Also known as senorita bread, this close relative of Mexico’s pan dulce and the Philippines’pan de sal, evolved from bread brought by the Portuguese in the 16th century, has been a favorite snack in the archipelago. It is soft and pillowy, reminiscent of a sugary donut, great with coffee or hot chocolate.
When we were young in the late 60s, we lived in a lower middle class neighborhood in Manila. I remember a bustling town, replete with kids playing on the street, grown-ups milling around, talking to each other, some snacking on cookies and drinking coconut juice and sarsaparilla, food shops and stores exchanging goods and currencies to people, dressed in various attire, from humble short pants and well-worn shirts, to flowery dresses, white shirts and black ties. Even in the afternoon heat, it was a sight to behold and when this town, like any other small town, came to life after the two-hour siesta from noon to three o clock, when gradually it reawakens to meet the ginger sunset.
There was a neighborhood bakery about a five minute walk from the house, and my mother (whose fourth year death anniversary is today) would tell me, after the siesta, to grab some snacks there for myself. With a few centavos tightly clutched in my hand, I would walk in the narrow alley, lined with old wooden houses with rufous rusty roofs and food snack vendors, culminating in a busy intersection, where the corner bakery stood.
There were sliced mangoes, golden and ripe, so sweet that if you had a bad tooth, will ache for a while until you drink water to wash it out. The same vendor would also sell unripe green mangoes, crunchy and tart, great when dipped into a salty shrimp paste. There were hot dogs on a stick, sliced in a bias, greasy and over-fried to create a crunchy skin, and fried fish balls, made of fish, onion, and starch, delicious with a salt and sour gravy. The smells and noises of that small marketplace filled my ears, as I walked the straight line to the bakery, where I knew what I was going to buy from the baker.
The baker, a Chinese immigrant, unjustly called by a pejorative term during those times, was a successful businessman. He started the business as a young itinerant vendor, daily hawking his baked goods by walking around the neighborhood, carrying two pot-like containers hanging by ropes attached to a flat stick balanced on his shoulder, as he barked his fresh, hot, and sweet sticky rice cakes every morning and afternoon. With industriousness and determination, he saved enough in a few years to buy the corner store and set up his own bakery, married a local lass, settled down, and raised children. Nonetheless his establishment had become a landmark in that place, and everybody would use his corner as reference point in giving directions.
By the time I heard about his bakery, he was already middle-aged, and understandably irritable and cross. Always busy and impatient, especially when the child could not make up his mind as to which delicious bread, cookie, or pastry to order, he would scowl at anybody who was unsure of their purpose. After all, he had a business to run and time was money.
I was scared of him, since he was notorious for being temperamental, so as I walked down the alley, I memorized what I was going to say, and repeated the phrase over and over, whispering them on my way to his store. If I even stammer at the bakery and forget these lines, I would be terrorized by the angry baker, and damaged throughout my life.
Then without warning, I could smell fresh bread, and the reached cinder block side walls of the bakery. I turned into the bakery, and stepped up to the counter. The counter was expansive, at least to me, and I could barely clear the top of it. There were all types of golden and perfectly baked breads, cakes, and pastries, spread in all their splendor, seemingly inviting every looker to buy them. Combined with the luscious aroma and feast to the eyes, I became even more hungry than ever, and thought that I would buy another type of snack different from what I had rehearsed to buy in this short walk.
With a coin, I tapped the glass ever so carefully and softly, anticipating a growling from behind the glass. I saw a faint shadow through the counter and stopped in front of me, black pants and an old leather belt, and as I looked up a white sleeveless shirt, which holds the man who owns the bakery.
He looked down at me, almost leaning over the counter, and asked me, rather nicely, in halting Tagalog, what I wanted from his array of offerings.
He was smiling at me.
I became more nervous.
Remembering my line, I asked for “Spanish Bread” – a sweet rich bread, shaped like a hot dog bun, but much thinner and shorter, like a fat bread stick, but filled with butter and sugar. One could devour one in two bites, and should be careful not to choke, especially when extra ravenous, after a long afternoon nap.
He looked at me for a moment, and without losing his smile, bent down, opened the glass door, and grabbed two pieces from the pan. He inserted the breads into a small brown paper bag, shaped like a loose envelope, which stained the sides with butter and sugar. They were steaming fresh, when he held them to me, as I gave him my coins as I contributed to the town’s economy. I could smell the butter at that split second I looked down at them, firmly grasping the bag, and looked up to the smiling stranger, thanking him, evidently for the short but meaningful encounter.
As quickly as my impression of the baker changed, I turned around, and this time, I ran back home.
Spanish or Senorita Bread
Dough
500 g flour (4c)
50g butter (1/4c or 4Tbsp)
2 eggs
30g sugar (1/3c)
1 Tbsp instant yeast
10g salt (2t)
240g milk (1c)
Filling
1/4c soft butter
1/2c bread crumbs
1/4c sugar
Topping
1/4c sugar
1/4c melted butter
breadcrumbs for coating before baking
Mix all ingredients. Dough may be sticky, but continue to beat until thoroughly incorporated. Leave covered for 30 minutes.
Fold dough onto itself by grasping one side, stretching to the center top. Repeat 8 times on all sides. Finally lift and flip dough in bowl, with the bottom becoming the top.
Repeat two more times, in 30 minute intervals.
Alternate method: If you have a stand mixer, mix at speed 1 for 1 minute, and on speed 2 for 3 minutes.
Leave to rise until doubled.
Pour the dough into a lightly floured surface, and using a knife or bench scraper, divide dough into 18-24 pieces, about 50 g each.
Make the filling by mixing the soft butter, sugar, and bread crumbs. Then with a small rolling pin or a small bottle, flatten each piece into a rough circle. Spread a tbsp of filling, and roll into a “cigar.” Roll in breadcrumbs. Place each cigar seam down onto a half sheet pan, about 1 inch apart.
Bake 375 deg F for 30 minutes, turning pan 180 degrees halfway through, until tops are lightly brown.
Take pan out of the oven, pour melted butter on bread, and sprinkle sugar throughout. If you can hold it, you can eat it.
BreadQuest 