If you’ve ever seen the movie Love Actually, you’ll recall the famous first few lines—the ones that Hugh Grant’s character speaks in voiceover while you’re watching a scene unfold at Heathrow Airport. He says that whenever he feels gloomy about the state of world, he pictures the arrival gate at Heathrow, and points out that rather than scenes of hate, there is love everywhere—people hugging, kissing, running into each other’s arms and laughing.
It’s uplifting, isn’t it? For me, when I feel a bit down about the state of things, I think about my favorite books from when I was little. (This is a trick I employ especially when I feel overwhelmed or slightly caught up in the chaos of adult life.)
I play out scenes from All-of-a-Kind Family or The Maggie B. or one of the Brambly Hedge books. I transport myself to the warm sugar-scented air of the bakery in Howl’s Moving Castle or tuck myself amongst the crowds wandering the word market in The Phantom Tollbooth, crunching on a sugary adjective in script. Maybe I’m on a miniature adventure in Edward Eager’s Half Magic books or throwing myself onto a squishy chaise lounge in Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle’s upside-down house.
These books make me feel okay—and as if everything is okay. Normal (and real and present) worries are stripped aside. The world briefly seems simpler for a few blissful minutes. It’s as soothing to me as the first few seconds when you slip into a hot bath, or the first bite of warm oatmeal when you’re very, very hungry.
It’s hard to hang onto; in no time, you’re pulled back into regular life and you’re you again. But it still works, and you don’t even need to be reading the actual book.
I consider this the literary equivalent of appreciating a comfortable pair of pajamas or loving the sensation of a head massage. (I strongly qualify for both.)
And in the world of food, I think it’s similar to loving squishy, soft foods, which I do wholeheartedly. (Some people claim to prize texture in a dish, but yet they turn down their noses at soft foods, as if those are somehow suited for juvenile nursery tatstes.)
Whereas I am a card-carrying member of Team Mush. I could happily live on warm stovetop chocolate pudding doused in cold cream, or just-made hummus (the very good-quality sort with an airy, mousse-like texture, not that store-bought Sabra-style grainy business with weird flavors), or Cream of Wheat, or lemon curd folded together with ribbons of snowy whipped cream.
I like thick split pea soup with ham, and ice cream that’s been left out of the freezer to get nice and melty on the edges, and homemade applesauce with plenty of cinnamon. I like the very center of a just-baked clafoutis and I could eat cardamom-spiked rice pudding every day, happily.
When my mom would bake loaves of potato bread—the softest, squishiest of all sandwich breads—I’d elbow my sisters for the end piece before spreading it with bright yellow butter (hand-churned with cream from our Jersey cows and packed into little brown ceramic bowls) and pulling off chunks from the center of the warm slice. When hot from the oven, the center could be pressed with little fingers into a doughy ball: perfection.
But as it turns out, it would be many years before I discovered the ultimate in squishy, soft breads: the true bread equivalent of, say, warm pudding.
(And no, it’s not freshly baked pita, although that’s a close contender.)
Enter Brazilian cheesy bread—properly termed pao de queijo. Made with tapioca flour (so it happens to be gluten-free, if you’re into that sort of thing), it’s resembles an oversized gougere or a small cheese bun. Typically it’s made with Parmesan cheese, although you’ll find it with feta sometimes, or cheddar, or any other manner of cheeses. Otherwise the ingredients are simple: egg, milk (not always), olive oil, and salt.
When baked in the oven, it puffs up into an airy sphere with a crisp exterior. Tear into it while hot and it’ll collapse a bit. The interior is stretchy and tender: not to be confused with gooey. It’s unlike any other baked good I’ve tried; the tapioca gives it an elastic, almost springy quality. Am I describing this right? Are you dying to try it?
Here’s another way to put it, which is what occurred to me when I pulled my first batch from the oven: it’s as if a cheese souffle and a gougere and a popover had a baby. A sexy, cheesy, Brazilian baby.
Now after some research, it seems that most traditional recipes direct you to cook the batter on the stovetop, much like making a pate a choux dough. But I did come across a recipe on the back of my tapioca flour which simply said to toss everything into a blender, whiz it up, then pour the batter into muffin cups and bake. Not one to argue with simplicity (and a faster route to warm bread), I tried it.
And while maybe one day I’ll try the other, more complicated method too, this recipe is so good that I know I’ll stick with it for a long time to come. I’ve already made two batches in under a week, and yes, I’ve been the sole consumer of both entire batches. They freeze and reheat beautifully, and if you dial back the cheese, they have the subtle eggy flavor of a really good waffle. You can taste the olive oil too, so you could easily leave the cheese out altogether and just have them as a blank canvas to split and fill, much like a sandwich roll. Or spread them with butter as you would a popover.
Or, dial up the cheese even more and add some herbs, or crumbled bacon. Again, take a cue from a popover or biscuit here, and consider add-ins as you would with each of those style of baked goods.
And now for the recipe!
Brazilian Cheese Bread
Makes 6 rolls
1 egg
1/4 cup (50g) olive oil
2/3 cup (151g) milk
1 1/2 cups (170g) tapioca flour
1/2 cup grated cheese (optional)—I like cheddar or Parmesan
1/2 teaspoon salt (use slightly more if omitting cheese)
1/4 cup fresh chopped herbs, like basil or parsley or tarragon (optional)
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F and line 6 wells of a 12-cup muffin tin with silicone liners—if you have them—or paper liners, or grease them thoroughly. If you are using paper liners, grease them VERY well. I always use silicone liners for these (no need to grease them) and they pop right out without sticking, but I’ve used paper liners too and they tend to stick quite a bit unless you grease well.
Add all the ingredients to a blender and pulse until very well-combined, scraping down the blender as needed. The tapioca flour can get quite gluey and stubborn so make sure it’s all fully incorporated.
Divide the batter (it will be thin, like pancake batter) equally between the 6 lined wells. I like to fill them almost to the top.
Bake the breads for about 20 minutes—the tops should be very puffed, like a souffle, and the edges should be a deep golden brown.
Remove from the oven and let cool slightly before eating. Or, let them cool fully and freeze, then reheat before eating.