Out with the Old Mixer and In with the New . . . (Yukon Gold Potato Bread)

Boy, talk about a close call. Remember how, a couple of posts ago, I mentioned finishing culinary school? My last required course was on wedding cakes, and my mixer at home really got a workout while that class was going on. Picture multiple cake layers of all sizes, and back-breaking batches of buttercream. I was baking like a demon well into March. As usual, I counted on my trusty KitchenAid 6-quart to help me get the job done. Gosh, I loved that mixer. I was always waxing rhapsodic about it. I bought it around the time I started this blog, so it's appeared here in countless photos over the years. I remember when I took it out of the box and beheld it for the first time, I felt like the proud owner of a Formula 1 race car. Couldn't wait to drive it. I knew it was the start of something big.

That industrious mixer worked like a champ, right up until a few weeks ago. The day I used it to make bowl after bowl of cake batter for my final project it chugged and coughed like a washed-up prize fighter who refused to hit the mat. It finished the job but, clearly, something was wrong. The next time I turned it on, a couple days after my class had officially ended, the mixer emitted a low growl--the unmistakable grinding of metal on metal--and followed that up with a ghoulish shriek, as if wailing at the injustice of life.

Then it seized up. The timing alone was a little eerie, I have to say.

Not believing that it could actually be dead, I tenderly tucked it into my minivan and chauffeured it miles across town to a special repair shop to get it checked out. I wasn't overly worried. My perception had always been that KitchenAid mixers simply didn't die young. They just didn't do that. They were too good for that . . . weren't they? I accepted that it might be pricey to fix, but the expense would be worth it. After all, this mixer and I had had countless good times together. We were BFFs. Like Lucy and Ethel. Like Thelma and Louise. Heck, we were a baking marriage made in heaven.

So when I got The Call a couple of days later informing me that it "wasn't worth fixing" I was stunned. Choking back a tiny sob, I listened as the repairman rattled off a list of my mixer's troubles. He postulated that a freak internal break of some kind had occurred weeks or even months before, causing ball bearings and whatnot to fall into the gearbox, where they'd been tossing about like jumping beans ever since, stripping the gears to kingdom come.

He marveled at the mechanical carnage. It was a situation entirely without hope. He paused for a moment and then added, not unkindly, "I don't charge for what I can't fix, so there's no charge for this."

I recovered from the grief in, oh, about an hour (I'm resilient that way), determined there was nothing to do but get on with life, and promptly began shopping for a replacement. I still had faith in KitchenAid despite the catastrophe, and decided the mixer's failure after only four years must have been a rare fluke. I'd give them the benefit of the doubt, just this once, and take the opportunity to upgrade. Because, as we all know, having a legitimate reason to upgrade is the unspoken silver lining when any kitchen gadget bites the dust, without a doubt. Within minutes online I spotted a deal on KitchenAid's new 7-quart mixer--bigger, better, stronger--and placed my order.

The fresh model (pictured in the background above) arrived in less than a week and I'm happy to report that we're getting along like a house on fire. Gloriously shiny, in candy-apple red, it's remarkably quiet compared to even a properly functioning KitchenAid 6-quart. Its larger bowl makes it easier to deal with hefty quantities of dough and, best of all, it has a more powerful motor. I am optimistic it will live far longer than its unlucky dead-at-four-years-old predecessor. It had better live longer, in any case, or I'll have to rethink my long-time love affair with KitchenAid, and that, my friends, is a scenario I shudder to contemplate.

And so, in celebration of my old mixer's life and the new mixer's entrance into my kitchen, I present to you a very fine bread, enhanced by the inclusion of unpeeled, tender-skinned, Yukon Gold baby potatoes.

About this recipe . . . 

This formula produces two large and impressive loaves. It's adapted from The Bread Book: A Baker's Almanac, by Ellen Foscue Johnson. I significantly reduced the amount of fat and sugar in her formula (halving both), and the bread still turned out richer than I expected. What else did I change? Well, the original recipe did not specify Yukon Golds, but I love them. Also, I used instant yeast instead of active dry, used bread flour instead of all-purpose, I halved the amount of eggs (used only one), and I used a little whole wheat flour and a dab of wheat germ. And, as usual, I rewrote the instructions to reflect exactly what I did. This soft bread has nice flavor and a beautiful texture. It doesn't dry out quickly at all, but when it starts to do so I encourage you to use it for toast--it's fantastic toasted.

Yukon Gold Potato Bread
(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Yield: 2 large loaves

1 cup milk (I used 2%)
1 cup warm well-mashed Yukon Gold baby-size potatoes, unpeeled
1 scant cup warm water
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup unsalted butter
1 large egg, lightly beaten

6 to 7 cups unbleached bread flour (about 2 lbs.)
1 and 1/4 tablespoon instant yeast (or use 1 and 1/2 tablespoon active dry, but proof it first)
2 teaspoons salt (I used coarse kosher)
1 and 1/2 tablespoons toasted wheat germ
1/3 cup whole wheat flour
1 pinch ground ginger

About 2 teaspoons softened butter to brush on baked loaves

In a large saucepan heat the milk, mashed potatoes, warm water, and honey, stirring with a whisk.  Add in the butter, and cook until the butter is melted. Take the pan off the stove and let it cool to just lukewarm, then whisk in the beaten egg.

Place 3 cups of the flour, the yeast, salt, wheat germ, wheat flour, and ginger in the large bowl of your mixer. Using the paddle attachment on lowest speed, mix together to combine. Pour all of the wet ingredient mixture into the bowl. Mix on low speed for two minutes, gradually adding in more flour until you've used 6 of the 7 total cups. If the dough is extremely soft and wet, add in most of the remaining cup of flour.

Switch to the dough-hook attachment and mix on the lowest speed for about 4 minutes, until the dough is smooth and elastic. Or, dump the dough out of the bowl onto a well-floured work surface, flour your hands, and do all of the kneading by hand. (I did the first minute or two in my mixer, then dumped it out and finished kneading by hand. I almost always do some variation of this because I just get a better feel for what's going on with the dough by touching it, and I'm less likely to over-knead a dough this way.)

Put the dough into a large bowl that's been oiled or sprayed with vegetable spray. Cover the top of the bowl with a piece of plastic wrap that's also been oiled/sprayed, and cover that with a lightweight dish towel.

Let the dough rise at room temperature for about an hour, or until doubled in bulk. (Mine rose very high. Check out that photo below!)

Dump the risen dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and deflate it by pressing on it.  Divide the dough evenly into two pieces. Round each piece, using both hands, by gently tugging downward in a circle; you want to create surface tension. Put the rounded pieces back on your work surface, cover them with the greased plastic wrap, and let them rest for about 12 minutes.

Grease two standard size loaf pans.

Shape each piece of dough into a loaf, being careful to tuck in the ends and tightly pinch closed all seams. (If you need help shaping your dough, check out this helpful post at Farmgirl Fare, it's a good reference if you're fairly new to the bread process.) Place the dough into the greased pans, cover them loosely with the greased plastic wrap and a lightweight dish towel.

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Let the loaves proof (have their final rise) in a spot that's at least room temperature until the middle of the dough has risen at least 1-inch above the edge of the pan (probably half an hour to an hour). Gently remove the plastic wrap. Spritz the tops of the loaves thoroughly with water (I use a plant mister to do this, but if you don't have one you can always wet your hands and pat the water right onto the loaves if you do it gently) right before you're ready to place them in the hot oven. Quickly spritz a few squirts of water directly into the oven (but away from the lightbulb). The use of water will help keep the loaves from "bursting" when they start their dramatic rise.

Bake on the middle rack for around 35 minutes total, but check the loaves at about 20-25 minutes to see if they're browning too quickly; if they are, cover them lightly with a sheet of foil. The loaves are done when their outsides are deeply golden all over, and their insides have reached 200 degrees (stick an instant-read thermometer in their bottoms to check if you're not sure; I almost always do this with larger loaves). Remove the fully baked loaves from their pans immediately, brush the top of each loaf with a teaspoon of the softened butter, and let them cool on a rack before slicing.

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Three-Seed Sourdough Sandwich Bread . . .

So, I have this sourdough starter that began its productive life almost three years ago, when I took what turned out to be, for me, an incredibly valuable artisan breads class. The starter lives, most of the time, in our basement fridge and occasionally emerges to get a little air and enjoy a snack, as all starters like do to from time to time. It's really pungent whenever I open up its container, really sour and sharp. I've made some of the best bread of my life with that stuff, and I hope it never gives up the ghost. Why I've never done a blog post highlighting the loaves of bread I've produced with it, I can't adequately explain. I'm talking about the kind of sourdough bread that has to proof for a long, long, long time, and which is then baked on a stone in a very hot oven enhanced with steam. This sort of bread has the most glorious, indescribable crust. I guess I just don't know how to explain how to reliably reproduce that kind of bread, probably because I'm not sure I even know myself. It's a bit unpredictable, temperamental. It has a mind of its own.

Anyway, suffice it to say that some sourdough starters can help you produce bread that is excruciatingly good. They assert themselves in finished loaves in a provocative way. They love attention. They positively bask in the glow.

But, then again, there are also some perfectly respectable sourdough starters out there that are kind of shy. In a finished loaf, their flavor tends to hang back. They're mild-mannered wallflowers, yet they're reliable and tasty, and--really--what would the world of bread be without them? That's the kind of starter that appears in today's recipe. It won't knock you off your feet with it's sourness. It'll just nudge you gently. I bought the beginnings of this shy starter just before Christmas from King Arthur Flour (KAF), and have used it three or four times thus far. Its pedigree is distinguished, to say the least. According to KAF, the ancestor of the starter I purchased came into existence well over two hundred years ago. Amazing, isn't it? I couldn't resist ordering it when I read that.

History has shown that a well-cared-for starter can thrive for ages. Literally. And, much as I will always love that very-sour starter in my basement fridge (whose ancestors hailed from a bona fide San Francisco sourdough), I really wanted to try one that was old as Methuselah, just to see what it was like. So when this shy guy arrived several weeks ago, I was excited. I brought it in the house the moment the package hit my porch. It was practically weightless, packed into a small plastic jar. I opened it, sniffed it, and quickly fed it according to the accompanying directions. (KAF actually urges you to name your sourdough, as if it's a baby they've given up for adoption.) I peered at it anxiously over the next couple of days, reassured by increasingly obvious signs of life. It woke up beautifully, bubbling right on cue. Now, it's pretty much a member of the family.

About this recipe . . .

Gently adapted from this very easy formula on the KAF website, I altered the recipe by doubling it; using a simple mixture of sesame seeds, sunflower seeds, poppy seeds, and flax meal in place of their "Harvest Grains Blend" (something I have never tried, but that can be found here); and by rewording the formula to reflect exactly how I assembled it. (You can use fed or unfed starter; I used fed.) I did most of the kneading by hand, and didn't have a dough that was nearly as sticky as the original recipe warns. This is a well-textured loaf that will stay fresh and soft longer than many leaner breads. I used olive oil in it, and that flavor clearly comes through; if you aren't crazy about olive oil, be sure and use a vegetable oil instead. The sourness from the KAF starter was indeed very mild. I think maybe as my new starter matures, it'll take on more character, especially when used in long-proofing bread. It should be interesting to see how it evolves over the next few years/decades/centuries. Stay tuned!

Full Disclosure: Hey, in case you're wondering, I'm just naturally a big fan of King Arthur Flour products and recipes. I was not compensated in any way to wax rhapsodic about their stuff, nor have I ever gotten anything free from them (like, ever). I confess that I just love KAF. Heck, I wish the company was headquartered in Michigan so I could camp on their doorstep, dough-whisk in hand, an unrepentant and flour-dusted bread-groupie. 

Three-Seed Sourdough Sandwich Bread

(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Makes two standard-size loaves.

1 and 1/2 cup liquid sourdough starter, fed or unfed (I used fed; this recipe uses the starter more as a flavoring than as a leavener [it also includes commercial yeast for leavening], so it's okay if you use unfed. This type of liquid starter is the consistency of thick, stretchy, sticky pancake batter; it is not a solid starter. Here's a link from King Arthur Flour that will show you how to make a starter from scratch, in case you have never tried it; note that making one from scratch takes at least several days. It's worth the trouble. Once you've got your own starter up and running, the sky's the limit!)
1 and 1/3 (up to 1 and 1/2 cups) lukewarm water
2 tablespoons olive oil or vegetable oil (I used olive oil, which definitely adds a distinct flavor.)
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 and 1/2 teaspoons salt (I used coarse kosher salt.)
3 cups (or slightly less) unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup plain potato flakes or 1/2 cup potato flour (I used unflavored potato flakes, the dehydrated stuff you can buy to make mashed potatoes.)
1 cup white whole wheat flour or whole wheat flour (I used white whole wheat.)
2/3 cup (total) combined mixture of sunflower seeds, poppy seeds, sesame seeds, and flax meal
4 teaspoons of instant yeast

In the large bowl of your mixer (or, if you prefer, do this by hand), combine all of the dry ingredients and gently mix them together using the paddle attachment on the lowest speed. Add in the sourdough starter, water, and oil. Mix for a couple of minutes until a nice sticky dough has started to form. At this point, if you want to stick with the mixer, switch to the dough hook and mix on low speed for about four more minutes, until the dough is smooth and elastic; if you want to knead the dough by hand, dust a clean work surface with a small handful of all-purpose flour, and knead the dough until it's smooth and elastic (this took me about seven minutes by hand).

Put the dough into a bowl that's been greased, oiled, or sprayed with vegetable spray (I did the latter). Cover the bowl with a piece of greased, oiled, etc. plastic wrap, and then cover that with a lightweight dish towel. Let the dough rise in a draft-free spot for up to about two hours, until it's doubled or almost doubled (mine was doubled at 90 minutes; that's it below, looking nice and puffy).

Lightly grease two standard-size loaf pans (I always use a pastry brush to coat bread pans with vegetable shortening). When the dough has risen sufficiently, dump it out onto a barely flour-dusted work surface (the less flour added at this point the better) and gently deflate the dough. With a bench knife or sharp chef's knife cut it into two equal pieces. Round each piece with your hands, pulling slightly downward on the tops to create surface tension. Let them rest, covered with the greased plastic wrap, for about 12 minutes.

Uncover the pieces and form them into loaves, being careful to tightly pinch closed all seams; place the pieces, seam-side down, into their pans.

Lightly cover the pans with the greased plastic wrap, and cover that with the dishtowel. Place the pans in a draft-free spot that is a little warmer than room temperature.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Let the loaves proof (have their final rise) until the dough rises at least 1" over the top of the pan. Carefully uncover the risen loaves. Mist them with water (use a squirt bottle; if you don't have one, wet your hands  and very gently pat the tops of the loaves) right before you put them in the oven. Place them in the preheated oven on the middle rack, and quickly squirt your mister into the oven to create a quick burst of steam (be careful not to aim for the lightbulb).

Bake for about 20 minutes and then check to see if the bread is browning too quickly; if so, lightly tent the loaves with foil. They should be done in about 30-35 minutes (total time), when the crust is dark golden, and the internal temperature is at least 190 degrees inside. You can check by poking an instant-read thermometer into the bottom of each loaf. (I very often do this, just to be on the safe side. You'll know it's under-baked bread if the inside is kind of gummy/heavy even  after it's cooled.) Take the finished loaves out of their pans and set them on a rack. Melt one or two tablespoons of unsalted butter and use a pastry brush to lightly coat the tops of the loaves while they're still warm. Let them cool almost completely before you slice them.

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Rustic Country Bread . . . Humble Loaves from Your Two Hands . . . Quietly

Do you ever have days when you want to bake, but you don't feel like making a big racket in the kitchen? You just want to do it quietly, unaccompanied by the clatter of metal pans and the growl of your mixer? Maybe the kids are still asleep and you're relishing the momentary solitude, the morning's so calm and peaceful you can't stand to break the spell. Well, I know just how you feel.

Days like that call for recipes exactly like this one. It's guaranteed not to wake the neighborhood. All you really need for it, once you've measured the ingredients, is two big bowls, a spoon and spatula, a bench scraper or sharp knife, and a good work surface for kneading. That's basically it. Oh, and you'll definitely need your own capable hands because they, my baking friends, are the most critical component. And, thankfully, they're quiet.

Now let's talk about the word "rustic" for a minute. The dictionary defines it in a variety of ways. "Characteristic of, or resembling, country people," "made of rough limbs or trees," and my own personal favorite, "lacking in social graces or polish." I think that last one applies pretty safely here without causing offense. After all, this bread is mixed by hand, shaped by hand, and it'll accept a few customizing tweaks without having a high falutin' hissy fit. It knows it's naturally good, and doesn't have to try too hard.

You can easily whip up a couple of these loaves without feeling afterward like you've just run a race or been on a bad job interview. You know how some recipes kind of make you feel like that? Where you can just tell, about halfway in, that things are not gonna turn out well? With this bread, you don't have to worry. It won't let you down. So slide your dough into the oven and prepare for happiness. Maybe even full-blown joy! At the very least, expect to experience a sense of peaceful contentment in your bread baking powers. And don't forget to enjoy the quiet while it lasts.

About this recipe . . .

Adapted from The Farm Wife blog's formula for "Country White Bread," these loaves can be made panned or unpanned, and will accept modest alterations pretty well. I added in, with the bread flour, a little bit of flax meal, along with a smidgen of wheat bran and wheat germ, to give it a little more character and substance. But I've also made it entirely with white flour, too, and that's a great loaf also.

I love bread that doesn't need to bake in a pan, don't you? I baked these on a stone, but you can certainly bake them atop parchment on a baking sheet.

Rustic Country Bread

(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Yield: Two standard size round loaves

1 and 1/2 cups very warm water (about 120 degrees or so)
1/2 cup milk (I used 2 percent.)
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 teaspoons salt (I used coarse kosher salt.)
3 and 1/4 teaspoons instant yeast (I almost always use this kind of instant yeast, which requires no proofing; if you want to use active dry yeast instead you'll need two standard size packets, and you'll want to proof them first in a bit of the warm water before adding that into the bowl.)
6 cups bread flour, and possibly a little more for flouring your work surface
1 and 1/2 tablespoons flax meal
1 tablespoon wheat bran
1 and 1/2 teaspoons wheat germ
2 tablespoons of unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
2 large eggs, lightly beaten

In a large bowl, lightly whisk together the sugar, salt, instant yeast, three cups of the bread flour (only three), the flax meal, wheat bran, and wheat germ. Add the water and milk into this, stirring until very well blended.

Add in the butter and eggs, and stir until fully combined. 

Now, gradually add in about two and one half cups more flour, stirring until the dough looks like a rough shaggy mass that pulls away from the sides of the bowl. 

Scrape the bowl and dump the dough out onto a well floured work surface. (Also flour your hands well, and keep a handful of extra flour nearby for this purpose.) 

Knead the dough until it feels smooth and elastic, working in the final 1/2 cup of flour as you do so; this may take at least five minutes of steady kneading, more or less. 

Use oil, vegetable spray, or shortening to completely coat the inside of another large bowl. Put your dough into it, turning it over once so it's coated all over. Grease/spray etc. one side of a sheet of plastic wrap and use it to cover the bowl, greased side down. Place the bowl in a warm spot and let the dough rise until it has doubled; that should happen within an hour (mine took barely 40 minutes on a hot day). 

Press your fist into the risen dough, here and there, a couple of times to deflate it. Turn the deflated dough over in the bowl and cover it again with the greased plastic wrap. 

Again, let it rise until doubled. And, again, this may take up to an hour depending on how warm your house is. When the dough has doubled, dump it out onto your work surface (only very lightly floured this time) and cut it into two equal parts using your bench scraper or a sharp chef's knife.

Shape each of the two halves into a shallow round, making sure to tightly pinch closed any seams. Sprinkle a very thin layer of cornmeal (or you can use a little flour) onto a couple of parchment sheets. Set the dough rounds on the cornmeal. Cover the dough with greased plastic wrap and let them proof (aka have their final rise) until about doubled. This might take half an hour.   

If you're going to bake the bread on metal baking sheets, preheat the oven to 400 degrees for at least 20 minutes. 

If you're using a ceramic baking stone, preheat the oven to 475 for at least half an hour so the stone can get really hot, then turn the oven down to 400 immediately upon placing the dough into the oven.

If you are using metal sheets, you can just slide the dough, still on its paper, right onto them when you're ready to bake. If you're going to bake on a preheated baking stone, you can still give the dough its final proof on cornmeal over parchment, but then gently move the proofed loaves onto a cornmeal-dusted baker's peel to transfer them to the hot stone (that's what I did).

Before putting the dough into the oven, use a little misting bottle of water (or, if no misting bottle, you can do this by wetting your hands and then gently patting the loaves) to moisten the top of the loaves. This will help prevent the loaves from bursting open as they bake. Also, it's a very good idea to squirt misty water quickly into the oven upon placing the dough in there, creating a nice steamy atmosphere (just don't aim right for the oven light).

Bake the loaves for about 20 to 25 minutes or so, until they're quite golden brown on the top and bottom. (The internal temperature of the loaves should be at least 190 when they're done; if you want to, you can stick a stem thermometer in the bottom of each loaf if you like. Under-baked bread will be noticeably dense/gummy inside, and just feel heavier when you handle it right out of the oven.)

Let the loaves cool on a rack for at least half an hour before slicing. Great for sandwiches, toast, french toast, you name it. Freezes well.

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Homemade Hamburger Buns: As the Suit Makes the Man, so the Bun Makes the Burger

It's hard to predict what Andy, my husband, will say he feels like having for dinner on any given occasion, mostly because he's so flexible and cooperative where culinary pursuits are involved. He  rarely backs away from any dish he's presented with. So, last weekend, I don't know whether I was surprised or nonplussed by the fact that he requested nothing more exotic than hamburgers for his Father's Day dinner. After he told me that, though, I immediately understood that he was hatching a plan; there had to be something unique about those burgers.

 
Turned out I was right. The burgers would be painstakingly prepared from an interesting mixture of three cuts of beef--brisket, chuck, and beef short ribs--making homemade buns a natural requirement. Andy carefully selected the meat himself from a butcher the day before it was to be cooked. He took it right home, sharpened his chef's knife, and with surgical precision trimmed just the right amount of the fat, cut the meat into chunks, and then semi-froze them. Once the pieces were firm but not rock solid, he ground them using the meat-grinding attachment that hooks onto my beloved red mixer (oh yes, he sanitized my baby thoroughly when he was done). No herbs, spices, or flavorings were added, mind you--not even salt or pepper. Just the unadorned, unadulterated meat. 

 
On Father's Day, he grilled those burgers for us with the utmost care, and they were a sight to behold. Now, I'm not exactly a diehard fan of any kind of meat. In fact, I don't think it would be hyperbole for me to say I am often indifferent to it. You'll never catch me prowling through meat-centric blogs or waxing rhapsodic about the delicious bone marrow I sampled at a fancy restaurant (involuntary shudder), that's for sure. But, give me a well assembled, expertly grilled hamburger made from sensational stuff and you'll get a noticeable reaction out of me. Maybe even a deeply sincere, "Yummmmm."

Anyway, we placed those hot, glistening patties tenderly atop the classic hamburger buns that I'd baked fresh the same day and, served with coleslaw, a few crunchy chips, and rosy-red watermelon slices, it all made for a fine and unfussy Father's Day supper, I must say. (Gosh. Maybe I actually like meat more than I thought?)

 
About this recipe . . . 

You might say this burger bun recipe came to me, typed on an old index card, from my late mom (that would be Stella, 1927-2006; honestly, that woman just baked non-stop). Her little handwritten note on the back indicates she first found it in a 1955 Better Homes and Gardens pamphlet called "America's Best Homemade Pies, Cakes and Breads." Her recipe as written would have produced enough for a starving battalion so I reduced the yield down to one dozen standard-size buns, and I fiddled with the method just a tiny bit. 

 
This is a nice, soft, all-purpose burger/sandwich bun with a slightly detectable sweetness, a smooth crumb, and it's sturdy enough to perform its duty admirably. It won't fall apart even if you stack your juicy burger with loads of condiments. These freeze well, too.

Classic Homemade Hamburger Buns
(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Ingredients:
4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, lightly whisked or sifted after measuring
2 and 1/4 teaspoons instant yeast (no need to proof instant yeast)
1 cup warm water
3 oz. vegetable oil
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tablespoon coarse kosher salt
2 medium size eggs, lightly beaten (or 1 and 1/2 large eggs)

2 tablespoons melted butter, to brush atop unbaked buns

In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment, combine two cups of the flour and yeast on low speed for several seconds. In a medium bowl, by hand, stir together the warm water, oil, eggs, sugar, and salt. Add this into the mixer bowl. Beat on low speed for about 30 seconds; stop and scrape the bowl and beaters, then increase the speed to medium and beat for 3 more minutes, again stopping to scrape as needed. 

Remove the mixer bowl from the mixer and stir in the remaining flour by hand. If it's extremely soft and still almost liquidy, add in a little more flour, one tablespoon at a time until it seems more workable. Dump the dough out onto a well floured work surface and knead it until it feels smooth and elastic. 

 

Put the ball of dough into a large bowl that's been oiled or sprayed with vegetable spray. Turn the dough over so it's completely coated. Cover the bowl with a piece of oiled/sprayed plastic wrap. Cover that with a thin dish towel, and place the bowl in a relatively warm spot. Let the dough rise until it's about doubled, perhaps one hour or so. (This is kind of a rich yeast dough--what with the amount of eggs, oil, and sugar it contains--so don't worry if you don't see a quick dramatic rise the way you probably would with a leaner white bread dough. Rich doughs are more subtle in this respect.)

Cover two half-sheet pans with parchment paper.

Deflate the risen dough on a very lightly floured surface. Divide it into three equal portions using a bench knife, or a very sharp chef's knife. Cut each portion into four pieces. Cover the pieces with a sheet of sprayed plastic wrap and let them rest for about ten minutes. 

Uncover them and shape each one them into a smooth ball by rolling it in a small circular motion on your work surface, held gently beneath your closed fingers and palm. Tightly pinch closed any seam on the bottom. Place six buns on each of the two half-sheet pans. Press them down into 3 and 1/2 inch circles. 

Cover them again with the sprayed plastic wrap and a light dishcloth and put them in a warm spot. Preheat your oven to 375 degrees, and let the buns rise for about half an hour as the oven heats up. 

Just before placing the risen buns into the oven, brush the top of each one with melted, unsalted butter.


The buns will bake quickly. Peek at them after about ten minutes. Take them out when the tops are golden and the bottoms are deeply golden. 

Let them cool completely, on a rack, before slicing them for burgers. 

(If you'd like to comment on this post, or to read any existing comments, please click on the purple COMMENTS below.)