I Can't Stop Thinking About These Dinner Rolls

New York Times

14-05-2025

If there's anyone who appreciates craft and the hours required to hone and refine a skill, it's the chef Chip Smith. Over a few hours one quiet Tuesday morning, as he ran through how he makes his ethereally crusty dinner rolls at his TriBeCa restaurant, Eulalie, he named at least a dozen artists whose devotion to their work he admires, among them chefs, bakers, jazz musicians, a glass blower and Lady Gaga — but only when it's just she and the piano. Smith himself was a former rock drummer, now attuned to the rhythms of the kitchen.
Recipe: Crusty Dinner Rolls
Classical music hummed in the background, while the bread dough slapped against the mixer bowl with a steady beat. After about 10 minutes, it was time for the first proof. 'One second,' he said, interrupting a story about the radio host Phil Schaap, who frequented Smith's former restaurant, Simone, to transfer the eggshell-white blob to a greased container and cover it with a sheet pan. It will get a second proof, a shaping into rolls, then a third and final proof, when one of Smith's chefs, Nick, will brush the little balls with egg wash before scoring them and baking them.
Holding a fresh dinner roll can feel like holding a flame in your hand. If you wait too long to eat it, its light will extinguish. The ones at Eulalie have soft, airy interiors — aided by the addition of cake flour — and a wonderful thin crust that blisters like a good baguette. Tearing into one is priceless, the culmination of recipes and techniques Smith has picked up over the years and compiled in a binder like a Book of Shadows. (Among his many spells is a baguette from an old Amy's Bread cookbook.) Rarely are rolls made in house or as à la minute as they are at Eulalie, which Smith runs with his partner, Tina Vaughn, who leads the front-of-house operations (and tastes the bread daily for quality control). This bread sets the rhythm for the rest of the meal, the first thing started upon arrival, the first thing sent out to guests. Served from a basket and transferred to your plate with metal tongs, the warm rolls aren't just a freebie or a filler; they're a signal of the great meal to come.
Few restaurants have the resources to prioritize homemade bread, often buying it from nearby bakeries or getting rid of the basket altogether. But at Eulalie, a single roll symbolizes Smith's love of performance, of good food that takes time to make and even longer to perfect. These dinner rolls are one of many reasons my partner and I dine at Eulalie at least twice a year, dressing up in our nicest jackets and ties, for each of our birthdays. It's the kind of place you want to take your parents when they're in town, or anyone who appreciates well-made bread. For the full effect, tear into the roll as soon as it comes to you, for the steam and scent alone, but especially so a thick slather of high-fat European-style butter can melt slightly. You don't really need more than one roll — they're quite hearty and filling — but you'll want another. A famous actor sat behind me one night recently, and the whole time I wondered if he ate his bread, and if not, could I have his?
Baking 'the Bread,' which is what Vaughn calls Smith's recipe, might be the next best thing to eating it. It's a beautiful dough, plush and elastic but not sticky, easy to work with and fun to watch rise. If your kitchen is cold, do as my colleague and baking teacher Genevieve Ko does and proof the dough in the oven, turned off, with a mugful of hot water. Watch it grow before your eyes. The hardest part is rolling out the taut balls with one hand, so they form a belly button on the bottom (when eating them, that's where you should tear them open, Vaughn says). It takes practice, but nothing locks in focus like making bread with your own hands.