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I have been an avid consumer of English muffins since my youth. They are one of those rare Universal Goods in life, not to be questioned by any sane partaker of reality. The gluten-intolerant among us aside (who get an obvious pass), I strain to imagine that some people don’t like English muffins. I’ve never met one of those folks. And I’m not sure who such people might be, or what horrible childhood experience guided them toward such an aberrant understanding of one of the great, simple pleasures of life.
What’s not to like about an English muffin? Whether humbly buried under a perfectly poached egg with Hollandaise, or encasing an over-medium egg with a slice of cheese and a strip of bacon, or toasted, sans guile, with butter and jam, an English muffin might be the perfect breakfast carbohydrate. Oh sure, bagels have their standing. But bagels have egos, a desire to be “big”, the main attraction, with a need for applause, honor and recognition. They’re New Yorkers. English muffins have no such conceit. They aim to complement and cooperate, but with an elegance and style that transcends mere toast; they’re reserved, stoic …English.
Though always an admirer, for decades I wondered what an English muffin actually is. It’s like a teenage boy’s new infatuation with girls — you know you like them, but, geez, what’s actually going on over there is a total mystery (which will take decades to clarify, if such epiphany ever arrives). And so it is with English muffins. It looks baked, but you definitely want to toast it anyway. What’s goin’ on with that? Isn’t toasting optional with bread products? Weird.
As a kid, you never saw English muffins just magically appearing on a baking sheet, like cookies occasionally did; they always emerge from a white, rectangular cardboard box wrapped in inconvenient cellophane (although, as all muffin-lovers know, modern resealable packaging became a game-changer a few years back — goodbye clunky rubber bands and plastic wrap). You didn’t just reach into the pack of English muffins and start munching. They are the beginning of an orderly, civilized process whose final form is composed, civilized food art. You can imagine grabbing a bagel out of a bag and eating it, like a lion feeding on a zebra — perhaps not the most common protocol, but it happens. But it almost never happens with an English muffin. English muffins demand respect, order, process.
But, again, what exactly am I respecting here? What is this thing anyway? And why do they call it a “muffin”? A muffin, much like me, has a muffin top — which, as we have all known since alt Rebecca DeMornay debuted on Seinfeld, is the essence of muffin-hood. Bagels I get — it’s basically a soft pretzel in disguise. You make some dough, you boil the rings and then you bake them. What you do with them afterward is your business. But an English muffin? Pure mystery.
Until now.
I am here to tell you that I have not just researched but personally experienced the Tao of the English Muffin, and I am now here to share it. Like all such meaningful personal journeys in life, my search for English Muffin Truth coalesced out of a recent, personal, almost existential crisis. You see, a number of years ago my family was forced into a difficult decision. Having consumed standard-issue Thomas’ English muffins for decades, my wife decided to have an affair (no, not that kind of affair!). She noticed a new, sexier brand of English muffin, curiously stowed in the refrigerated dairy section of the supermarket rather than in the bread aisle. And that could only mean one thing, right? The people who make Bay’s English muffins must take their muffins far more seriously. It’s like buying expensive refrigerated pickles — same product, in theory, but so much fresher.
And so my wife dumped her decades-long relationship with Thomas’ English muffins and gave her heart to Bay’s. For a few months I continued to test fate by absentmindedly falling for the occasional buy-one get-one temptation on other brands. Bay’s would never condescend to such a thing, at least not in the before times. But I learned my lesson fairly quickly; for us, English muffins had entered that highly exclusive club of “groceries that shall never be subject to sale-price persuasion”. Give me Bay’s or give me death.
Until recently, when our world was shaken.
The Earthquake
I know not what happened to Bay’s. Whether Satan actually infiltrated their production facility, or merely an MBA, is an unresolved question. All I know is that our muffin world changed. Our formerly large, robust, fresh, perfectly balanced, cherished Bay’s English muffins were suddenly reduced to tiny, stale hockey pucks. They were suddenly the “slider roll” of English muffins, except mostly hard and inedible in addition to being tiny. We thought it might be a mistake, a bad batch. Slaves to our co-dependency, we tried again. And again — each time fighting back tears as we tried in vain to construct decent Egg McMuffins at home using our handy-dandy microwave egg maker — the kind we have been reveling in for years, using quality English muffins. But it was not to be. An expensive English muffin with the size and texture of a hockey puck for toddlers can evoke nothing but sadness, not to mention egg and cheese dripping everywhere. The loving process that English muffins demand, to whatever end one chooses, can only end in disappointment if the English muffin is an impostor. You might as well just have a bagel. Bay’s, you are dead to me.
What to do? Return to Thomas’? Store brand? Please. Never. Disoriented and shaken, I decided to dig to the bottom of the reality chain. Yes, it was time to learn what these things called English muffins actually are. It was scary, daunting. I mean, was I inadvertently entering some new reality, a higher dimension of existence, a more complex plane of understanding? Would I still be me when this was done? Would I regret having this carnal knowledge?
I’m happy to report that I’m still me, my existential crisis is over (well, at least this one…), and my family has indeed reached an even higher plane of English muffin awareness. Because, as it turns out, mere mortals can understand the essence of English muffins. And even make their own. And I’m going to tell you how. No, it’s not simple, or instant gratification. But if you have a weekend morning where you can tend to the muffins a few times in between other household activities, you can do this. And make enough to freeze for a few weeks.
So what exactly is an English muffin?
In all seriousness, I have always been confused about English muffins. Leavened breads, of which English muffins are clearly a subset, fall into two categories: Quick breads, which use baking soda and/or baking powder, vs. pretty much everything else, which uses some form of yeast or yeast-infused starter. Quick breads are mixed and baked quickly, as you are basically capturing a rapid chemical reaction that makes bubbles. Yeast-based breads require time to “prove”, or rise, as the yeast multiplies and generates carbon dioxide over time. In both cases you are creating and capturing air spaces.
I always assumed that English muffins were some form of quick bread. I don’t know why; I guess it’s the “nooks and crannies”, the general airiness. But it turns out that English muffins are not quick breads — they do indeed use yeast. But they are not a typical yeast bread either. They require special consideration and processing. In some approaches (not my own preference), you create an extremely wet dough and almost treat it like pancake batter. But that strikes me as venturing into some new category or space where I dare not tread. For my purposes, I just want a good-quality English muffin that looks and acts like, well, a good-quality English muffin. Not some weird, rustic blobby thing.
I’ve tried a couple approaches, and I think I’ve stumbled onto a very good one. So, before I tell you how to do this, let’s list what you’ll need:
English Muffins (makes 16-18 4-inch muffins)
Ingredients
1 2/3 cup milk
2 tablespoons white sugar
1/3 cup water
2 generous teaspoons dry yeast
5 cups all-purpose flour, plus some extra
3 tablespoons butter
2 teaspoons salt
2-3 teaspoons white vinegar
1 large egg
Cornmeal
A large empty, canned meat can (e.g., from canned chicken)
That last item is important. For obvious reasons, you need something that can cut nice circles in dough (although, clearly, you are free to make whatever shape you want, you weirdo). Don’t try to use a standard tuna can, unless you want tiny, neo-Bay’s-like muffins. If you have an appropriate cookie cutter, great. If not, buy some canned chicken or something similar and save the can. A four-inch circle works well.
Directions
Let’s take a look at the big picture first, and — finally — reveal the deep, ontological secret of English muffins. In theory, an English muffin is a pan-seared (not baked) bread made from a very soft, twice-risen dough formed with milk rather than water. I say “in theory” because you can briefly bake them before browning in the pan, if you seek maximum airiness (i.e., larger nooks, heftier crannies — whatever crannies are). But it’s not essential. More on this in a moment.
Your English muffin-making happens in roughly four phases, between which you can do some laundry, vacuum the family room, change a diaper, or do whatever else makes you feel good.
Phase 1: Heat the milk and butter, and let it cool. This is a quick step labor-wise, but you do need to let it cool. So you have some down time here.
Phase 2: Make the dough, and let it rise.
Phase 3: Roll out and cut the dough, and let it rise again.
Phase 4: Brown in a hot pan, after optionally pre-baking.
Here are the details, along with some tips and tricks:
Phase 1
This isn’t very hard. Pour the milk into a saucepan and add the butter. Let it heat on medium until the butter melts. When the butter is melted, give it a quick stir and set it aside to cool. You can get started on Phase 2 if you want, but you won’t be able to complete Phase 2 until the milk is cool, or at least lukewarm.
Phase 2
Start by kick-starting the yeast. Mix the sugar and warm water in a small bowl, then add the yeast. Over the next 15 minutes or so, the yeast will begin to froth (if the yeast is still good, that is; otherwise, you’re out of luck). Be sure to use a bowl that is at least three times the volume of the water. Kill some time while the yeast does its thing (the industrious and efficiency-minded among us will note that the yeast can be starting while the milk is cooling).
In a mixing bowl, combine the milk & butter liquid with the now-alive and happy yeast. Add the egg, salt, and vinegar.
Add about half the flour and mix thoroughly for a few minutes. If you have a Kitchen-Aid mixer, the standard batter attachment is best here; you will switch to the dough hook in the next step. If you’re doing this by hand, that’s fine too, it’s just more labor.
Switch to the dough hook, if applicable. Add remaining flour and mix well. This is your first decision point. You should now have a very wet dough — almost a super thick batter. Your mission at this point is to turn this into a very soft, almost wet, but workable dough. Do this by adding flour a little bit at a time. Continue adding flour until the dough begins to “grab” and form a ball.
Turn the dough out onto flat surface and knead by hand briefly, sprinkling in more flour as needed to keep the dough together. Return dough to an oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap and a dish towel, and allow to rise in a warm area for about an hour. Do not over-prove at this stage — an hour is fine. A very slightly warmed (not hot!) oven works fine as a proving area.
Phase 3
If you have parchment paper, line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Sprinkle cornmeal onto parchment paper, or directly onto the baking sheets.
Roll the dough into a flat shape, roughly half an inch thick. Cut circles or desired shapes with cutter of choice (I like a large canned chicken can, which produces four inch circles). Re-roll excess dough and cut more circles, forming the final muffin or two by hand.
Place shapes onto the baking sheets, and sprinkle additional corn meal on top. Leave a couple inches between the shapes, else they will expand into each other. This is why you need two baking sheets.
Cover with plastic and a towel, and let muffins rise for another hour.
Phase 4
When the muffins-to-be have risen a bit, gently remove the plastic and towel.
This is where you need to make another choice. Officially, the next step is to brown the dough circles in a warm skillet. However, the muffins are very delicate at this stage; if you try to move them, they will partially deflate. It’s not the end of the world, but if you want maximum airiness, I recommend that you pre-bake the muffins in a 350 degree oven for about five to ten minutes, or juuust long enough to make it possible to move the muffins without deflating.
Whether you pre-bake or not, heat a skillet (or griddle) to medium-low. Getting the temperature right takes some trial and error; anything above medium will burn the muffins to some extent, although a little burnt can taste good. Toast the muffins in the skillet for two or three minutes on each side. The exact time will depend on the temperature; a side is done when it begins to turn brown.
And that’s it. You now have roughly 16-18 beautiful English muffins, worthy of the name, ready for the toaster and whatever culinary destination you have in mind.