Brendan's Moroccan Flatbreads Recipe: PDF Download

Last week, Chef Brendan McDermott showed us all some basic knife skills while making a chicken tagine. The dish was amazing; a filling, satisfying meal in and of itself. But I left out one of the best parts.

We devoured the roast vegetables and the succulent chicken, but our bowls were not empty: there was a good 1/2 inch of pungent, savory pan juice waiting to be scooped up. And that's where Brendan's Moroccan flatbreads come in.

We started the flatbreads before we began prepping the tagine. Actually, we started the flatbreads while Brendan was serving us homemade breakfast (he is the nicest guy in the world). 2 quick hours later, both the breads and the tagine were ready to eat. I hope you can imagine what the kitchen smelled like: the musty sweetness of fresh bread; the rich earthiness of roast vegetables; the slight tinge of Middle Eastern seasonings. The late afternoon sun filtering in softly through the open window. (Okay, that part doesn't really have a scent, but atmosphere is important.)

I loved that Brendan split the flour to include whole wheat. It gave the flatbreads a gorgeous, rustic brown color and a much sweeter, grainier scent. Whole wheat also gave the bread a better chew and a more well-rounded flavor. Sesame seeds would be good mixed in - or, toasted, and sprinkled on top. You can cut the bread into thin matchsticks or batons and dip them in hummus. My mom wanted to know if they could be used for sandwiches, and I think so: oil them, grill or broil them, and load them with leftover roasted or grilled vegetables, soft cheeses like burrata, mozzarella, or tallegio, peppery greens like arugula or watercress, and a hearty aoili.

I used to be wary of baking bread, so I understand the hesitancy, even though I don't understand why we're often so slow to approach bread baking. It's now one of my absolute favorite activities, so much so that I intentionally (and maddeningly) keep my flour stores low so I can't bake off a loaf every time I feel like it. Not even kidding.

Not to sound crazy, but there's a wonderful, rare connectivity to food that I only feel when I bake bread. The time it takes, all of it passive: waiting for the yeast to bloom; waiting out the first rise; waiting out the second; and, hardest of all, waiting for a loaf of bread to cool before ripping into it. The way I've learned to feel through my hands when a dough is the right consistency, when it's been kneaded enough, when it's risen its full and is ready for the oven. The hollow thud when I tap the underside of a loaf to gauge whether or not it's done baking; that first crackly crunch as I rip apart a fresh loaf of bread.

If you're still hesitant to try bread baking, let me appeal to your practicality: making this flatbread won't cost you more than id="blog_post".50. A loaf of bread or package of flatbreads at the store will run you at least .50. Simple economics says, give it a shot. The only thing you have to lose is a couple of cups of flour.

Unless, of course, like me, you become a bread-baking fiend and find it next to impossible to stop baking. There is that slight risk. But it's a risk worth taking.