Western Daily Press (Saturday)
Who needs complex or exotic when you’ve got bread and butter?
Martin Hesp gets to grips with something delightfully simple – the perfect slice of bread and butter.
THERE are times when cooks who usually borrow ideas and inspiration from across the globe find themselves craving simplicity in their diet. And things don’t get much more simple than bread and butter - which happens to be the title of a new book.
However, if you are going to pick up the tome, by Richard Snapes, Grant Harrington and Eve Hemingway, do not think you are in for an easy, plain and simple ride. The book could inspire you to do something completely new and revelatory. It did me.
For more than 60 years I have eaten the latter part of the book’s title – but never once have I ever dreamed of making butter. Bread, yes. On numerous occasions. Although my bread-making ability does leave a lot to be desired.
But butter? Who makes their own butter? You can buy good West Country butter in just about any grocery shop. However, when you see the chapter on butter in the book, you begin to think you may be missing a trick.
“The heights that butter could reach was an absolute revelation,” writes Grant Harrington when describing a chef ’s job he was given at the restaurant Faviken, run by world-famous Magnus Nilsson, in Sweden.
“I tried the butter on my first day and literally did a double take – the flavour just blew me away, and it inspired me to pursue this buttermaking path.
“I learnt a lot about the traditional and ancient techniques that produce this more flavourful, buttery butter in Sweden, and back home I spent a year researching dairy fermentation and butter, with a focus on the science of lactic cultures,” writes Grant.
Ok, so there’s butter, and there’s butter. Which is enough to make anyone ask what they’re missing out on?
“The fermented cream before churning adds a distinct butyric tang,” says Grant in his chapter on “cultured butter”.
“When I broke chunks off the cold block of butter with a fork, tiny remnants would remained on the chopping board – tasting these shards made me realise just how uncared for and plain such an important staple ingredient had come to be, and it made me want everyone in the world to taste something as good as this.”
The chapter introduces the homecook to a basic recipe for making cultured butter – which is basically where you introduce a small quantity of “live” culture (such as yoghurt or creme fraiche) to double cream and leave the mix over the best part of two days, which means 20 hours at room temperature and 20 hours in the fridge (see panel). Then you churn, in the traditional way. And whey is what you get, if you’ll excuse the pun – along with rich, wonderful, creamy butter.
So taken was I with the concept that I purchased a mini-Kilner butter-churner off the internet for £20. I followed the instructions in Bread & Butter and hey presto!
I haven’t experienced the wonder of such magic since I was a student and learned to develop black and white photos in a darkroom. By which I mean, the wonder of seeing something coming out of nothing…
For five minutes I cranked the handle of my little churner and began to think that, in typical Hespfashion, I’d misread the instructions. Then all of a sudden, it started happening. The crank became much harder to turn and, looking into the glass jar, I could see the paddles were wrapped in something cloying and yellow.
A few more turns, followed by a draining off of the whey (which I kept to incorporate into a brilliant cheese sauce – thank you Wykes Cheese for the tasty cheddar) then some kneading by hand, followed by the traditional whacking with wooden bats to make the perfect butter pat.
What a thrill! Sixty-plus years on the planet – at least a sliver of butter almost every day – and suddenly I’ve made a superior version of it myself!
Grant Harrington doesn’t leave it there. His chapter on butter goes on to give recipes for flavoured butters, some of which we’ve published here.
As I’ve said, this was a revelation. Now I am going to follow every step in the making of Richard Snapes’ fabulous-sounding sourdough bread. It will take more time and effort than the butter, but making a
sourdough is something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time.
I like the whole feel of this project, especially at this time of the year. A foodie of my age can be in danger of being like the dog that chases its own tail.
You are constantly on the lookout for something new or exotic. You’ve cooked so many recipes down the years, you’ve become almost lost in your own expertise…
Then someone says: “Forget all that. Why not do something very simple, and do it well?”
Which is why 2019 finds me on a new quest. My ambition is to make the perfect slice of bread and butter. Not just something passable, but perfect. Better, even, than something you’d get in a Michelin starred restaurant. The Rolls Royce of bread and butter, made by my own hand.
I’ve made my first pat of butter, next I will tackle that sourdough. Although I’ll need a week or two to get a good starter going if I’m to achieve that not-so-humble goal. Certainly, I’ll follow Snapes’ instruc- tions to the letter, as the book seems to offer the best recipe for this bread that I’ve seen.
Then maybe I will be able to make some of Eve Hemingway’s recipes which make up the last third of the book. Even her sandwiches seem to be in a league of their own.
The three authors write about being in a cookbook shop marvelling at the 100s of titles: “At first we couldn’t see how bread and butter, two such quotidian foodstuffs, could stand up to these vibrant and exotic subjects,” they say. “Surely, they could not transport you beyond the familiar, because you eat them every day. Or most days at least.
“Yet, on reflection, we realised that bread and butter can do all of these things,” conclude the authors. And they are right. Brilliant bread and butter can eclipse just about anything.