Challah

The first time I made challah was about four years ago when I bought my first (and last) bread encyclopaedia. Poring over it like bread pornography, I lingered, fingered and hungered upon the challah much longer than the other breads—it was the most glorious centrefold: gorgeous, golden and gagging to be covered in my (sesame) seed. 

Pre-batch in buttered bowl (autographed).

Challah is a Jewish leavened bread, normally wheeled out on the Sabbath, or any Jewish holiday for that matter. It is normally plaited and stuccoed with poppy or sesame seeds. For my part, I would have preferred a poppy seed crust, but the sale of poppy seeds was outlawed at my local Sainsburys (and presumably nationwide) about ten years ago when it transpired that some bloke was making industrial quantities of opium in his attic. I always imagined him as this millennium’s answer to Baudelaire. Still, this was suburbia, not fin de siècle Paris. Plus anybody who has actually read Baudelaire’s Artificial Paradises knows that opium isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Not cool, guyz.

Big dough baby.

I digress. This bread took a good portion of my day to create, requiring two hour-long proves and two rather long kneading sessions. All the same, if you’ve got a dissertation plan to procrastinate over, it’s the ideal diversion, and if done well, might even be rewarding [spoiler alert: it was]. So I got to work preparing the dough from strong white bread flour, dried active yeast, caster sugar, warm water, three eggs (challah’s not-so-secret ingredient) and a not-insignificant quantity of salt. 

Back to dissertation planning during the premiere prove.

After the first prove

Knocking it back. Felt good. Grrr-fist.

When I first made challah those years ago, I never actually got to eat any of it. I handed the bounteous batch to my then neighbour. But right now, as I write, I am chowing down with body-shaking joy my first slice of challah. The crust is perfectly situated between crunchy and crumbly; the texture of the dough is light, bouncy, white and naughty. The sesame seeds of the crust have given it a delicious, but still delicate, toasted flavour. I’ve no idea what Jewish people traditionally eat with (or on) this bread, but I have slathered it in salted butter with fat, British abandon. I fancy it would go really well dunked into tomato soup. If you were here, I’d offer you a slice. 

After second prove: looking like bubblicious cake mixture

A batch divided.

Four sausage-like strands

Some magic weaving later... Voila! Plait! (First attempt not photographable)

Egg-washed and ready for 40 mins at 200 deg.

OK, OK. I know it's not quite the same as the picture I first saw in my bread encyclopaedia. But come on, it's hardly fair to be compared to a centrefold, is it? How would you like it?

Still, don't know about you, but I can still get my rocks off to these photos.

Gleaming, if seedy, batch.

Baked to perfection. WAY better than Kingsmill.

Nommy.

Until next time.