Vegan in the Rye

**A Story of Context**



My Pap has a building down on E. 71st Street in Cleveland. When I was a kid, we called it "The Shop." It was a combination storage facility and headquarters for Pap's pool company. The rooms were a maze of old toys and furniture, empty muriatic acid buckets full of scrap metal and pipes, pool cleaning equipment, ladders, and more. It smelled of chlorine and motor oil, the radio was tuned to the polkas or WRMR, and the fridge was full of RC Cola, Squirt, and Tang.

Down the block was the Hostess factory/outlet. Pap never bought bread or snackcakes from the store. He went down to Hostess. To this day, I still don't think I've ever had a fresh mini-powdered-sugar donut. But Pap always had a stash of Ho-Ho's and Twinkie's for my sister and I to unroll/suck the filling out of, down The Shop


Along with the donuts and Susie-Q's, Pap always bought loaves of rye bread. Thin-sliced, just a smidge stale, Beefsteak Rye bread. It made the best salami-and-mayo sandwiches eaten kinda warm after sitting in Pap's truck all morning. Cold Honeybaked ham sandwiches at midnight on Christmas Eve have to be served on rye bread. There is no more excellent a Sunday morning breakfast than extra toasted rye slathered with way too much butter.

Rye bread tastes like "The Shop" and it tastes like Pap standing at the stove frying eggs in bacon grease and it tastes like being 7 years old.

**End Story**

Obviously I have a soft spot in my heart for rye bread. So the other night, when The Kid mentioned the amazing salted rye bread served at his previous place of employ, I took it as a sign from the Carbohydrate Gods demanding I bake up some rye bread.


Spring Forward Salted Rye


5 cups white bread flour, divided
1 package active dry yeast
3 cups warm water
1/2 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons caraway seeds
2 tablespoons salt
2 cups rye flour
coarse sea salt (for sprinkling)


Sift together 2 cups of the white flour, the yeast, and the water in a large bowl. Cover and set in a warm place (on top of an oven set to 200 or so worked marvelous for me) for 1 hour.
Stir in the oil, caraway seeds, and salt. Add the remaining flour (white and rye) 1 cup at a time until the mixture becomes dough.
Knead the dough on a lightly floured surface for about 15 minutes or until it no longer sticks to your hands.
Set in a lightly oiled bowl. Cover with a warm, wet towel and let rise for an hour in a warm place. The dough should double in size. Then punch down the dough and let rise for another hour (or stick in the fridge overnight like I did and continue baking the next day).
Shape the dough into two loaves and place on baking sheets lined with parchment papers. Cover with damp towels and let rise for another 30 minutes.
Right before baking generously sprinkle and pat down into the top of the bread the coarse sea salt.
Bake the loaves in an oven preheated to 400 degrees for about 45 minutes or until deep brown. Cool for 20-30 minutes on a wire rack before slicing.


***


It wouldn't be lying to say that the addition of salt to a loaf of rye bread is the best invention since, well, sliced bread. I'm interested to try other kinds of salt, especially the pink Himalayan kind (which is usually extra coarse) or something flaky and more delicate.


This bread was great with leftover vegetable soup as well as with some hastily cooked up Pesto Hash (onions and peppers sauteed with leftover pesto and cheater garlic, mixed into cooked spaghetti squash).


It's also flavorful enough to be served with nothing but a glass of cheap red wine.



A loaf of bread, a jug of wine...all that was missing was the thou.