My very beloved father-in-law (father-outlaw?) recently
cracked me up about hot dogs. We'd been debating getting some from a stand
after a long and beautiful walk--only the stand guy explained that there'd been
some kind of a "hotdog malfunction." "There might be some ready
in five minutes," he said, and we said, "Oh, never mind, that's
okay," because, really. What exactly is a hotdog malfunction? I pictured,
for instance, all the various times a swimming pool had been evacuated, and I said
to Grandpa Larry, "A hot dog is kind of barely functioning as it is."
Which is when he explained, maybe quoting Anthony Bourdain, that a hotdog is
always an implied-consent situation. "It's gross and made of gross stuff,
and that's really just the whole premise of a hotdog," he said, and I
agreed. A hotdog yoinked from a boiling trough, slathered with brown mustard
and dripping sauerkraut into a damp and disintegrating white bun? Walk me past
a Sabrette stand or take me to a ball game, and I'm all over it.
Which is not at all how I feel about hamburgers. And maybe
that's because I'm a hypocrite. Or because hamburgers have kind of e.-coli-ed
their way out of our forgiving hearts in recent years. Or because we have
meatier expectations when it comes to burgers. But I've gotten picky about my
burgers and picky about my buns. As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I hate
buying hamburger buns because they're either wheaty and fine and jaw-droppingly
expensive at Whole Foods, or they're cheap and white and as intuitively edible
as a flip-flop. ("Is this really something you're supposed to eat?"
Ben once said, rolling a fistful of bun into a bright white ball the size of a
Tic Tac.) Also, the off flavors gross me out--the way they seem to soak up all
the off-gassed fumes from the detergents and air fresheners that are seven
aisles over. Do you know what I'm talking about? No? Maybe it's just me.
But it doesn't even matter, because it's fun to make buns
however you feel about the boughten ones: homemade hamburger buns are delicious
and inexpensive and deeply satisfying to make. Plus, they're gorgeous and
show-offy and as nutritious as the flours you choose to use. You won't be
surprised to hear that I use a great deal of whole wheat, and the buns that
result are full-flavored and sturdy--more than a mere vehicle for transporting
your burger mouthwards. You also won't be surprised to hear that I use the
no-knead method, here adapted from the recipe for "Soft American-Style
White Bread" in Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day. Except, of course,
it's not white. And it's buns. You'll be mad if I say these are easy. Which is
why I'm not saying it.
Burger Buns
Makes 15 buns
Active time: 20 minutes; total time, including resting and
refrigeration: 4 (plus) hours
Figure out what works for you, flour-wise. I want to say
start with all white and then add in whole-grain little by little, but I
honestly find it harder to go that direction, as one's family (and self) can
become quite attached to the earlier squishy versions. I started with half and
half and got gradually wheatier and this is, for us, a perfect balance of soft
and wholesomely flavorful. I usually make the buns for beef hamburgers, which I
always serve with chipotle mayo, but what's pictured here are the absolutely
fabulous Bulgur Veggie Burgers with Lime Mayonnaise that I made for a
vegetarian friend; they were as good as any burger I have ever eaten.
3 cups warm water
1 1/2 tablespoons yeast (2 packages)
1 1/2 - 2 tablespoons kosher salt, depending on your
saltiness preference (or half as much table salt)
2 tablespoons sugar
1 stick butter, melted
7 cups flour (I use 3 cups white, 3 1/2 cups whole wheat,
and 1/4 cup each ground flax and wheat germ.)
Milk
Sesame seeds
Pour the water into a large bowl, then sprinkle in the
yeast, salt, and sugar, then stir in the butter and flour, mixing with a wooden
spoon until there are no dry patches. The dough will be shaggy and sticky and
this is fine. Cover it with plastic wrap or a shower cap and let it rest and
rise at a warm room temperature for at least 2 hours and up to 5 hours,
then--if you can--refrigerate it for an hour or longer before using it. You can
shape the buns right away if you must, but even a brief chilling makes it so
much less maddening, I find.
Cover two large cookie sheets with parchment paper.
At this point, I sprinkle the dough with flour and then take
a knife to it and mark it into 14 or 15 pieces, just so I have a rough guide as
I'm grabbing the dough to shape buns. Pull each piece of dough out and shape it
into a little bun by rotating it in your hands to stretch its surface, pulling
it under to create a taut, rounded top and a gathered-up bottom (imagine that
you're giving the dough a firming face lift and tucking all that baggy, extra
skin underneath, only in miniature, if you've already made the full loaves).
You will want to do this kind of quickly, keeping your fingers moving lightly
over the surface of the dough, rather than plunging them inside, where they
will stick. If your hands get doughy, stop what you're doing, wash and dry
them, re-flour the dough, and try again. As you shape each bun, place it on a
prepared cookie sheet.
When all the buns are made, cover them with a dish towel or
two, and leave them to rest until they are no longer cold to the touch--15
minutes or so if the dough was only briefly refrigerated, and a half hour if it
is was colder for longer.
Heat the oven to 450 (or 425 if your oven runs hot.) Brush
the rested buns with milk, sprinkle them with sesame seeds, and bake in the
oven for 20-30 minutes, rotating the pans top to bottom and back to front after
about 15. The buns should be deeply golden on top, brown on the bottom, and
hollow-sounding when you tap them. Remove them to a baking rack, at which point
I cover them again with a dishtowel to keep the surface from getting too crusty
as they cool.
Leftover cooled buns can be frozen in Ziploc freezer bags
for up to a month, and they're still quite good.
