Best Ever PB&J Bread

Up until very recently, when I discovered that when I make oatmeal I can put all kinds of delicious things in it that my mother would never approve of (maple syrup, for example) and also found this recipe, James Beard's Oatmeal Bread is the only form in which I willingly ate oatmeal. And when I say willingly, I mean that I actually have a mental block when it comes to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that makes it hard for me to imagine them NOT on this bread. I probably ate this bread every day of elementary school, slathered in Adam’s All Natural Peanut Butter and homemade jam (yes, that also makes the sandwich better. . .) and still probably eat it two to three (some times even five) times a week. I also think it is completely insane whenever anyone suggests using this bread for anything else, although it is quite delicious for many things, including roasted vegetable sandwiches with mustard and melted cheese.

Whenever anyone starts talking about making bread, I just assume they use James Beard’s Beard on Bread. I once got a pub-quiz question right for which the answer was the James Beard Award. My copy of the book (which I bought the first time I saw it in a store) automatically opens to the page with this recipe (not that I need the recipe anymore, since not only is the recipe memorized but also my mother’s commentary from the first time she sent it to me, before I owned the book). I put the recipe in any “Family Recipe” collection gathered by friends, and have been known to plan entire weekends around my desire to make and/or eat it.

If you’ve ever woken up and wondered what kind of arm work out to do for the day, wanted to punch someone but decided that it was socially inappropriate, needed an excuse to spend the entire day in your house in your pajamas taking naps every two hours, or just wanted to eat the world’s best peanut butter and jelly sandwich, this is the bread for you. Since I purchased myself a stand mixer a year and a half ago, the otherwise muscularly challenging mixing process has been eased significantly, although I still do a considerable amount of the kneading by hand just because it is so satisfying and helps work out some of that rage-without-an-outlet that accumulates when you commute by bicycle in a big city. More on bike lanes at a later date.

The one caveat I have about this bread is that the rising is very challenging in the winter. As in, you may end up with dense midget loaves unless you preheat your entire kitchen. This could be a failure on my part in some way, but if I didn’t pretty much have an addiction to this bread that makes it seem like it should be a controlled substance, I would probably stop making it during the winter months. Hot humid summers in Philadelphia, on the other hand, are perfect, and you end up with light, moist loaves with a lovely crumb.

Adapted from Maryetta’s Oatmeal Bread, James Beard’s Beard on Bread

Ingredients

4 cups boiling water

3 cups rolled oats (Quick or regular, either works)

7.5 to 8 cups all-purpose flour, approximately, preferably unbleached (but not whole wheat!)

2 packages active dry yeast

2 tablespoons salt

4 tablespoons salad oil (I use olive oil)

1/2 cup molasses (really, you can use anything from a couple tablespoons to 1/2 a cup, depending how strong you want that flavor to be; maple syrup also works but has a different flavor)

Pour the boiling water over the oatmeal in a large bowl and leave to cool. (You do not want it to be cold or entirely cool. It should still be warm when you get to the next step, just not boiling, and you want the oatmeal to fully absorb the water. Use your judgment but if you burn your hand when you touch the bowl, it is too hot.) Then stir in 2 cups of flour and the yeast. (I always feel like "stir" is a generous overstatement of what I'm actually doing here, but the goal is to mix the flour and yeast into the oatmeal as much as possible). Place in a warm, draft-free spot and allow to rise, uncovered, until doubled in bulk (roughly. A note about rising: the warmer it is, the faster it is. If you stick it next to a drafty window, you will probably still be waiting next Christmas. If you can't rely on the temperature of your kitchen, what I usually do is boil more water than I need and keep the remainder covered while the oatmeal is cooling. When it is rising time, I just put the bowl on top of the pot with the water, and this is usually enough warmer that it helps. Or, you could turn the oven on briefly and put the bowl on top). If you listen carefully later on in this stage, you can hear the dough making a gentle popping noise as it rises. . . the science nerd in me went crazy the first time I realized this. I wrote it in my book because it seemed really important.

Punch down and work in (stir) the salt, salad oil, molasses, and enough of the remaining flour to make a stiff dough (I struggle with this part because you really do want it to be pretty stiff before dumping it onto the bread board, but it is also REALLY hard to stir. So, pretty much, keep adding flour until you can no longer stir and integrate it. This part is a lot easier if you do it in the mixer with a dough hook). Turn out on a floured board and knead, adding extra flour if necessary (almost certainly necessary) to make a smooth, pliable, firm dough--about 10 minutes, but you cannot knead too much (okay, maybe it takes James Beard 10 minutes and my mom 5, but it usually takes me closer to 15 or 20. The key to kneading is that you are basically folding the far side of the dough towards you and than making a pushing away motion. There are some awesome YouTube videos of people demonstrating this. You are trying to turn the individual bits of flour into long gluten molecules, so think of it like pushing and stretching. When you have kneaded in one direction a couple times, turn the dough 90 degrees and repeat. It will basically get skinnier in one direction, and then when you rotate it, you are now using the skinny direction to your advantage). You can also do most of the hard work in a stand mixer, and then finish it off by hand (that's what James Beard himself suggests if you have a stand mixer. . .)

Divide the dough into three equal pieces (I always screw this up, but do your best to estimate even pieces), and form into loaves to fit three BUTTERED 9x5x3-inch loaf tins. Allow to rise again, uncovered, until doubled in bulk. Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven 40 to 60 minutes, or until the bread sounds hollow when removed from the tins and rapped on top and bottom (and is a nice brownish color). Cool on racks before slicing and eating 17 PB&Js in a row.