Take your burgers to the next level with brioche hamburger buns. Their flaky, tender texture and rich, buttery flavor make them well worth the effort.
The other morning, six-year-old Tessa said,”I want to do a baking project today called ‘not those buns.'”
Frankly, I felt the same. I’d baked brioche hamburger buns nearly every day for a week.
Ever since I’d feasted on pulled pork layered thickly into a toasted brioche bun at Dad’s Diner A Go-Go in Anacortes, WA, I’d become obsessed with creating the perfect brioche bun.
I’d gotten damn close, too. Time and time again, the rolls emerged from the oven with a flaky, tender texture and a rich, buttery flavor.
We’d savored them with hamburgers, sloppy joes, and roast beef. My daughters popped them in the toaster with abandon and gobbled them down with butter and honey for breakfast.
These brioche buns were perfect in every way but one: they always cracked down the middle while baking.
Since I had my heart set on baking buns with an even, golden finish, I needed to try one more time. If this didn’t work, I promised my kids that I’d let it go.
By this point, I could make brioche dough by heart. Despite my aesthetic failures with these buns, brioche is easy to make.
It does take some time, but most of that time involves rising rather than active work. This meant that my daughters and I could prepare the yeasted dough and still bake a chocolate cake if they wanted.
This seemed to appease them, and Tessa grudgingly helped by adding flour and tossing hunks of butter into the smooth, sticky dough. Eliza, who didn’t care if I ever made brioche again, wanted no part in the project; she read on the couch while we worked.
After letting the dough rise all day, I shaped it into tidy spheres under my cupped hand before dragging each one across my work surface. The balls looked miraculously smooth and tight, but as I flattened them with my fingers, I had a moment of panic; I worried that I was destroying the perfect tension I’d just figured out how to achieve.
I didn’t peek in the oven at all until the timer beeped. When the time came to check on them, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes: I’d finally created the smooth, round buns I’d always imagined baking.
I’m not sure who felt happier, me or my kids.
The next morning at breakfast, Eliza grabbed a glossy, uncracked bun and popped it in the toaster. Before the end of the day, my girls had polished off half of the buns by themselves.
Guess they’re not so tired of them after all.
Adapted from The Joy of Cooking (1997 edition).