Liberated from the Tyranny of My Hard Drive

Kids, I have important naps to take, so have a blog entry from deep in the bowels of my computer.  It dates back to the summer after I graduated from college, when I was unemployed and spent my days fruitlessly emailing resumes and watching paint dry.  It’s about exploding bread.  Enjoy!

I’ve been trying to pull my own weight around here, which means cooking more often.  Unfortunately for my mom and my sister, I am the least-imaginative chef alive.  Seriously, I am perfectly happy to produce the same four things, ad infinitum:  spinach and ricotta macaroni, calzone, whole-wheat pasta with fake-meat marinara, and Volcano Bread.

I am a huge fan of Volcano Bread, which is a recipe my sister stole from I know-not-where.  Basically, you take a batch of bread dough and cram all kinds of pizza ingredients into it—my favorites are black olives, cheese, artichoke hearts and spinach—and then bake it and watch it explode.  Seriously, molten hot cheese streams down like magma from the top of the loaf.  It’s awesome, and delicious.

So anyway, this Monday I volunteered to cook—since I’m currently the only one without gainful employment, it only seemed fair.  “Okay,” my mom said, “What do you want to make?”  And I sighed deeply, because she knows what I want to make.  There are only four possible answers, for the love of God.

I eventually decided to go for broke and say Volcano bread; usually we don’t make it so much in the summer, because hello.  We live in Eastern North Carolina, and it is hot as balls here right now, and will be until late September at least.  But since we have the air-conditioner on, I figured we might as well go for broke.

“That sounds great!” mom said enthusiastically, but Katie (my sister) immediately threw cold water all over the plan.

“Fresh mozzarella is too wet to use in a bread dough recipe,” she said, shaking her head.  “And I don’t think we have any of the cheap crappy stuff right now.”

“We have pepperjack,” mom immediately countered.

“But that will be weird with artichokes,” I complained.  Because, friends, you know I’m right.

“Then we should make it like Mexican pizza,” mom shrugged.

And Mexican pizza it was.

Mexican Volcano Bread

5 tsp dry yeast

2 cups warm water

1 tsp sugar

1 tsp  salt

4 tsp olive oil

1 cup whole wheat flour

2 cups all-purpose flour

Put the yeast and sugar in the warm water.  Please make sure that the water is warm, not scalding, because I know from painful personal experience that if the water’s too hot the yeast will die.  Leave the mixture alone for about ten minutes—you can leave it for twelve if you’re really careless, but if it goes for any longer than that, you’re in for a world of hurt.  When it’s ready, you’ll know, because it will be frothy and tan and really kind of scary.

Add the olive oil and the salt and stir, then add the whole wheat flour and the all-purpose.  Mix.  The dough will be way too sticky at this point:  keep adding more all-purpose flour until it’s smooth, kneading with your hands all the while.  When it’s ready, add a few more dashes of olive oil to the bread bowl and roll the dough in it—be careful, though.  You want to moisten, not drown it.  Once that’s done, go dislodge the cat from the basket full of dish towels and cover the bowl o’ bread with a cloth.

Wait for an hour.  Punch the risen dough viciously.  You can scream expletives while you’re at it if you find that sort of thing therapeutic.

Now, while the bread was rising, you should have opened and drained a can of black olives, as well as a can of black beans (make sure to rinse those beans thoroughly while you’re at it).  Put these two items in a bowl, mix, and set aside.  Grate two cups of your choice cheese—I used pepperjack and extra-sharp cheddar—and set that aside, too. Make sure the cheese is covered, because a certain dairy-loving cat also enjoys getting up on counters while I’m cooking.

Prepare about a quarter of a packet of fake hamburger according to package directions; microwave a similar amount of frozen corn for about two minutes.  Add both to the black bean and olive mixture.

When you’ve punched the crap out of the dough, grease a bread pan and divide the dough into sixteen little balls.  Put eight on the bottom of the pan, and then sprinkle about half of the black bean mixture on top of that; add a similar amount of cheese.  Put the other eight balls on top of that, and repeat the sprinkling.  Bake in a 350 degree oven for about an hour.  Please do put a cookie sheet beneath the bread pan, or else you’ll have to clean your oven afterwards:  this shit drips.

When the loaf is finished baking, run a butter knife around the edges of the pan to loosen the bread.  Upend the whole thing onto a cutting board.  Don’t worry if the bread falls apart:  it’s being held together by molten-hot cheese, so what did you really think was gonna happen?  As long as the bread is actual bread and not half-baked dough, you’re fine.  You’re not in much danger of the bread itself being undercooked:  I have made gajillions of these things at various elevations, and I have yet to produce one that didn’t fully bake in an hour.  You’ll be fine, trust me.

Let cool until you can eat it without permanently damaging your mouth (about five minutes).  Serve with the salsa of your choice.