sunday, march 30th, 2008

Love it or hate it, pumpernickel bread is here to stay. Originating in the Westphalia region of Germany, it was first referenced in print in 1450 as the black bread of Westphalia, and for centuries has managed to both repulse and entice in equal numbers. The etymology of the word pumpernickel speaks volumes. Accepted by the publisher Random House, several American dictionaries including Webster's, in the vernacular, the word Pumpen is a High German synonym for flatulence and Nickel is a derivative of the word Nicholas, a name historically commonly associated with devils or goblins. The literal translation then of pumpernickel is Satan's Gas. Appetizing. No?

Pumpernickel has had a polarizing effect for centuries. In 1586, the Dutch classicist Justus Lipsius wrote in a letter to a friend, "When presented with pumpernickel, with its unusual colour, weight and shape, you would scarcely believe that what you have before you is bread. Black, coarse, and bitter to taste, it comes in clods, five feet in length, which an adult can barely lift with his own hands. It is, indeed, an impoverished people that is obliged to eat its own soil."

For those who do not agree with Lipsius' soil comparison and instead fall into the camp that is able to transcend the bread's unfortunate moniker and color and accept it based on flavor alone, there is nothing like a slice of moist, dense pumpernickel topped with a sliver of smoky lox and dollop of salty caviar.

A distinction must be made between the German and American varieties of pumpernickel as I believe their flavors, textures and even aroma are so different from each other that aside from sharing the distinctive black coloring and rye flour base, there is very little that the two have in common. I must admit that until I tried my first slice of German pumpernickel, I tended to look at the American version of the bread with disdain.

German pumpernickel is a dense, nearly crustless bread consisting of fine and course rye flour combined with a sour dough starter. Since a leavening agent such as yeast is not added to the traditional German recipe, the bread does not rise during the baking process which is what lends German pumpernickel its characteristically dense texture. The German version of the bread is baked in long, thin pans that are covered with lids during the slow cooking process at a low temperature (300 degrees F/149 degrees C) which generally lasts from between 16-24 hours.

During this time, the Maillard Reaction occurs which is what causes the bread to turn nearly black.  The Maillard Reaction, named after the chemist Louis-Camille Maillard who investigated it in the 1910s, is a chemical process typically requiring heat between a reducing sugar and an amino acid. Similar to caramelization, it is a non-enzymatic browning reaction that not only turns the bread black but infuses it with its note of sweetness as the starches convert to sugars. Roasted coffee, malted barley, whiskey and beer along with roasted or seared meat, condensed milk and toasted bread are other examples of food that has undergone the Maillard Reaction.

In contrast, American pumpernickel begins with a combination of rye and wheat flours in addition to the sour dough base. It is typically hand formed and not baked in a loaf pan. As it is not baked low and slow like its German counterpart, darkening agents such as ground coffee beans, cocoa powder or molasses are added. Caraway seeds are also traditionally incorporated into the American recipe which is why it tastes so similar to rye bread.

In the United States, German pumpernickel is harder to find than its American counterpart but it is available in several gourmet food stores across the country. A resource guide follows. I picked mine up at Whole Foods and paired it with St. Marcellin cheese. A soft, creamy cow's milk cheese from the Rhone-Alpes region of France, its pronounced nutty, fruity flavor pairs well with the sweetness of both the pumpernickel and the hazelnut fig spread.

The spread is simple to prepare and when packaged in an attractive glass jar it makes a lovely gift. The toasty hint of hazelnuts and the honeyed notes of the figs are ideal compliments to the heady quality of the St. Marcellin and earthy depth of the pumpernickel. I also like the way the chewiness of the bread plays against the velvety texture of the cheese, with the fig seeds providing just the right amount of crunchy pop.

If you're pumpernickel experience has been an exclusively American one, I would encourage you to seek out the German variety.  It has a flavor all its own and its many virtues finally made me a pumpernickel convert. Considering its dubious name, it must say something for the virtue of the bread that so many are able to enjoy it, love it even, with slices of satan's gas holding their sandwiches together.

Hazelnut Fig Spread On Pumpernickel Rounds

1 3/4 cups  (10 ounces) dried calimyrna figs, chopped finely
3 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup toasted hazelnuts, plus chopped hazelnuts for garnish

8 German pumpernickel rounds
1 crock St. Marcellin cheese, melted

for the hazelnut fig spread

1. In a heavy, medium sauce pan, combine the figs with the sugar and 1 1/2 cups water. Bring to a rolling boil.

2. Reduce the heat, cover and simmer gently until most of the liquid has evaporated and the figs are tender and easily pierced with a knife, about 20 minutes.

3.  Transfer to a food processor and add the lemon juice and hazelnuts, reserving a few for garnish. Puree until smooth. Add water to adjust consistency. Store in a covered container, refrigerated, for up to one month.

to assemble rounds

4. Spread melted cheese evenly atop pumpernickel rounds, stop with hazelnut fig spread and sprinkle with toasted chopped hazelnuts

Yield: makes 8 rounds plus additional hazelnut fig spread for later use 

Resource Guide