Fig bread recipe
2009年9月27日 09:35
Fig bread
8cm×18cm roll
Plain flour 250g
Whole meal flour 200g
Salt 1tsp
Sugar 2tbsp
Yeast 2tsp
Warm water 300ml
Dried figs 180g
Dried raisins 60g
1, Chop the figs into 1cm dice.
2, Put warm water about 40 degrees in a bowl and add salt, sugar and yeast and mix well.
3 ,Add plain flour and mix with a spoon until it becomes sticky.
4 ,Add whole meal flour and mix with a spoon till the dough becomes a bowl.
5 ,Work the mixed dough by hand on the table for 5 min.
6, Spread the dough to be flat and place the figs and raisins on it, then rap them with the dough.
7 ,Work the mixed dough by hand on the table for another 3 min.
8, When the dough becomes smooth and bounce, leave the dough in the bowl and cover with wet tea towel, then let rise for 40 to 45 min to be twice as big as before.
9 ,Punch the dough softly to let the air out and take out from the bowl.
10, Form the dough into a ball and rest it for 5 min
11 ,Form as a button and put on the non stick tray and cover with a wet towel. Let it rise again for 20 to 25min.
12 ,Cut surface with sharp knife for decoration.
13 ,Spray water and sprinkle plane flour with a strainer then bake at 200 degree for 30 to 35 min.
Fig bread by the Sea- Biarritz
2009年9月27日 09:27
When I first arrived in Biarritz, its azure sea and lines of red rooves reminded me of a village I had seen in a Japanese animation movie, and indeed, I could see many parallels between myself, who at that time had no job or fixed address, and the main character. For that reason, in order to wrap up and finish off my 1-year stay there, I ended up spending my final week in Biarritz training as an apprentice in a bakery.
I would start working at 4:30am while the rest of the town lay quietly asleep. As I shaped the dough that had been prepared the night before and left to stand, I would bake croissants - the breakfast food of the French. Even though I sleepy, I would work diligently at the baker's side, stretching out the baguettes to their proper length and kneading the bakery's original petit pains, which contained figs and raisins. By the time the shop opened its doors at 8am, loads of bread would have been baked.
Immediately on the first day, the baker entrusted me with the job of shaping the baguettes. The baguettes would be placed in a large oven, sprayed vigorously with a fine mist of water and begin to cook. The figure of the baker standing at the oven carefully observing the bread while it rose reminded me of a parent protectively standing by watching his children grow up. When he took the bread, which was now a splendid colour, from the oven, it crackled.
"Hey listen! The bread you made is singing!" he said, gazing at me with an extremely joyous expression on his face. The moment I heard the bread "singing," I was so moved that I nearly started weeping.
The baker was 38 years old. He had begun his working life as a school teacher.
"On Sundays, I would always drive into the suburbs to buy these absolutely delicious half-sized baguettes. I loved stuffing them with ham and cheese and then eating them. For some reason, it always had to be those particular baguettes. That's why I started working as a baker 4 years ago and then last year, I opened up my own bakery."
Whenever I looked into his beaming face as he spoke in this way, I would think that at last, I had finally succeeded in finding the person I had wanted to meet when I came to France - someone who started a bakery because he loved bread and, for that reason, worked with tender devotion from 4 in the morning until 9 in the evening because to him, bread was alive. The way in which he laboured spoke volumes - the shop didn't earn him a great deal of money, but when he was making bread, he was happy.
Every time I went to assist him in the bakery, I was moved. I felt as though I was witnessing something important. And I also believe that it the most delicious bread in the world. In my whole life, I doubt that I will ever forget the expression of happiness on his face as he took the bread from the oven.
Salsify Glacé - Biarritz
2009年6月23日 09:19
After I arrived at Biarritz I moved into a backpacker hostel and began looking for work. As luck would have it, within 10 days I found a job and started working in the kitchen of a 4-star hotel near the main beach. Alas, I simply couldn't work there as I had imagined that I could - in the peak time, among staff who charged about while the head chef shouted. "Merde, merde, bouge ton cul!" The stress that I felt working in a French kitchen was only compounded by the fact that the banter flying back and forth was all in French. "Putain, merde, ta guele" I felt as powerless as a baby. Each day I fought back tears as I was scolded even though I frantically rushed about doing everything that I was told to do. My one and only solace was surfing.
One day, after I had managed to complete a small task that had been entrusted to me, I asked my chef superior whether there was anything further I could do to help him. He answered, "Salsifis, /sal.si.fi/:" (which is the French word for "salsify", a type of oyster root). Anxious to respond to these words with action, I raced to the refrigerator and began frantically looking for the salsify. In my mind's eye was a perfect image of glace salsify with a side accompaniment of foie gras. The salsify, however, failed to materialize.
"Where is it, where is it?! I can't find it! Maybe French salsify has a different shape! If I don't find it..." .
If I didn't find it, I could imagine him shouting at me again, this time bellowing the words, "Where the hell are you looking?" I was in such a state of panic that I was half weeping, so desperate was I to avoid being scolded. .
After searching for about 15 minutes, I returned to the chef, shoulders sagging, and dejectedly announced the bad news.
"I'm so sorry, I couldn't find the salsify!" The chef stared at me and enquired, "What on earth are you talking about?" I was confounded. "Um, you said salsify so I..." At these words, he nearly keeled over laughing. "Not salsify," he snorted, " Ça suffit" /sa.su.fi/ ("That is all").
A combination of stress and my clumsy French had colluded to send me on a 15 minute wild goose chase hell-bent on finding salsify - a vegetable that wasn't required.
Afterwards, the whole affair became a running joke in the kitchen and the task of preparing glace salsify was entrusted to me.
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Prologue
2009年6月 8日 12:31
I began cooking when I was only about 3 years old. My mother, who loved cooking, would allow me to watch her work in the kitchen and assist her. While doing so, I would carefully observe every detail of her cooking.
In a home where our family never ate the same thing twice in 3 months, where all of the food served on the table was home-made and as well as Japanese food, foreign cuisine was a large and familiar part of our diet, I received the kind of culinary education that one might say was truly special.
Later, at the age of 18, I decided to set my sights on a career in food and learned about cooking while studying to be a dietician at university. It was probably therefore inevitable that I found my calling in working as a chef.
As I worked, my passion for cooking steadily grew. Finally, one day, with an airplane ticket grasped tightly in one hand, I began to pack my bags.
In the winter of 2005, I set off for France, taking with me my beloved kitchen knife and body board. Having worked in Tokyo at a French restaurant for several years and then as a cooking tutor, it was my desire to experience the art of authentic French cooking for myself.
The only stumbling blocks in my path were my extremely limited French vocabulary (which consisted of a total of 3 expressions: "Bonjour," "Enchantée" and "Je m'appelle Sachiko") and the fact that the only town I knew in France was the French surfing Mecca of Biarritz.
With no acquaintances to speak of and nowhere to w
ork or live, it was truly a rash decision to set out on that journey. And little did I know that the experiences I had here would one day culminate in "Dining Story."
