Tuesday, December 07, 2010

Dan Lepard's Sour Cream Loaf

Although I was initially taken by this bread because of King Arthur's story about a British home baker named John Dyall, who wrote out this recipe and mailed it to King Arthur, it turns out that the bread should actually have been attributed to Dan Lepard, a noted British cook/baker/writer.

King Arthur has since added a parenthetical attribution to Mr. Lepard. I received several comments telling me about the mis-attribution, and a nice letter--not threatening to sue me--from Mr. Lepard's partner and business manager, inviting me to consider editing my post to clarify the genesis of this recipe.

The internet can be a morally iffy spot. While it's an amazing advance to be to have so much information at one's fingertips, a lot of the information is wrong, or, as in this case, incomplete. Baking is
both an individual and a collaborative effort; there is probably very little that is actually new under the sun. Still, I'm glad to credit Mr. Lepard for printing this recipe in The Guardian. But I would never have tried it were it not for King Arthur, which wouldn't have published it without its relationship with one John Lyall. So thanks to all, and I encourage you to try this bread. (By the way, I've now got a link to Dan Lepard's engaging blog on this site, and I encourage you to take a look at it).

The recipe is a modified no-knead loaf, although it takes a modicum of kneading, and it's even easier, as it doesn't require all the hours of resting that no-knead bread does. It contains both cold water and boiling water, a little sugar, and a half-cup of sour cream--this mixture apparently provides a welcoming atmosphere for the yeast.

Flour, either white or whole wheat, is added to the mix and kneaded by hand--very briefly--until it makes a rough dough.

The dough rests for about 10 minutes. Then minimal kneading again (really minimal--about 10 seconds); rest; repeat. The three sets of brief kneading are enough to make it look like proper bread dough.

It takes only about an hour for the dough to double in size. The mixture of boiling water, cold water, and sour cream must be one where the yeast thrives because, even in a cold kitchen on a cold day, the dough is unstoppable.

And it continues rising enthusiastically for another hour, until it domes over the top of the loaf pan. The oven spring is just as enthusiastic. Midway through the baking, I realized I'd better move the top oven rack up one notch or the bread was going to run right into it.

In addition to being easy to put together and relatively quick (it is a yeast bread, after all), this recipe makes an exceptionally good basic white sandwich loaf. Jim is a very good audience for freshly baked bread. The goodness of bread still containing a hint of warmth from the oven always seems to take him by surprise; his reaction was, "This is REALLY good bread--it doesn't even need butter."

It's not the crusty artisan bread that we all crave, but it doesn't pretend to be. And sometimes you just need an ordinary loaf of bread.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Cloverleaf rolls

I believe that the butter-topped rolls in The Bread Bible are the best I've ever tasted. They're certainly the best I ever made. But this wouldn't be much of a blog if I just kept repeating the same old recipes, so I tried the "soft butter rolls" from Jeffrey Hamelman's Bread. Better than store-bought rolls, to be sure, but they don't measure up to Rose's version.
The directions say that the first rise only takes an hour. The dough eventually got nice and fluffy, but it had barely moved after an hour. I put it in the refrigerator overnight, took it out immediately in the morning, and let it rise for another three hours. Only then did it double in size.
I should have wondered--there are four cups of flour in this recipe, but only one teaspoon of yeast. In Rose's recipe, it's more like a teaspoon and a half of yeast for two cups of flour. There was no way this was going to take only an hour to proof.

For some reason, I find it very relaxing to divide dough in numerous pieces, weighing each piece to make sure it's exactly the right size. I was supposed to divide the dough into small enough pieces that I'd get two dozen rolls, but it looked like I'd have two dozen bite-sized rolls, so I increased the size and made 18. Once they were shaped, they were supposed to rise again. Hours later, I was running out of time, so they were going to have to go into the oven, risen or not.

They look a little bit puffy, but certainly not like they're going to turn into giganto-rolls.

And they didn't. Bigger than bite-size, but not by much. And because they didn't rise enough, they were heavier than Rose's version, not so light and tender. Since they were brushed with butter, both before and after coming out of the oven, they had a lovely buttery taste and the crust had a slight crispness that was very attractive. So definitely not a failure, but neither did they become the new gold standard.
If I tried them again, I'd either add more yeast or allow for a lot more time for proofing. But, since I like to try out new recipes for this blog, I guess I'm not likely to try them again.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Jim Lahey's Pane Integrale

I bought another bread cookbook last week: My Bread, by Jim Lahey, owner of The Sullivan Street Bakery. I'm afraid to count how many bread books I have. But I use them all--eventually.
Lahey is, of course, the person who, along with Mark Bittman, took the bread-baking world by storm with his no-knead bread. For a while, everyone, including me, was baking no-knead bread. Even non-bread-bakers were baking no-knead bread. I think it's now sort of last year, but it should have a place in every bread-baker's repertoire.
In this book, Lahey talks about his travel and background, and what brought him to baking bread. (No offense intended, but he seems like he's kind of a quirky and difficult-to-get-along-with kind of guy). He keeps mentioning that he quit various jobs because he had disagreements with co-workers. But what would you rather have? One more nice guy or an irascible originator of the Sullivan Street potato pizza? I'll take Mr. Irascible, as long as I don't have to live with him.
The book is a slim volume, with recipes for about a dozen basic breads, a few more breads made with liquids other than water, ten or twelve different pizzas, and as many sandwiches.
I chose the pane integrale, or whole-wheat bread, to start with. Except it's not really whole-wheat; it's bread made with some whole-wheat flour. Which is okay with me, because I usually find bread made with 100% whole-wheat flour too dense, solid, and bitter, the exception being Chris in Rhode Island's whole wheat bread.  To be exact, this bread has 300 grams of bread flour and 100 grams of whole wheat flour. So it could be called Pane 1/4 Integrale, I guess.

If you recall, no-knead bread begins with a quick mix of flour, yeast, salt, and water. That mixture is left by itself to rise for 12 to 16 hours. (In my case, it was ready for the next step at about 9:00 p.m., but I wasn't ready for it, so I put it in the refrigerator.) The next morning, I took it out, and did the next step after the dough got back down to room temperature. Then you scrape the dough onto a floured counter, and pinch the edges together in the center.

And then you shape the dough into a round loaf. After the dough rises on a floured cotton towel for a few hours, comes the part where you simply have to defy logic and experience, not to mention a fear of burning your hands. Get that preheated pot out of the oven, take a deep breath, and turn the risen loaf into the pan. No, the pan doesn't have to be greased or lined with parchment paper or anything else. Cover the pan and put it back in the oven.
About a half-hour later, you can take the lid off and continue baking the bread until it's nice and brown. You want it to be a deep brown, not a wimpy pale color.
Oddly enough, it comes right out of the pan without any coaxing or prying. At least it always has so far, although anything can happen. As Lahey describes it, the bread "sings" when it's removed from the oven and begins to cool. It's more of a crackly sound than a singing sound to me, but singing sounds more poetic.
This is a first-class rustic bread. Although I'm not the world's biggest fan of whole wheat bread, in this case I think the whole wheat flour gives the bread a little depth of flavor that the all-white no-knead bread is lacking. You could try any combination of white and whole wheat that you wanted, as long as the total amount is three cups of flour. There are a number of other variations in the book that sound delicious, and a few that just sound odd (the one made with strained sea water and nori comes to mind). But I'm pretty sure I'll return to this recipe.

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

The Village Baker's Olive Bread

I managed to get hold of a copy of The Village Baker, by Joe Ortiz, a book that I've heard many good things about and which is now out of print. It was originally published in 1993, and some of the relatively recent bread-baking innovations aren't used here; for example, Ortiz uses active dry yeast, which requires proofing, rather than instant yeast, which doesn't. He doesn't talk about making use of a stand mixer to knead wet, artisan doughs--something that makes them much easier for a home baker to handle. Most seriously, he uses volume measurements instead of weighing, and he doesn't even tell you the method he uses for his measurements. These shortcomings don't make the book unusable, but they do require you to make some substantial changes to the directions. Still, I ended up with a very good loaf of green olive bread, made with Picholine olives.
What makes the bread so tasty is its long, slow preparation. First you make a compagnon levain, just a variation on a bread starter. It uses yeast, flour, water, and salt, and is left to rise slowly at room temperature for about 8 hours, and then to rise even more slowly in the refrigerator for another 24-36 hours.
The bread itself is made with the starter, more bread flour, a little whole wheat flour, a little more yeast, salt and some olive oil. The relatively small amount of whole wheat flour gives the dough a rustic, speckly brown look. The dough is pretty sticky, so I let it rest for about 20 minutes and added a little more flour.
Then you flatten the dough, and sprinkle a cup of chopped olives on top. Suddenly a cup of chopped olives looks like a LOT of olives. Roll up the dough, and knead it so that the olives are distributed more or less evenly. They'll also try to pop out of the dough, but you can pop them right back in.
The dough isn't as sticky as it was before its rest, but a dough scraper is handy to use so that it doesn't stick to the counter.
The dough rises again, and then is shaped into a boule. It's brushed with a little olive oil before going in the oven.
This would be an ideal bread to bake in a banetton because it doesn't hold its shape well enough to make a nice round boule, but I didn't think of that. So I ended up with a flat-top boule. But, of course, no one knows what you had in mind, so it's unlikely that anyone is going to criticize the shape of the bread.
Whether you like the bread will depend on how you feel about olives. The olives are a very assertive flavor, and because there are so many of them, it would be difficult to eat your way around them. It's definitely an olive-y olive bread, and so, in my opinion, it's best as a stand-alone and not as an accompaniment to other food. Just let it cool for a while, and eat it dipped in olive oil. (However, if you want it to accompany, say, a roast chicken or broiled fish, I don't think anyone would report you to the food police).

Panne alle Olive
--adapted from The Village Baker, by Joe Ortiz

To make the Compagnon:
About 3/8 cup water
1/2 teaspoon instant yeast
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup bread flours

Mix all ingredients by hand, or with a stand mixer with a flat blade, kneading until the dough is smooth and firm.
Let the dough rise in the bowl, covered with a damp towel, for 8 to 10 hours.
Punch the dough down, and transfer to covered bowl. Refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours.

To make the bread:
1/2 tsp. instant yeast
3/4 cup water
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup compagnon (see above)
1 tsp. salt
3 tsp. olive oil
1 cup chopped green olives.

Using a stand mixer, mix the yeast, water and all but about 1/2 cup of the flours until blended. Add the compagnon, bit by bit, until it is broken up and mixed in with the flour mixture. Add the salt and two teaspoons water. Knead in the rest of the flour, as needed, until the dough becomes elastic. It will still be wet.

Turn out onto the counter and knead by hand, adding more flour if necessary for the dough to be workable. Let rest for 20 minutes.

Flatten the dough and strew the chopped olives on top. Roll the dough up onto itself, and knead it until the olives are necessary. Add more flour only if necessary to keep the dough from becoming too sticky.
Cover the dough and let it rise for one hour.
Flatten out the dough and fold the edges over into the middle to form a round loaf. Place it on a parchment-covered baking sheet and let it rise for about 2 hours.
Preheat oven to 400, putting a baking stone on a rack on the lower third of the oven.
When oven is hot, brush the loaf with the remaining teaspoon of olive oil, slash it 3 times on the top with a razor blade or sharp knife, and bake for 30-35 minutes, until golden brown.

Sunday, October 03, 2010

Classic Brioche Loaf

This bread is actually Part I of a cake: namely, the Caramelized Pineapple Pudding Cakes, the October 4, 2010 cake featured on Heavenly Cake Place. In the recipe for the pudding cakes, which are more like bread pudding than cake (and that's not a bad thing), Rose gives you permission to buy brioche rather than make it. But there was no way I was going to miss out on the chance to have even part of a loaf of brioche around the house. In fact, my only regret is that I didn't make two loaves, since it's a very small recipe and would have doubled easily.
Like many of Rose's bread recipes, this one starts out with a sponge. It only sounds complicated. It's simply a whisked-together mixture of, in this case, water, flour, yeast, sugar, and an egg. On top of this batter-like mixture goes flour, sugar, salt, and a bit more yeast. After a few hours, you can see the sponge start to bubble up under the flour. This is satisfying, because you know that something yeasty is going on. You can mix up the dough after a few hours or you can put it in the refrigerator to await your convenience. Although brioche has a French name, it's not at all hoity-toity. In fact, you can boss it around to your heart's content.
When you feel like it, in hours or days, you make the dough. Mix the sponge with a few more eggs and a stick of butter with the dough hook for a good five minutes. (You could do it without a stand mixture, but it would be difficult). It's sticky, but after a few more hours in the refrigerator, it becomes easier to handle.
After the dough has both risen and been refrigerated for a while, it's time to put it on a floured counter, pat it into a rectangle, and give it a business-letter turn. Repeat. Then it's wrapped loosely in plastic wrap and put back in the refrigerator. How long? Whatever fits your schedule.
This is what it looks like after some time in the refrigerator--soft and puffy. It's chilled enough so that it's pretty easy to handle.
It gets shaped into a loaf, and, after it's risen just above the top of the loaf pan, you slash it down the middle.

With an egg-yolk glaze, the loaf comes out of the oven looking super-shiny and appetizing.

The cake is going to need about 2/3 of a loaf, leaving us only a few slices to have as wonderful toast, or as just plain bread. And I mean plain: Jim had a slice with no butter, no jam, no nothing, and pronounced it rich, slightly sweet, and highly satisfying.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Sweet Rustic Bread

This is the kind of bread that makes you feel amazed that you actually baked it yourself--when you smell it baking, when you break it open and see its lovely texture, and, most of all, when you taste it. Of course, it is a three-day bread, so there should be some payoff.
Day 1 is simply making the sponge: a matter of mixing flour, water, and a small amount of yeast, and ignoring it until it's nice and bubbly. Then it can be refrigerated until it's ready to play its part in Day 2.
On the second day, two cups of the sponge is mixed in with more bread flour, a little sugar, water, olive oil, salt, and a bit more yeast. The dough is so wet that it must be mixed with the paddle attachment first--until it comes together enough that you can use the dough hook.
The dough hook goes to town for at least eight minutes. It would take a long time if you did it by hand, and the dough is so wet and sticky that I'm not sure you could do it successfully.
After about three hours, the dough becomes very soft and billowy, and you do get to roll it around in flour by hand, which is nice because it has such a good feel.
Another rising time, although this one's only about an hour. We have about four hours of rising time so far, and we're well into Day 2. It doesn't look like this bread is going to be on the menu for dinner.
After just about an hour, it's puffy and bubbly--ready to shape into eight small loaves. In my mind, I had envisioned these as about the size of dinner rolls--they're described as "wedges," but they're much bigger. There are little loaves of bread all over the house.
All these loaves have to proof for another two hours or so. Then they're supposed to go in the refrigerator overnight. I was going to skip that step, but as it happened I had a meeting to go to, so I ended up making room in the refrigerator for eight large--and getting larger by the hour--wedges of bread dough.
On Day 3, however, I had nothing to do but take the pans out of the refrigerator, let them come to room temperature, and bake them. The directions said to bake the loaves for five minutes at 475, and then for another 20 minutes at 425. I did 450 and 400 in my convection oven, and the first batch still got very, very brown. (I couldn't fit all eight loaves on my baking stone, so I had to bake them in two batches).
You're supposed to sprinkle powdered sugar lightly on top of the loaves, but I omitted the sugar for the loaves I made for dinner. On a second go-round, I'm not sure I'd put powdered sugar on any of them. Even without the sugar on top, they're sweet enough to have as a breakfast treat with butter and jam, yet not so sweet that you can't have them for dinner. The powdered sugar topping is attractive at first, but it melts by the next day. Having sugar on top makes the rolls much less versatile as well.
This "Sweet Rustic Bread" is one of the master recipes from Peter Reinhart's Crust and Crumb: Master Formulas for Serious Brad Bakers. It's one of his earlier books--published in 1998, three years before The Bread Baker's Apprentice. These formulas are long, so instead of typing the recipe, I'll just link to it.

You can find this recipe at a link to google books

Friday, August 06, 2010

Panmarino (Rosemary Bread)

I have a pot of rosemary growing just outside my back door, so when I saw this recipe, while browsing through one of my favorite bread cookbooks, I wanted to give it a try--especially when I saw how easy it was. In the dog days of summer, I just didn't have the energy for a full-on, two-day, complicated recipe.
Mixing milk and oil--that's about as difficult as it gets.
Well, that and chopping up the rosemary.
The dough comes together very nicely.
And shapes into a free-form boule quite easily.
Apart from the rosemary, what intrigued me about this loaf was its alleged sparkliness. The inventor of this bread, a baker named Luciano Pancalde, supposedly read a biography of the d'Este family, which told about a fabulous banquet where a rosemary bread encrusted with diamonds was served. I see some problems with this story, not least of which is the damage that eating diamond bread would do to your teeth. Luciano decided that his bread would have sea salt crystals on top and that they would "sparkle like diamonds" at a fraction of the cost. (Sea salt may be expensive, but not if you compare it to diamonds). Actually, I think that will be my new standard for deciding if something is too expensive for me to buy. I'll just ask one question: "cheaper than diamonds?" If yes, there's no reason to deprive myself.
As for the bread, I didn't really think the sea salt was going to convince anyone that I'd made diamond bread.
The salt looks faintly sparkly before baking. After baking, it looks a lot like ... salt.
It's a good bread, especially given how easy it is. However, I'll admit it doesn't surpass my own personal gold standard in rosemary bread--Rose's Rosemary Focaccia, from The Bread Bible. Once my nemesis, the rosemary focaccia has become my friend and my go-to bread for all kinds of occasions. But you have to keep trying new recipes; otherwise, you may miss the bread that's even better than anything you've ever made. This one doesn't meet that high standard, but it's certainly worth making, especially if you have a lot of rosemary and not a lot of time.

Notes: The recipe, as given, makes two loaves. I cut it in half. The recipe cautions that it is slightly large for a mixer, so if you make the full recipe, you'll have to stop now and then and push the dough down so it will thoroughly mix. That caution, and the fear of overtaxing my mixer's motor, are the reasons I made only one loaf.
For my taste, the bread was just slightly too salty. If I make this bread again, I'll cut the salt to about six grams per loaf.

Panmarino (Rosemary Bread)
--from The Italian Baker, by Carol Field

3 3/4 teaspoons instant yeast
1 cup warm water
1 cup milk, room temperature
1/2 cup less 1 tablespoon olive oil
3 1/2 to 4 tablespoons finely chopped fresh rosemary
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon (20 grams) salt
6 3/4 cups (900 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour

1 to 1 1/2 teaspoons coarse sea salt

Whisk together the yeast, flour, and salt in a large mixing bowl. Using the flat beater, mix in the water, milk, and olive oil. Mix until the flour is absorbed. Add the rosemary and change to the dough hook. Knead on medium speed until elastic, smooth, and somewhat moist, about three minutes. Finish kneading briefly by hand on a lightly floured surface.
You can also knead all ingredients by hand.

Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover tightly, and let rise until doubled, about 1 1/2 hours.

Gently punch the dough down in a lightly floured surface. Cut the dough in half and shape each half into a round ball. Place the loaves on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper, and sprinkled with cornmeal.

Put baking stone in the oven and preheat to 450 degrees. Just before oyou put the loaves in the oven, slash the top of each loaf in a star shape with a razor blade and sprinkle the sea salt into the cuts of each loaf. Bake 10 minutes, spraying three times with water. Reduce the heat to 400 degrees and bake 30 to 35 minutes longer. Cool completely on racks.

Monday, May 31, 2010

'Levy's' Real Jewish Rye Bread

Monday, May 31, 2010
I have made bread in the last two months--really, I have.  I just haven't had time to string two sentences together.  But I've finally gotten so tired of seeing those hot cross buns that I must blog about something else.  I got some rye flour from King Arthur a few months ago, and I was worried that, at this rate, it would go bad before I'd used an ounce of it, so I finally decided that on this long weekend, when I didn't even have to bake a cake, I'd open the bag and bake some rye bread.  I looked for exotic recipes, but I couldn't find anything that sounded better to me than good old "'Levy's' Real Jewish Rye Bread" from The Bread Bible.
This bread is made using the flour mixture on top of sponge method, which is excellent because you can start it the night before you want to eat the bread.
It's also a great method because as the sponge starts to rise, it oozes up over the flour mixture, giving it an alien space-blob appearance.
See, it looks like it's taking over the poor flour mixture, which is being swallowed up by The Blob.
All is normal again, however, when it's kneaded.
Rose gives alternate directions for mixing by hand and by machine. This dough has to be kneaded by ten minutes in the KitchenAid, and I didn't even check to see how long it's kneaded by hand. Probably if I kneaded bread by hand, I wouldn't have to lift weights to try to stave off the batwing arms that you start to get at a certain age.
The bread rises for about an hour and a half. You take it out of its bowl, stretch it out, give it a business-letter fold, and let it rise again.
The wonderful thing about bread is that you can just stick it in the refrigerator at any point if, for example, you decide that you must go out and buy more flowers, even though you have no room in your garden for more flowers, unless you dig some up, or at least do some serious pruning. When you return, with $148 of flowers, (I think I need help!), the dough is just right to shape and bake.
I'm putting it on parchment paper on the bottom of La Cloche. The top is in the oven, preheating.
Rose learned from her grandmother that the best way to eat this bread is with unsalted butter, sliced radishes, and kosher salt, crushed with your fingertips and sprinkled on top. I had radishes, salt, and butter, and of course I had the bread. But I ended up using the bread as a substitute for hamburger buns for our Memorial Day cookout, and after I'd eaten a big fat hamburger, I had no room for the more genteel sliced radish option. Maybe tomorrow.

"Levy's" Jewish Rye Bread
--from The Bread Bible, Rose Levy Beranbaum
3/4 cup (4 ounces, 117 grams) bread flour
3/4 cup (3.3 ounces, 95 grams) rye flour
1/2 teaspoon (1.6 grams) instant yeast
1 1/2 tablespoons (0.6 ounces, 18.7 grams) sugar
1/2 tablespoon (10.5 grams) barley malt syrup
1 1/2 cups (12.5 ounces, 354 grams) water, at room temperature

Flour Mixture
2 1/4 cups (12.5 ounces, 351 grams) bread flour
1/2 plus 1/8 teaspoon (2 grams) instant yeast
2 tablespoons (0.5 ounces, 14 grams) caraway seeds
1/2 tablespoon (0.3 ounces, 10.5 grams) salt

Dough and Baking
1/2 tablespoon (0.25 ounces, 6.7 grams) vegetable oil
about 2 teaspoons (about 0.5 ounces, 16 grams) cornmeal for sprinkling

Make the sponge: Combine sponge ingredients in a large or mixer bowl and whisk until very smooth. Set it aside.

Make the flour mixture and cover the sponge: In a separate large bowl, whisk together the flour mixture and gently scoop it over the sponge to cover it completely. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and allow it to ferment for 1 to 4 hours at room temperature. (The sponge will bubble through the flour mixture in places.)

Mix the dough Add the oil and mix with the dough hook on low speed for about 1 minute, until the flour is moistened enough to form a rough dough. then raise the speed to medium and mix it for 10 minutes. The dough should be very smooth and elastic, and it should jump back when pressed with a fingertip; if it is sticky, turn it out on a counter and knead in a little extra flour.

Let the dough rise: Place the dough in a large container or bowl, lightly oiled. Oil the top of the dough as well. Allow the dough to rise until doubled, 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Let the dough fall out on to a lightly floured counter, press it down gently, fold or form it back into a square-ish ball and allow it to rise a second time, back in the bowl covered with plastic wrap for about 45 minutes.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured counter and gently press it down again. Round it into a ball and set it on a cornmeal sprinkled baking sheet, or on a cornmeal-covered piece of parchment paper on the bottom of La Cloche. Cover it with oiled plastic wrap and let it rise until almost doubled, about 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 450°F an hour ahead of time. On a shelf at the lowest level, place a baking sheet or bread stone. Unless you're using La Cloche, place a cast-iron skillet or sheet pan on the floor of the oven (or the bottom shelf) to preheat.

Slash and bake the bread: With a sharp knife or singled-edged razor blade, make 1/4- to 1/2-inch-deep slashes in the top of the dough. Put it in oven; if you're using La Cloche, cover it with preheated top dome. Otherwise, toss1/2 cup of ice cubes into the pan beneath and immediately shut the door. Bake for 15 minutes, lower the temperature to 400°F and continue baking for 30 to 40 minutes or until the bread is golden brown and a skewer inserted into the middle comes out clean.

Cool the bread on a wire rack.