In search of Irish soda bread worth making more than once a year

Lots of food that started life as food for peasants has become a beloved comfort food staple, things slow-cooked to make the most of inexpensive, readily available ingredients. Take Boeuf Bourguignon for instance. 

But not all peasant food is so pleasant, and I used to lump Irish soda bread in that category. I had no Irish grandmother to make it a cherished staple, and most of the examples someone would bring into work just reinforced in my head that it was a cheap food probably best served warm with butter and otherwise best skipped. Most were second-day efforts and dry and tasteless.

But having been on a quick-bread phase lately, I was moved to give it a try in the name of having a good, fast-ish fix for when I'm too tired/it's too cold to go down the hill to the bakery.

I have no idea if this is in anyway authentic, but I figured that much butter and honey gave it a fighting chance.

Irish soda bread

From Garden Way Publishing’s “Bread Book: A Baker’s Almanac,” by Ellen Foscue Johnson.

Ingredients
3 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
12 tablespoons butter, cut into chunks
2 cups raisins, preferably golden*
1 egg
½ cup honey
1 cup buttermilk

Method
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 10-inch casserole or skillet with deep sides.

Combine flour, baking powder, soda and salt. Cut in butter with a pastry blender or two knives until you’ve reached the coarse crumb stage. Mix in raisins.

Beat egg until frothy. Mix in honey and combine well. Blend in buttermilk.

Stir wet ingredients into dry using a fork just until a shaggy dough comes together. Transfer to prepared baking dish, soothing the top just a bit. Bake for 1 hour or until golden brown. Remove from pan and serve warm but into wedges.

*If your raisins are a tad on the dried-out side, like mine, a brief soak with 1 tablespoon of Irish whiskey seemed to do the trick.

Rating: Very sustaining, as you would expect for sturdy food. A craggy exterior and moist, crumby interior. Dave thought it nummy. I was initially a little more reserved, but do think it's a better example than most I've been exposed to. Maybe the Jameson splash helped. Realistically, it's the honey. Given the price of honey and butter, this may no longer be the cheapest approach to bread, but it might turn out to be what's in the house bread.

And a follow-up opinion: This actually worked better as a tasty butter delivery device the next day, when one can successfully slice it like a regular loaf and serve it lightly toasted. The flavor and crumbliness had time to settle a bit and it was a perfectly fine breakfast. Maybe this can serve as a decent bail-out bread.