Recipe break. Crostini.

At some point in time, probably during culinary, I turned into a bit of a prepper.  When my potatoes are starting to feel squishy, I'll dice and par-boil them.  If I only need a little bit of onion, I'll go ahead and julienne or dice the rest.  I shred out a quart container of cheese at a go because I've discovered that when you most need shredded cheese is usually when you're least motivated to shred cheese.

Anyway, since I live alone, I've gotten used to the idea that any bread I buy is going to go stale well before I get to eat it.  Some of my partial loaves wind up sliced down, wrapped in plastic and foil, and dropped in the freezer, but most of my baguettes continue their lives as that most sacred of snacky bites: crostini.  And yes, "little toasts" doesn't really sound like a fascinating or complicated subject, but like most simple things, it's startlingly easy to fuck up if you're not paying attention.

It's generally widely accepted that crostini comes from long, thin loaves for obvious reasons - larger loaves stop making little toasts and start making toasts.  Which you may as well just call toasts.  I go back and forth between Italian long loaves (which generate a fine, crumbly, and tender crostini), French baguettes (which make for crisper, smaller, sturdier toasts), and ciabatta lunga (whose chewiness generates the crunchiest and most rigid crisps of the three).  I'd say I base this decision on the application of said crostini, but that's outright bullshit - I use whatever I happen to be walking past when I think "Oh, dude, I need bread."

Today, that's ciabatta lunga.  To begin, slice your bread.

Here is where you can make your first fatal mistakes.  First off, by Epiphron's eyes, make them consistent.  As little as 1/16" can make a significant difference in cooking times, leading to uneven browning.  So unless you like spending the last four minutes of the cooking time picking off the ones that are done from a hot oven, get it together.  Secondly, slice thin.  I shoot for 1/4", but I usually wind up going 5/16" just because I don't have a cutting board with a ruler in it.  I've seen them, they're actually a thing.  I wouldn't advise going too much thicker - 1/2" slices of crostini will just lead to you shattering your jaw and sending pointy shards of toasted bread into the roof of your mouth, and no one wants that.  Well, I might want that, but I'm a sucker for schadenfreude.

Once you've got your bread all sliced down, get yourself a sheet pan fitted with a rack.  The rack is important; you need air flow underneath the crostini if you don't want to have to open the damn oven halfway through and flip them.  Gather what you intend to season and flavor your little toasts with while you're at it.

My standards are salt, pepper, granulated garlic, and canola oil.  You don't really have to use any seasonings at all.  In fact, if you don't, you can use them for both savory and sweet applications.  Take a page from pan au chocolat and melt some dark chocolate on a little toast.  Me, I like to have them ready to be a savory side at the drop of the hat.  Today, you may notice, I'm using a little paprika in addition to my usual suspects, and for a good reason - I'm doing a pile of cleaning and prep today, and you can smell paprika as it's cooking.  Which means I'll have a three-minute window between when I can smell it and when the oven timer goes off to wrap up what I'm doing and wash my hands.

Of note is the oil.  You really shouldn't skip it.  Oil acts as a heat conductor and actually fries the bread, aiding in its dehydration.  You get a much more even browning and consistent toast with it, so don't be lazy.

Anyway, after that, it's pretty straightforward.  With my oven, using ciabatta lunga cut to 5/16" at 400 degrees, it takes 18 minutes for a proper golden brown.  To check, take the tray out of the oven, snag one of the toasts, and poke its underside.  If there is any softness at all, back they go.  THIS IS IMPORTANT.  Mold needs moisture to grow.  So if you want your crostini to have any kind of lifespan, you need to drive out all of the bread's moisture before they go into storage.

Also, keep an eye on them these last few minutes.  Things can go from delicious to burnt in a matter of seconds.

Don't get me wrong, I'm totally going to still eat the one on the right.  Just saying.

Anyway, once they've cooled off completely, you now have a tasty bread product that will live well beyond the original loaf's lifespan.  But where to store it?  Me, I like to use this cookie jar my in-laws gave me a couple of Christmases ago.

Mostly because it looks like Alistair.

But if you don't have a snazzy cookie jar, just toss them in a zip-top bag when they're completely cooled.  Because until then, they still generate steam.  And steam is moisture.  And moisture breeds what, class?

Anyway, now that you have them, what do you do with them?  Anything you damn well please.  They make great accessories to a bowl of soup or a salad you tossed together on the fly.  They're delicious accoutrements to a cheese plate or a collection of cured meats.  A no-brainer for polishing off hummus when your pita chips run dry.  A fast and easy base for canapes if you want to get classy with visiting friends.  I eat two with a shirred egg in the mornings I bother to make myself breakfast.

As for today's batch, I'm going to melt some havarti on them and top them off with some of the chuck roast I've been braising in red wine since just after lunch.  Cheers, kids.