Yogurt Flatbread

Back in November, before seeing Nigella Lawson at San Francisco’s Omnivore Books, I ate dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant. The server asked if I wanted rice with my meal. Yes, I did. Astonished, he repeated the question. Yes, I repeated, I’d like rice with my meal.

The entree arrived with a tiny bowlful of rice alongside, precisely opposite of an authentic Chinese meal, which features lots of vegetables, a little animal protein or fish, and ample amounts of rice.

We all know why: carbs and their close buddy gluten, the latest culinary demons.

As a person who spends much of her time cooking, reading, and writing about food, both here and over at PopMatters.com, it’s in my best interest to follow the latest food trends. Thus I’ve watched carb-free, gluten-free eating attain religious fervor with a certain sector of society.

By a certain sector of society, I mean people with the time and money to fuss over their diet.The fact that I am writing about carbophobia places me squarely in this category. We’re the people who scrutinize food labels, worry over fossil-fuel calories, fret over farmed fish. We sniff disdainfully at Chilean tomatoes, open our wallets for pastured beef. We’re urging our cats to nibble kibble whose fish didn’t come from enslaved Thai fishermen.

Sometimes it’s hard to shut up about all the well-meaning good we’re doing. And man, are we ever insufferable.

What does this have to do with carbs and gluten? We’re also the people who want to live forever, or at least age very, very well. We’re doing yoga, we’re cutting down on booze, we’re doing cleanses. We want 50 to be the new 30.

The bad news is we’re all going to age and die. How and why we do so–living long, healthy lives or brief, miserable ones–is poorly understood. Genes, environment, and luck all factor into what basically remains an unknown.

Nevertheless, Americans inhabit a culture terrified of aging and death. And we’ll seize on anything promising to slow a process we’ve little control over. Like diet.

Hence entire groups of otherwise rational people are eliminating enormous classes of foods from their diets–dairy, legumes, wheat products, potatoes, alcohol, rice, sugar–and evangelically claiming all manner of benefit from it.

Are people truly benefiting? Is this the placebo effect? Does getting into the kitchen to cook the vegetables and expensive, pastured meats Paleo diets demand make people who once existed on take-out feel better? Hell if I know.

Here’s what I do know: you are an adult. Eat what you want. And let me eat what I want.

About a month ago I went to dinner with an acquaintance and a friend. Both have renounced gluten.The acquaintance, who ordered salad, scrutinized my meal in horror, behaving as if my burger and fries were a squirrel I’d beheaded live at table. The friend, always less inclined to judge, happily accepted my offer to share the fries. The conversation swirled around the horrors of pain medication before shifting to the perils of gluten, whose renunciation had led to all manner of vague improvements. Then it came, meaningfully. Had I considered giving up gluten? After all, it causes “inflammation.”

The idea that gluten consumption could impact Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, a genetic disorder, is akin to suggesting unleaded gasoline will help a car with a cracked engine block. That the average healthy person thinks he or she will will be spared from itchy skin, heartburn, or the exhaustion of daily living–i.e.–aging–by giving up carbohydrates verges on magical thinking. Coming from highly educated people, it’s troubling. Not to mention invasive and irritating.

Then there’s the question of a life without an oozing slice of Brie, a glass of champagne, a steaming baked potato dripping butter. In a life circumscribed by poor health, I will eat all things in moderation. This does not include fast food or sugary drinks, products we can all agree are terrible for you. Nor was I ever fond of fast food or soda anyway. But warm bread spread with butter? Cheese? Fava beans? French brandy? Oh hell yes.

None of the above applies to those with Celiac disease, who truly cannot ingest gluten. If Shauna James Ahern were coming to dine (I should be so lucky), she could rest assured of a meal prepared on all new plastic cutting boards (unable to trap the merest breadcrumb), prepared in a sandblasted, immaculate kitchen.

In that spirit, I bring you yogurt flatbread, a recipe that, with the mildest of tinkering, comes from Mollie Katzen’s Sunlight Café, a vegetarian cookbook proving the possibility of dietary choice without extremity.

Flatbread may be made without yogurt, but I prefer it with. You may also make these stovetop, but past efforts Chez IK led to smoky kitchens and blackened flour. I find the oven a better option.

Katzen’s recipe calls for nonstick spray, a product that has always creeped me out. Maybe that’s wrong, but I vastly prefer olive oil, which I pour into a ramekin and brush across the bread as necessary. Should you prefer butter, best to clarify it, or be prepared to reset your smoke detectors.

Yogurt flatbreads may be made plain, but I always add minced scallion or spring onion. Other additions include minced fresh garlic, shallot, fennel seed, paprika, salt, pepper, or, on the hotter end, red pepper flakes or cumin.  Here, I added paprika, which gave a pretty pink color, a teaspoon of fennel seed, and some finely sliced spring onion.

Some words on cleanup: flour comes off countertops with a bench scraper. I’m also fond of white vinegar for cleanup where ammonia may be unwelcome–for example, near food. Spray your counter liberally with white vinegar, scrape with bench scraper, wipe clean with old rags or paper towels. Bye bye, gritty, floury mess.

While we’re chatting practicalities: I keep one pastry brush for olive oil and another for butter.

I part ways from Katzen’s recipe in method. Her dough comes together in one bowl.  I prefer dumping mine on the counter and kneading before transferring the dough to a clean bowl for the rise. Yes, more dishwashing, but more confidence in the kneading. Thus, more confidence in the final, wonderful result. Yep, you’re washing two bowls instead of one. Surely you can cope with that.

There is nothing hard about this recipe, but you’ll want to read it through before starting–trust me, I didn’t at first, and it was quite the floury experience, especially given attempts at photography. Don’t be me.

About yeast: store yeast in the fridge or freezer, where it should keep for about a year. If you yeast has been sitting in the cupboard for five years, toss it and buy a fresh package or jar.