19. One, Two, Three, and Nothing Else

Anton: Here is a number that surprises people. A full third of every shortbread finger, by weight, is butter. The old recipe is not measured so much as counted: one part sugar, two parts butter, three parts flour. Bakers call a rule like that a ratio.

Vera: A third? No wonder it melts on the tongue.

Anton: That is the point of it. One, two, three, and nothing else. No egg, no milk, no raising powder. The butter does all the work, and the oven only has to be patient.

The Butter Dish, Late Morning

Vera: Faye has carried the butter dish to the warm shelf above the radiator and is watching the butter soften, poking it every minute with one finger. She asks why it is called shortbread when the fingers are long.

Anton: A good question. Short is an old baker's word for crumbly. Plenty of butter coats the flour and keeps it from growing stretchy strands, so the biscuit breaks cleanly instead of bending. That is what short means.

Vera: And where does it come from?

Anton: From the cold, windy lands of the far north, where it was baked for the turning of the year and for weddings, and pressed into round moulds carved with sheaves of wheat. Fingers are the easiest shape for children.

At the Work Table

For 16 fingers: 100 g fine sugar (1/2 cup), 200 g soft butter (3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons), 300 g plain flour (2 1/3 cups), a pinch of salt and a little extra sugar for the top. A 20 cm (8 inch) square tin. Oven at 160°C (325°F).

Anton: A grown-up heats the oven to 160°C (325°F) and lines the tin with baking paper.

Anton: A child beats the butter and sugar with a wooden spoon until smooth and soft.

Anton: The child stirs in the flour and salt, then gathers the crumbs with both hands into a smooth ball. Handle it as little as you can.

Anton: A child presses the mixture evenly into the tin with the fingers and smooths the top with the back of a spoon.

Anton: A child pricks it all over with a fork in neat rows. Bakers call this docking. A grown-up marks it lightly into 16 fingers with a knife, in two rows of eight.

Anton: Chill the tin for 15 minutes, so the shortbread keeps its shape.

Anton: A grown-up bakes it for 40 to 45 minutes, until pale gold all over, never brown.

Anton: The grown-up lifts the tin out in oven gloves, sprinkles the top with sugar and cuts along the marks while it is warm. Leave it in the tin until completely cold, because warm shortbread breaks like thin ice. It keeps for a week in a tin.

A Black Range in the Snow, Long Ago

Vera: My grandmother's neighbour Gerda baked shortbread every year on the last day of December. Her kitchen had a black iron range that ticked as it cooled, and a wooden mould on the wall carved with a sheaf of wheat.

Vera: We walked to her house through the snow, my grandmother and I, carrying a lantern. Gerda gave me the broken corners, warm, and told me that whatever was broken belonged to the baker's helper. I was very proud to be the baker's helper.

Anton: Every good kitchen has that rule. The broken ones are the reward.

The Hearth Rug, Just Before Noon

Question: Faye asks why the shortbread has to be pricked all over with a fork.

Answer: The little holes let steam escape while it bakes, so the shortbread stays flat and even instead of rising in bubbles, the way holes in hard ground let the rain soak in.

Three quick questions. One: What are the three parts of the old recipe? Two: What does short mean to a baker? Three: When do you cut the fingers?

Answers. One: One part sugar, two parts butter, three parts flour. Two: Crumbly. Three: While it is still warm, along the marks.

Vera: Faye has found a broken corner, as if by accident. She says she is the baker's helper now.

Anton: She has earned it. Pour her a cup of rosehip tea, made from the red fruits of the wild rose, picked after the first frost and dried. It has no tea leaves at all, only a sharp, bright taste, like autumn in a cup.

Key Words

Short: crumbly and tender, the way a biscuit is when plenty of butter keeps the flour from growing stretchy strands.

Docking: pricking a dough all over with a fork, so steam can escape and it bakes flat.

Ratio: the amount of one ingredient compared with another, such as one part sugar to two parts butter.

20. Pour the Hot Milk Over and Stir Fast

Anton: Picture a street seller at the edge of a market in a warm, green land far to the south. She lifts the cloth from her basket, and steam rolls out like morning mist from a river. Inside lie little golden balls of bread, crisp outside, soft and stretchy within, smelling of hot cheese.

Vera: And there is no wheat in them?

Anton: Not a grain. They are made from tapioca flour, the starch of a root called cassava. The children will find the dough strange: squeaky, sticky and wonderful.

Vera: So a child who cannot eat wheat could eat these?

Anton: Yes, as long as every other ingredient is checked as carefully as the flour, although a child who cannot have milk or egg must leave these on the plate and wait for another recipe.

A Bus Station in the South, Long Ago

Anton: I first ate them at a bus station in that land. Aurora sold them from a folding table under a mango tree, where green parrots shouted in the branches.

Anton: My bus was four hours late. In those four hours she taught me the whole recipe and sold me eleven bags. When the bus came, she gave me a twelfth for the journey and refused my coins.

Vera: Did you ever see her again?

Anton: No. But every time I scald the milk for these, I hear the parrots.

The Cheese Board, Late Morning

Vera: Bruno is sitting on the stool by the oven door with the cheese grater in his lap, waiting for a grown-up to start. He wants to know why the milk has to boil.

Anton: Pour the hot milk over and stir fast. Boiling milk half cooks the starch at once, turning it thick and glassy. Bakers call this scalding. Without it the dough would never hold together, and the balls would crumble like dry sand.

At the Work Table

For about 24 balls: 250 g tapioca flour (2 cups), 150 ml milk (2/3 cup), 60 ml oil (1/4 cup), 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1 egg, beaten, and 100 g finely grated hard cheese (1 cup). Oven at 200°C (400°F).

Anton: A grown-up heats the oven to 200°C (400°F) and lines a tray with baking paper. A child tips the tapioca flour into a large heatproof bowl.

Anton: A grown-up brings the milk, oil and salt to the boil in a saucepan, handle turned in. Milk boils over quickly, so watch it.

Anton: The grown-up pours the boiling milk over the flour all at once and stirs fast with a wooden spoon. It turns lumpy and sticky, with glassy patches. Steam rises, so children stand back.

Anton: Leave it for 10 minutes, until only warm. Then a child adds the egg a little at a time, squeezing and mixing with one hand, until the dough is smooth and soft. Mix in the cheese.

Anton: With oiled hands, the children roll balls about 3 cm across and set them on the tray, a little apart.

Anton: A grown-up bakes them for 20 to 25 minutes, until puffed and lightly golden. Take the tray out in oven gloves and wait five minutes, because the cheese inside is very hot. Unbaked balls can be frozen on the tray and baked straight from the freezer, a few minutes longer.

Vera: And if the dough is too stiff to roll, a spoonful of milk. Too sticky, more oil on the hands.

On the Stool by the Oven Door

Question: Bruno asks how the balls can puff up with no yeast and no raising powder.

Answer: The milk and egg turn to steam in the hot oven. The scalded starch makes a stretchy skin that holds the steam, so each ball swells like a seed pod in the sun.

Three quick questions. One: What root is tapioca flour made from? Two: Why does the milk have to boil? Three: How hot is the oven?

Answers. One: Cassava. Two: To half cook the starch, so the dough holds together. Three: 200°C (400°F).

Almost Noon

Vera: It is nearly midday, and this morning has taken us all the way from oats pressed together in a bowl to a bread made from a root that grows under the ground in a land none of these children has ever seen.

Anton: And in the next part of the day, at noon, the yeast wakes at last. Pocket breads, little pizzas and soft rolls, and dough that grows while we wait.

Key Words

Tapioca flour: a fine, white, squeaky starch made from the root of the cassava plant.

Scalding: pouring a boiling liquid over flour or starch, so that part of it cooks at once and turns thick and sticky.

Cassava: a tall plant of hot lands whose thick, starchy root is cooked and eaten, or dried and ground into tapioca flour.