Bake the loaf for 30 to 40 minutes, or until golden brown all over. Remove from the oven and let cool slightly before tearing into it!