New England Brown Bread Recipe

I turn thirty-four this Friday. April 22nd. Danielle asked me what I wanted to do and I said what I always say: crawfish boil, cold beer, family, and no presents because I am a grown man and the only thing I need is a working pit and enough cayenne to make my eyes water. She said, "So a party for sixty people," and I said, "A small gathering," and she said that word does not mean what I think it means, and she is correct, but I stand by my definition because in south Louisiana, sixty people IS small. You should see a wedding.

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The week was work, work, and more work. Three jobs running at once: a kitchen remodel in Prairieville where the homeowner keeps changing his mind about the outlet placement (sir, the outlets go where the outlets go, this is not a negotiation with the building code), a new construction house in Gonzales that's behind schedule because the framer is behind schedule because it rained for six straight days, and a service call at a restaurant on Government Street where the walk-in cooler kept tripping the breaker. The cooler was pulling more amps than a Zydeco band at the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival, and the wiring couldn't handle it. Fixed it in two hours. The owner gave me a plate of fried catfish as a thank-you, which is exactly the kind of payment I accept.

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Danielle is in that end-of-year push at school where the teachers are more exhausted than the kids. State testing is coming, and the pressure from the administration to get those scores up is real, and she comes home at 5:30 with the kind of tired that sits behind your eyes. I had dinner ready every night this week — nothing fancy, just the rotation: red beans on Monday, pork chops and rice on Tuesday, fried chicken on Wednesday (Luc's request), pasta on Thursday (Colette's — she goes through phases, and right now it's a pasta phase). I cook dinner most nights, not because I'm some enlightened modern husband but because I like to cook and Danielle likes to sit down, and marriage is about knowing which of those things matters more at 6 PM on a Tuesday.

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Rémy went to his first T-ball practice. He is the smallest kid on the team by a margin that is, frankly, comical. He looks like someone put a baseball glove on a crawfish. But he swings with everything he's got, and he runs the bases like something is chasing him — which, in Rémy's imagination, there probably is. Danielle and I sat in the bleachers and watched, and I remembered being that size, being that fearless, being the kid who swung at everything because missing is just practice for hitting.

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For my birthday dinner I'm going to make boudin — from scratch, the way Joey taught me. Pork, rice, liver, onion, garlic, stuffed into casings and smoked low and slow on the pit. It takes most of a day. The liver is the key ingredient and also the ingredient that people object to, which is how you tell who's really Cajun and who's just visiting. Real boudin has liver. Real boudin is ugly and grey and smells like a bayou smokehouse and tastes like everything good about being alive. I'll smoke it on Friday morning, and by the time the family gets here in the afternoon, the whole neighborhood will know it's my birthday, because boudin smoke is the most effective party invitation ever invented.

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Mama's driving up from Thibodaux for the birthday. Angelle and Claude are coming from Lafayette with the girls. Pierre said he'd be here, which with Pierre means he'll show up two hours late, eat four plates of food, say twelve words, and leave. That's Pierre. He's been like that since we were kids. Quiet as a cypress stump and twice as solid. I love that man. I just wish he'd RSVP like a normal person.

Now, boudin is my birthday tradition and always will be, but Mama asked if I’d also make that steamed brown bread she fell in love with on her trip to Boston years ago—the kind cooked in a can, dark as bayou mud and sweet with molasses. I figured if I’m already spending most of a day smoking boudin, what’s another pot on the stove steaming bread the old-fashioned way? Besides, there’s something about a bread that takes two hours of patience that feels right for a birthday where the whole family’s coming together. Here’s how I make it.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 2 hrs | Total Time: 2 hrs 15 min | Servings: 2

Ingredients

1 cup pumpernickel flour, or rye meal if available
1 cup coarse wheat flour, or graham flour if available
1 cup coarse corn meal
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon table salt
3/4 cup unsulfured molasses
2 cups buttermilk
1 cup raisins
Vegetable shortening, to grease the cans

Instructions

Prepare the steaming pot. Place a round rack in a pot bottom and set two empty cans into the pot which is tall enough to cover the can tops. If your pot is large, like ours was, place four empty cans in, hold them down and fill pot (not cans) with water until it comes halfway up the side of the cans. The two extra empty cans are just to stop the filled cans from tipping over during cooking if you are using a wide pot. Turn on the heat and bring the pot to just a bubble with the lid on to create steam. Steam will cook the bread.
Grease the cans. Grease two one-quart cans with vegetable shortening.
Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, add pumpernickel flour, coarse wheat flour, coarse corn meal, baking soda and salt. Whisk to combine.
Add the wet ingredients. Whisk in molasses and buttermilk. Once whisked and smooth, add in raisins if using and stir to combine.
Fill the cans. Divide the batter between two greased cans. The batter should fill two-thirds of the can, leaving room to expand while it cooks.
Seal with foil. Cover each with a piece of aluminum foil, shiny side towards the batter. Cut a piece of twine and tightly tie it around the foil to seal the top of each can.
Arrange in the pot. Place the cans in the pot standing up. If your pot is big, place two empty cans beside the full cans to stop the bread from tipping.
Steam the bread. Cover and steam for two hours.
Check for doneness. After two hours, poke through the foil of one can and if it is at least 200 degrees F., remove the can, remove the foil and twine, and push slightly on the top. It should bounce back.
Cool the bread. Place on a cooling rack and cool for one hour. Or if serving warm, slice immediately.
Slice and serve. Run a slim, thin knife around the inside edge to loosen then invert each out of the cans. Cut each loaf into 8 half-inch thick slices and serve two slices per person with butter.

Nutrition (per serving)

New England Brown Bread Recipe — Birthday Bread Steamed Low and Slow, the Way It Was Meant to Be