Irish Soda Bread

The story behind this recipe is 15 years old but the recipe itself is very of the moment.

It starts with my friends and me growing up in a really nice town in a really nice part of the world. We all have really nice families and went to a really nice local school. We worked hard at school and sports, did stupid things on the weekends, drove around in battered old cars (shout out to Jenny’s POS Mercury Sable!) and felt like grownups throwing dinner parties (I know, what a SHOCKER that I enjoyed throwing dinner parties as a teenager) and taking ourselves out to dinner with saved up babysitting money.

One place we went all the time served this soda bread. Because the city we grew up in was small, my dad also happened to know the owner, and I eventually worked in its sister restaurant next door as a waitress and barmaid (is that still a word?). The owner was Irish, batshit, and only accepted cash (see: how to not pay taxes). She would eventually fire me in front of restaurant full of diners for allegedly giving a free meal to a boy who would come in to see me (shout out to Jake Cohen, wherever you are!). There was no way to prove that I hadn’t (see again: cash only), so I left with nothing but the fancy Japanese linen apron I was wearing and the recipe for this soda bread.

But that’s just backstory. The bit that makes this relevant to today is that in this era of home quarantine there is a resurgence of bread making and a run on yeast. I’m down to my last few sachets, which means our days of homemade bread are numbered.

OR ARE THEY?!

Enter: soda bread. I used to make soda bread all the time - I was actually shocked I hadn’t already written about it here already. But then that yeasty no-knead charmer came and stole my heart and I soon forgot about little old soda bread.

Not that it’s more difficult than the notoriously easy no-knead. It’s much, much easier: it’s as easy as turning your oven on, measuring out and mixing together some ingredients, dumping them onto a floured tray and putting on a timer. The result is wholesome and moist, perfect with butter and jam or butter and smoked salmon or sharp cheese and chutney or dipped in a hearty soup or literally anything you use a hearty bread for. Oh, and the recipe contains a secret hack for homemade buttermilk. It’s basically perfect for today.

Irish Soda Bread

As long as you use 3 3/4 cups total, you can combine whatever mixture of flour and bran you want. The more bran you use, the heartier it will be. I like an easy combo of white flour and oat bran, but the classic recipe is below. I almost never have wholewheat flour on hand so I have used the dredges of whatever weird flour I bought on a whim and now really want to get rid of (spelt, buckwheat, etc.). I never buy buttermilk, I always make it in the easiest hack of all time. Never buy buttermilk again! Never buy soda bread again! Soda bread will keep wrapped in a dishtowel on the counter for a week or so. I’m sure it’s amazing with raisins.

2 cups buttermilk (milk left to sit for 10 mins with a big glug of vinegar or lemon juice)

1 1/4 cups white flour

1 1/4 cups wholewheat flour

1 1/4 cups bran (oat or wheat)

2 teaspoons salt

2 teaspoons baking soda

If you’re making your own buttermilk, measure out a little less than 2 cups milk, then add in a big dash of vinegar or lemon juice. Let it sit and curdle while you assemble the other ingredients.

In a big bowl, mix the flour and bran together. Doesn’t matter what your ratios are exactly, or even which flours and bran you use, but the classic is one-third white flour, one-third wholewheat flour and 1/3 oat or wheat bran. Add in the salt and baking soda.

With a wooden spoon, slowly mix in just enough buttermilk to make a sticky, wet dough. For me, this is usually a little less than the buttermilk I’ve made.

Grab a baking tray and sprinkle it generously with flour. Pour your dough out onto the floured tray and sprinkle a little more flour on top. You can pat it into a general loaf shape if you want. It’s not really going to rise. Bake for 45 minutes or so: you’ll know it’s done when the bottom sounds hollow when you tap it.