baking with henry
by bam
it is friday, a friday. it will soon be shabbat. it is time for baking with henry. henry and i bake challah together. henry is my teacher.
henry lives downtown. in a tall black building.
i live in a leafy little town 12 miles north. in a stone-and-shingle, two-story house.
we bake over the phone.
henry is jewish. i am catholic.
henry is a grandfather; he talks about growing up in germany, before the nazis erupted. every friday night, he tells me, stewed chicken or brisket main-staged the meal; the challah, his mother’s opening act.
challah, the braided egg bread that is the sustenance of shabbat, the sacred canyon of time stretching from sundown friday to sundown on saturday, marking, each week, the seventh-day rest at the end of God’s original creation.
i am a mother, a wife, married to a fine jewish man. we have two boys, growing up jewish and catholic. together, we lift up shabbat, wrap up our harried work week with the pause and the majesty of blessing bread, blessing time, at our table.
i have, over the years, made shabbat mine. i sink into the rhythms of friday, sink into the rhythms of unfolding shabbat. i slow cook on fridays. i pick and choose from the book shelf, finding a passage worth reading, a thought worth shabbat. i put out the candles. i bring out the wine. i reach for the yarmulkes, or little skull caps.
and, after years of wishing i could, i now bake for shabbat.
henry is sifting through my lumps, leavening my learning. henry is teaching me challah.
he came to me in an email, with story attached.
last year, typing away on a 10-year anniversary book for our synagogue, i culled recipes for a few trademark foods. the rabbi’s brisket. his wife’s gefilte fish. henry’s challah.
with recipe in hand, i decided i had no excuse not to roll up my sleeves and insert fist into flour. i did what henry had written. thoroughly blended all dry ingredients; added oil, eggs, water. kneaded for 5, then for 10, finally upward of 15 minutes, in search of the elusive dough state, “moist and elastic.”
it was then that i made my first call to henry.
add water, just one little drib at a time, he advised.
i followed orders.
place dough in warm spot to rise. about 1 hour, he had written.
two hours later, accidentally out longer than planned, i came home to dough that had let out its air.
i put in a second call to henry.
that night, we broke bread but it was more like we were breaking a flat-shelled turtle. this was challah without the rise. this was challah gone flat.
henry called the next morning. he was with me now, and wanted the word on what in the end had come out of the oven.
and so it went, week after week.
i progressed. sort of a reptilian progression. one week a turtle, the next week an alligator. it would be weeks before the soft twisted mounds looked anything like the challah in the bakery windows.
and then my kitchen was demolished. so all baking stopped. but it is a new year, and a new kitchen.
so henry and i begin baking again.
the flour is measured and dumped. the yeast, quick-rising, mixed in. i know how to knead. i know that one hour’s rise, not two, and not three, is essential.
best of all, i know henry’s number, even in florida.
stay tuned for the reptilian report.
all right, all you bakers. anyone willing to go on record with a tried-and-true challah tale? pictures to come, if you promise not to laugh…
Henry’s Berches Challah Recipe
_
_ Makes 1loaf
_
_ 1 Pkg Instant Yeast*
_ 3 cups Unbleached Flour
_ 1 TBS Sugar
_ 2 tspn Salt
_ 5 oz. +/- Warm water
_ 1 TBS Vegetable Oil
1 Egg white (save yolk for egg wash)
* simplifies and speeds baking
_
_ Toppings
_ To taste: Poppy seed, Sesame seed, Kosher salt, etc.
_
_ Thoroughly blend all dry ingredients in a large mixing
bowl. Add oil, egg whites, and water. Mix thoroughly using
an electric mixer with paddle attachment (or hands) until
dough forms. Get dough as smooth as possible in mixer.
Remove from bowl and knead a bit more by hand until silky smooth. If
dough sticks to hands, add a bit more flour; if dough is too dry,
add a little more oil for elasticity. Knead for 5 to 10 minutes.
Dough should be moist and elastic.
_
_ Place dough in oiled, covered bowl, in a warm spot, to rise.
_ About 1 hour. Gently deflate dough and divide into 3 lots.
Roll each lot into a rope, about 10 inches log, and braid to form the finished loaf.
Place on lightly oiled baking sheet for a
second rise, (or use a parchment paper lined sheet, which makes for less clean up) until doubled, about 45 minutes.
Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees
_
_ Brush loaf with beaten egg yolk (beat yolk with 1 tspn water),
paint top and sides of loaves, and sprinkle with
_ favorite topping: poppy seed, sesame seed, kosher salt etc.
_ Place in oven until browning begins. Lower temperature to
350 degrees and continue baking until golden brown and
loaves sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. It is best, though, to use an instant read thermometer and bake to 190 degrees internal.
If loaf brown too quickly during baking, tent with aluminum foil.
Baking time about 30 minutes. Cool on rack.
after i struggled with this version, henry sent a tutorial, titled, “challah, one step at a time.” i’ll send–or post later–if you, too, need henry over your shoulder.
Barb,You write about making Challah for the Jewish Sabbath. I have seen you with ash on your forehead after a Catholic Ash Wednesday service. You clearly FEEL both religions deeply. How have you unified these divergent faiths all within your being?
A beautiful book on bread baking is Peter Reinhart’s meditative Brother Juniper’s Bread Book: Slow Rise as Method and Metaphor. Highly recommended to folks who wish to get their arms doughy up to their elbows while pondering all the good reasons why.
that is why i love what this can be, is becoming. hmm, i wonder if i knock hard on the bookstore door, will they open for me now, at quarter past ten, so i can sink my elbows into brother juniper/jupiter’s metaphoric dough….(the comment box is blocking the text so i can’t see which it is, juniper, jupiter…oh lord you’d think i could remember two seconds later, but it’s been a long day at the dough board…)
jcv’s advice is on spot, as the saying goes. that is a fine fine book and it brings to mind an old classic, “The Tassajara Bread Book” written by a monk with a copyright “1970 by the Chief Priest, Zen Center, San Francisco,” And it includes a challah recipe. East meets middle east, shall we say? or, how do you say, “ohhhhm.”bakers and chefs tend to regard baking as “science” in comparison to the “art” of the savory side. rarely do the two sides cross; each tends to specialize. in my experience, the cooks were afraid of the exactitude of the bake shop, and with some cause given the alchemy and chemistry then tempered by the flame. the head chef told me that he could “fix most any recipe that goes wrong, just adjust the seasonings” but baking doesn’t allow that flexibility. to a point that is true, given issues like pure sodium bicarbonate with or without an acidifying agent and/or also a drying agent…oh, what is a poor girl to do?well zen provides the calm reassurance and the monk’s book begins like this:”bread makes itself, by your kindness, with your help, with imagination running through you, with dough under hand, you are breadmaking itself, which is why breadmaking is so fulfilling and rewarding.a recipe doesn’t belong to anyone. given to me, i give it to you. only a guide, only a skeletal framework. you must fill in the flesh according to your nature and desire. your life, your love will bring these words into full creation. this cannot be taught. you already know. so please cook, love, feel, create.”how about it, cooking can as liberating as its product is nourishing.
Love the monk’s wise words. Bread really does make itself. The thing that has greatly helped me in my not-so-frequent bread baking is being careful about the temperature of whatever mixes with the yeast. A thermometer is key. I’ve killed enough yeast to know that I can’t just do this by feel. Taking the trouble with the thermometer eliminates any further vagaries in the rest of the process.I should do this bread baking more often. It is not hard. It is magic. My young child loves this magic, calls yeast magic powder. Making bread at home by hand imposes pauses in your day in which you can do nothing else but tend, knead, arrange, ponder. The regular repetition of this process is one thing I really appreciate about shabbat. It tells us to stop, stop our regular business, pause, think, thank. Thank the Giver of the magic. Although Christians supposedly keep a Sunday sabbath it is not emphasized nor successfully kept by very many that I know. Keeping that pause and observing the thankfulness is a vital part of existence and one that so many of us have forgotten. As the ritual goes so follows the heart.
I read a wonderful book last year by Wayne Muller called Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal and Delight in our Busy Lives. Muller is a Christian minister who urges all to celebrate a Sabbath day each week. He tells beautiful Sabbath stories. Makes my Catholic being ache for the simplicity of a Sabbath celebration – a weekly retreat. Now, my family’s Sundays are filled with going to Church and religion classes and going to Grandma’s. Busy and hectic. We need to carve out time to stop, pause, think and thank as jcv said.
carol asks above about how a girl with ashes on her forehead can thrust her hands into a mound of challah-y dough. the answer i sent to her, but we then decided to put here to open a dialogue about intertwining religions, and lord knows what else….here’s what i wrote her: “to answer your lovely question the other day, about the jewish and catholic resonance in me. i love the deep pull of pure spirituality. i love the essence of God. i see through to the core, was taught to strip off the trappings and not get tripped up in them. i love ritual. i love making holy the ordinary……i love being steeped in the sensory realm, for it all draws me into the burning light at the center of it all. no matter how you get there….”and a postscript on the challah itself: you can see the work in progress, from cerebral mound to little hands blessing it, over on the lazy susan page. might not be there too long as some computers are experiencing technical difficulties with the pictures blocking the text. on my computer it works just fine, but i’m a mac to a mac and that might be friendlier than others….
Barb, From what you write, it seems that your feelings are more about “faith” and less about “organized religion”. I bet if your husband had been another religion, you would have embraced and integrated that “faith” into your spiritual practice, also. Living near the only Bahai Temple in the US, one thing I have learned that I really like is that they have identified the common truths in the nine main religions of the world and THOSE are the core of the Bahai faith. Hence, Bahai folks can still be a religion of origin andalso Bahai. People of any religion can marry in the Bahai temple.As the child of a mixed marriage, I came to your conclusion aboutthe “essence of God” with the trappings stripped away . My fatherwas raised Jewish (grandparents on the Temple board, immigrantancestors founded reform synagogues in the US including Sinai in Chicago and Emmanuel in Milwaukee) and my mother was raised Christian (thoughher father was a non-practicing Jew, her mother was a German/Swedish Lutheran). She converted to Judaism when I was 6–beforethat, I attended a Unitarian Sunday school. I had two sets ofgrandparents–one Christian and one Jewish, and they both seemedvery accepting of one another.I struggled with being confirmed in the synagogue ( in 1970, we didn’t haveBar/Bat Mitzvahs, but attended religious school until 10th grade,then “confirmed” our commitment to Judaism) because I saw it asexclusionary of other faiths, and of who I was. I did confirm myfaith, but my confirmation speech was about finding God withinmyself (and within each of us), not from formal religion on theoutside.All that said, my spouse is Catholic and I am Jewish and thosereligions (as opposed to faiths) are hard to reconcile. Jews aretaught to have a direct connection to God–to debate and strugglewith Him/Her (?). Catholics are taught to connect with God throughhis Son, an intermediary who died for our sins. In our modern times, I now see Judaism, Christianityand Muslim as coming from the same monotheistic tradition–likeauthor Bruce Feiler says, cousin religions. Jews question. Christians believe. Muslims submit. But, we all speak of One God, Abraham’s God.However, I have been to India and China, the homes of the great Polytheistic religions of Buddhism and Hinduism, and those are all good faiths, too. Oneglobal Hindu told me that the monotheistic religions developed inareas of extreme scarcity–the desert, where one leader needed toemerge and say, “My way or the highway” in order for the people tosurvive. Everyone had to pull together and believe together inorder to survive together. The polytheistic religions developed inareas of abundance, along the fertile rivers in China and India–where they had the luxury (because basic needs of food, water andlodging were met) of giving thanks to their own personal gods, ormultiple gods. If you ever get to India, you will love the spirituality and ritual there–not to mention the opportunity in temples to be blessed on the top of your head by the trunk of a decorated elephant! Religion is everywhere in India, allthe time, personal and public all at once. I bought a fragrantsandstone carving of Ganesha, the god of auspicious beginnings. Itis an elephant riding on a mouse. It seems the elephant needs alot of faith to get where he is going, riding on such a tiny creature!