Comfort

When I lived in the House of Salt last summer, I cooked eggs. Duck, chicken, quail, goose, turkey. Hard-boiled, soft-boiled, scrambled, slow-poached, fried, en cocette, in quiche, in custard, on Himalayan salt blocks. In ones, in twos, in decadence, in threes. With piles of spinach, with cheese, with mounds of bread, with no accompaniment. With salt. With pepper. Even in brine. There is no way I do not like to eat my eggs. My favorite way to cook eggs, though, is softly.

There are no bells and whistles involved in making soft-cooked eggs, only patience. They're as delicate as they sound, and as simple. Two eggs, broken into a bowl, lightened with drops of milk, whisked. Sprinkled with salt, pepper, stirred gently at low heat for a dozen minutes. I like to stand there, in front of the stovetop, slowly waking up with the yellows as they slowly solidify into glistening mounds. It gives me enough time to think, to process my sleep-heady emotions, to reconcile myself to the world.


Yesterday I found out that my request to write a creative thesis was granted. I had a few hours with that joy until it was overshadowed by another, darker revelation. It's a paradox, the idea of a darker revelation, but it fits the discomforting feeling I get when I think of it, because two parts of a whole often don't fit together. There are incongruous elements in all things, parts that just don't fit, that don't make sense. There are parts to things that come out only in certain shades of light.


The more I learn about the world the less predictable it becomes, the more we all seem like flickering quarks skating unpredictably around an atom. There are few things I can rely on, but one of those things is the comfort of eggs made slowly in the morning, flecked with black salt, dusted with gruyere. Scooped up with round of flatbread that have slowly been rising overnight. A recipe that has been followed in the hills of Tibet for centuries. A recipe to rely on.

I invite you to find comfort in this bread.

Tibetan Overnight Skillet Breads
adapted from Home Baking by Naomi Duguid and Jeffrey Alford

makes 8 round, soft, slightly sweet flatbreads, roughly 4 inches in diameter

2 cups all-purpose or whole wheat pastry flour
2 tbsp (demerera) sugar
rounded 1/2 tsp baking soda
3/4 cup lukewarm water
1/2 tsp sea salt
coconut or high-smoke point oil of choice, for cooking

The night before: Whisk together the flour, sugar, and baking soda, then add the water. Using a silicone spatula or wooden spoon, incorporate the water until a ball of dough forms. Either using your hands or continuing with the spoon, knead the dough briefly. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap or an air-tight lid and let stand for 12 to 24 hours to rise very slightly (it's baking soda, after all, and not yeast).

12-24 hours later: Turn out the dough onto a floured surface, flatten it, and sprinkle with the salt. Roll up and knead briefly. Cut the dough in half and set one half aside, covered. Cut the other piece of dough into 4 equal pieces. Roll each into a ball under your cupped palm, then flatten each into a small disk. Press both sides of each disk onto a floured surface to flour them lightly. Working on the floured surface, roll out 2 disks at a time, alternating between them to give the dough a chance to relax and stretch. Roll out, without turning the dough over, to 4 inches in diameter. Once you've rolled out as many disks as you'd like to make, cover loosely with the plastic wrap or a clean dishtower.

To cook: Heat a cast-iron or heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Once hot, pour on the oil and spread all over to grease the surface, then wipe off any excess oil with a paper or cloth towel. Reduce the heat to medium-low. Roll out one bread a little more, to nearly 5 inches in diameter, and place top-side down on the skillet. Cook for 10 seconds, then flip over. Cook for 2 to 3 minutes, until golden and touched with darker brown on the second side, then flip back over to finish cooking the first side, about another 2 minutes. The bread will lift up as it cooks, sort of like a leavened pancake. It's done when it's light brown all over, flecked with darker browns. Transfer to a rack or cloth-lined basket and repeat the remaining breads, adding more oil if necessary between batches. If your skillet is large enough, you'll be able to fit two into the pan at once.

Keep the cooked bread warm while you make the rest, or set aside the remaining dough and bake it later. It'll keep, covered, for up to another 24 hours.