There’s a famous Laurie Colwin essay wherein the writer happens upon an elderly, sari-clad woman selling funky little breads on a street in lower Manhattan. Colwin asked what they were and the woman could only reply “Two dollar fifty cents” which was pretty cheap even by 1993 standards. Anyway, the piece goes on to recount the writer’s travails in duplicating this flatbread, which, by her description “had the aspect of a giant griddle scone and some of the texture of an English muffin.” It was spongy, she said, and flecked with little black onion seeds which sound to me like Nigella. (Nigella the spicy seed, not Nigella the spicy English food writer.)
The first time I read this piece, I was convinced that the only real flatbread I’d experienced was relatively tasteless Norwegian
lefse, and really, what the hell was the point of eating something that had all the flavor of the Host? But then I reconsidered: what about pita? Lavash? Pizza? Matzo? Crumpets? My epiphany came when I went on what I thought was a focaccia jag back in the early 1990s: since none of my actual bread loaves ever came out right, I started throwing together these odd, yeasty Frisbee-like planks spotted with fresh herbs and drizzled with olive oil and sea salt. When I got home from work, the planks would take me about half an hour from start to finish–a little longer if I bothered to take my coat off.
At the time, I was a very new editor working at a famous publishing house that had, the day I joined the staff, nine books on the Times bestseller list. For my trouble, I was paid a pathetic sum that essentially allowed me to pay the bills and do little else beyond eat pasta and read manuscripts. So, when I discovered that flatbread was incredibly cheap to make and could be wrapped around pretty much anything (even dripping stuff, like chili) thus making it perfect for a desk-bound lunch, well, needless to say it was a very exciting day in the Altman apartment. When I was single and poor, that kind of thing really thrilled me.
These days, I’m married and while I’m not totally poor (relatively speaking), I’m still completely infatuated with yeast-free flatbreads of all kinds and more recently, skillet breads and savory pancakes. First off, they’re easy to make and they’re cheap as hell (flour+water+salt=roti; masa+water+salt=tortillas; teff+water+salt=injera). Most of them freeze incredibly well. If you’re gluten intolerant, you can make them with rice or garbanzo bean flour (resulting in
socca, or farinata). If you have bits of things hanging around in your fridge–maybe a few shrimp, some vegetables, a little bit of pork or ham or chicken–you can dump them into the pan before pouring skillet batter over them, and you’ll wind up with a close facsimile of Korean pancakes or Vietnamese
Banh Xeo.
The fact of flatbread as universal culinary/monetary lifesaver is ubiquitous; the act of making flatbread requires taking almost nothing, making something spectacular out of it, wrapping it around something even less spectacular (or not), and sometimes using it as a utensil. Consider
Indian chapati, roti, bhaturas, parantha, poori; dhoklas from Gujarat; Sri Lankan hoppers; Bengali luchis; Algerian msemmen, which is prepared the same way as Chinese scallion pancakes (which are also actually flatbreads as opposed to pancakes); Ethiopian injera; Neapolitan pizza; Armenian matnakash; Iranian sangak; Azerbajiani Lahvash; Chinese bing; French crepes; Native American frybread; Scottish bannocks; New Mexican sopaipillas; the aforementioned Norwegian lefse; tortillas, matzos,
and so much more.
The greatest tome ever written on flatbreads, and how cheap, easy, and delicious they are to work into your everyday meals is arguably Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid’s 1995
Flatbreads and Flavors, which is mercifully still in print. But you needn’t go overboard, the way I tend to when I develop a culinary crush.
If you’ve got flour, water, salt, and a skillet, you’ve got the makings for some of the most parsimonious, ancient, and crave-worthy breads you’ll ever taste.
Basic Flatbread Recipe
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 – 1 cup warm water
Optional: Toasted cumin seeds, red pepper flakes, nigella seeds
1. In a large bowl, mix together the flour and the salt. If you’re including additional spices, add them now. Drizzle in the water with one hand, and mix with the other, until the dough begins to come together as a ball. (This can also be done in a food processor.) It shouldn’t be overly wet or sticky; if it’s too dry, drizzle in more water.
2. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface, and knead for about 5 minutes. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let rest for an hour.
3. Remove from wrap, and divide into 6-8 equal-sized pieces of dough. On a lightly flour-dusted surface, press them flat, and roll each piece out to a disc 6 inches in diameter.
4. Set a griddle or heavy skillet over medium high heat, and lightly brush with vegetable or grapeseed oil. Place the breads, one at a time, on the griddle, moving around periodically with a spatula. If the bread begins to balloon, press it down with the spatula, and turn over. The cooking time should be no longer than about 20 seconds, total.
5. Remove each bread to a plate draped with a tea-towel. Cover and keep warm until their all done.
Makes about 6-8 breads
It’s virtually impossible to not eat these the minute they come out of the pan, but if you can restrain yourself, you’ll have remarkably good breads that freeze well, travel perfectly, and can be wrapped around virtually anything.
