A surprisingly effective snow fell the other day, wrapping the yellow buds of daffodils and honeysuckle in cotton. After the tantalizing warmth of the week prior, this cold was not welcomed, though it was beautiful. We eagerly anticipate the gentle air of spring, full of scent and promise, ready to be done with the chill of winter, but nature seems nonplussed, regardless of conditions. In winter, when all nature seems tucked up and waiting, a magical growth is occurring.
If we can pull our faces from out of the burrow of our scarves, we will see the greens of moss and lichens are every bit as lush as the verdant carpet of spring, maybe more so for the paucity of other color. This is the time they grow, capturing more territory, reveling in just the right clime for their blossoming. The stone walls and tree trunks seem to glow with a rich spectrum of green, from soft yellow lime to the deep dark of a pine forest.
In spring, the growth is explosive, almost visible. The lichens’ growth is sedate, slow, befitting the harsher clime. It is a more somber environment. I have a mantra which, when I am in my right mind, I live by: If you want extraordinary experiences, you need to put yourself in extraordinary circumstances. I have a habit of bundling up in inclement weather and stepping out to see what I have not before. This day, the lichens seemed to glow even more electric green, a luxuriant counter to the flowing white mist that fell. The mockingbird that had been announcing the arrival of spring in joyous notes in the morning gloaming sang just as jubilant after the snow, just not as frequently, seeming to need to gather his will between songs. The air in the neighborhood was thick and muted during the snowfall, like walking into a cathedral.
This is a truculent time, fluctuating between periods of glorious, buttery warmth and gusty, stinging cold. The festivities of the season also reflect this. The opulent revelries of Mardi Gras are followed by the austerities of Lent, the emotional swings as dramatic as the weather. Like the fabled groundhog predicting winter’s fate, Mardi Gras seems to be a moment of exuberance in anticipation of the joys of spring. But tempered by the cold realities of the slowness of the seasons, the preparation of land and soul for the coming rebirth is measured and slow. The playful excess of a King’s Cake is succeeded by Lenten sparsity. Though, to our pleasure, this is somewhat mitigated by a fine and simple bread with the attitude of a pastry.
A tender blending of flour and butter, leavened with soda and buttermilk, with raisins as a kicker, Irish Soda Bread seems the perfect bread for this time of life. Heavy enough to be substantial, crumbly as a newly furrowed field, it serves equally well as breakfast or dinner fare. And like all simple baked goods, technique is where the magic lies.
As anyone who has taken on pie dough or biscuits knows, a light touch makes the difference. The butter is cut into the flour, brief mixing leaving pea-sized pieces of butter mottled through the dough. These jewels of flavor melt down in the oven, creating a honeycombed structure that crumbles deliciously in the mouth. Whether sliced to accompany a rich Irish stew or cut into wedges to enjoy, scone-like, in the morning, this bread proves the maxim that simple pleasures are the best.
One of the joys of a cold winter’s walk is the return home. As I arrived at my door, I brushed the boutonniere of snow festooning my lapel and stepped into the house. I was greeted by a murmuring fire, the purr of my coffee pot and the delicious pleasure of some sweet cream butter melting slowly on a wedge of soda bread. Like the gradual warming of the world outside, the heat of my house at last penetrated, allowing me to unbundle and relax, preparing me for whatever lay in store.
Irish Soda Bread
All Purpose Flour 4 cups
Baking Soda 1 ½ tsp.
Salt 1 tsp.
Granulated Sugar 3 Tbls.
Unsalted Butter 1 ½ sticks (6 oz.)
Raisins 2 cups
Buttermilk 1 ½ cups
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. This recipe comes together qickly.
Measure all dry ingredients into large mixing bowl.
Cut chilled butter into ½ inch cubes.
“Massage” the butter into the dry ingredients until it resembles a collection of small peas.
Stir in the raisins.
Make a well in the bowl and add the buttermilk all at once. Stir until it just comes together. It will resemble a shaggy mass.
Place onto lightly floured surface and pat into one large or two smaller discs about an inch thick.
Transfer to cookie sheet. If you have two sheets, double pan the bread to keep the bottom from over browning
Cut a cross into the top of the loaf (loaves) and place into oven. One loaf bake for 32 minutes, 2 loaves bake them for 25 minutes.
Remove from oven when golden brown and somewhat firm. Cool slightly then eat copiously!