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| Fresh challah at Masa Madre, a Mexican Jewish bakery in East Garfield Park, now, sadly, defunct. |
True story.
Once I stopped by Tel Aviv Bakery on Devon Avenue for some ... I don't know what. Hamantaschen maybe. And while I was buying whatever I was there to buy. Could be bagels, though those should really be gotten at New York Bagel on Touhy, I detected a smell, a tantalizing aroma: warm challah, fresh from the oven.
So I bought one. How could you not? Dense, rich, ever so slightly sweet bread, the crust shiny with egg white.
Once I stopped by Tel Aviv Bakery on Devon Avenue for some ... I don't know what. Hamantaschen maybe. And while I was buying whatever I was there to buy. Could be bagels, though those should really be gotten at New York Bagel on Touhy, I detected a smell, a tantalizing aroma: warm challah, fresh from the oven.
So I bought one. How could you not? Dense, rich, ever so slightly sweet bread, the crust shiny with egg white.
At the car, I put whatever I bought — does it matter? — and began to drive. Proud of myself, thinking of how surprised, and pleased my wife would be with the fresh warm challah that I was thoughtfully bringing home to her.
But it's a long drive — say 25 minutes — from Tel Aviv Bakery to our house. And it was late afternoon. A loaf of challah, it's big. A lot for two people. What harm would there be from a pick-me-up, just a hunk of challah, from the end? Yes, it would detract from the complete braided purity of the loaf. But it was just a taste. Surely, she would not begrudge me that.
But it's a long drive — say 25 minutes — from Tel Aviv Bakery to our house. And it was late afternoon. A loaf of challah, it's big. A lot for two people. What harm would there be from a pick-me-up, just a hunk of challah, from the end? Yes, it would detract from the complete braided purity of the loaf. But it was just a taste. Surely, she would not begrudge me that.
God it was fantastic. If you haven't eaten a chunk of warm challah — and that's the ideal way to eat it. Not sliced; cutting it with a knife commits violence against the bread. Challah is braided, by talking three fat strands of dough and weaving them together, and so pulls apart, naturally, along those original fault lines (and really, how many foodstuffs are braided? A sign this is something special).
At Sabbath, when the Hamotzi — the prayer over the bread — is said, the challah is passed around and everybody breaks off a hunk. It might even be a commandment somewhere. I'll have to check.
So I'm driving, and eating this warm, really superlative challah. Time passes. I'm basically in a fugue state, lost in reverie, communing with the challah, as retrospective as a mollusk. I'm glad I didn't drive into the back of a truck.
And now I'm home, and I gather up whatever it was I bought — it could have been cookies, I really have no idea. And I pick up the white paper bag with the challah in it. And the bag is weirdly light. Like there isn't an entire loaf in there at all. I look inside. A pathetic heel. That's it. Something had happened to the warm loaf of challah. All that was left was ... a scrap, a remnant I was embarrassed to share with my wife. Though I must have. Frankly, my mind is blank of how that went over. Nature can be kind sometimes. I'd ask her, but I'm too afraid of what she might recall.
I'd eaten most of the loaf in the car — I shouldn't feel the need to point that out, but this is also read by people slow on the uptake, and I don't want people writing in say, "So what happened to the bread?" Nor do I need to be told that eating 1,500 calories worth of challah is not a smart move.
You'll notice that today's subject is not "challah" but "fresh challah." That's because they are really two very different types of food. Challah, regular, not fresh challah, the kind usually sold in grocery stores, can still be good — you can make a sandwich out of it. But fresh challah, no more than a few hours, less than a day at most, from birth is entirely different. Because over time a dryness, a stiffness, a subtle change that is both slight and enormous.
The thing to do with un-fresh challah is to make stuffing — I've written about that. Or French toast. Add cinnamon and a cap of vanilla to the egg batter — the vanilla is the secret. I was known for making absolutely nothing in the years my boys were growing up, but challah stuffing and challah French toast.
I'd eaten most of the loaf in the car — I shouldn't feel the need to point that out, but this is also read by people slow on the uptake, and I don't want people writing in say, "So what happened to the bread?" Nor do I need to be told that eating 1,500 calories worth of challah is not a smart move.
You'll notice that today's subject is not "challah" but "fresh challah." That's because they are really two very different types of food. Challah, regular, not fresh challah, the kind usually sold in grocery stores, can still be good — you can make a sandwich out of it. But fresh challah, no more than a few hours, less than a day at most, from birth is entirely different. Because over time a dryness, a stiffness, a subtle change that is both slight and enormous.
The thing to do with un-fresh challah is to make stuffing — I've written about that. Or French toast. Add cinnamon and a cap of vanilla to the egg batter — the vanilla is the secret. I was known for making absolutely nothing in the years my boys were growing up, but challah stuffing and challah French toast.
I feel almost guilty writing about fresh challah as a favorite food, because I really don't get it enough to qualify. I really should stop by Tel Aviv Bakery more often.
Food porn! I love it
ReplyDeleteI make homemade challah once or twice a year to bring to holiday gatherings and it’s delicious! But somehow the uncouth folks in my family would rather gobble down those roll-up pop-up crescents.
ReplyDeleteMost folks pronounce it as "challah". But both my mother and grandmother said "challee" and I grew up doing the same. My mother also said "yarmul-kee"..."mat-zee"..."kish-kee"..."bummer-kee" (loose woman) and "bubb-ee" (grandma).
DeleteSome of my friends and relatives, in both the city and in the suburbs, did it too. I've been told it's a West Side and North Side thing. Grew up in East Garfield Park and Sko-kee.
I've done such things myself - only not on this scale. Almost a whole loaf of bread? That is impressive. Such is the lot of the day dreamer and bread lover.
ReplyDeleteSince you don't have an abundance of responses today, I thought I'd send you this story from "The Atlantic" today:
ReplyDeleteNo One Knows What to Do About Britain's Exploding Anti-Semitism
https://www.theatlantic.com/international/2026/05/britain-anti-semitism-problem/687086/?
On Sunday mornings, when our parents were busy in the bedroom, my kid sister and I would let the bird out and snarf cookies, taken from the kitchen cabinet. When I was about ten, and she was about six,the two of us (but mostly me), ate the whole box. Three dozen Flavor-Kist chocolate chip cookies. Our mother was pissed.
ReplyDeleteEvery Christmastime, I make a sweet bread that came down from my husband's side of the family - it's called "Holly". It obviously is an evolution of challah, with 4 eggs and the braid. Actually, it's a double braid; you divide it into four, braid three, then divide the last into three, braid it and put in on as a "crown".
ReplyDeleteIt has more honey in it than challah, and it's absolutely crammed with nuts and raisins. Each braid is folded and rolled five times (in the same direction), then the raisins and nuts pushed in and the braid twisted shut to keep them there.
It does have to be sliced, though, because all the filling (and the crown) disturbs the pull-apartness. I had to make it multiple years before I got it right, with my husband trying to remember what flavor was still missing. We finally settled on honey instead of sugar, and a tiny amount of mace, as well as the multiple fold-and-roll to get the featheryness.
And it has to be eaten with unsalted butter. Tradition!
Never heard of "Holly" bread, or its connection to challah.That sounds almost like a fruitcake...all those nuts and raisins. Decades ago, my graphic artist wife worked with Linda, another graphic artist. She was neither Jewish nor the brightest crayon in the box.
ReplyDeleteThey went to a Jewish deli for lunch. Might have been the Bagel, at Old Orchard. Linda ordered soup and "chale (rhymes with stale) bread." My wife had a hard time keeping a straight face--and not snorting. We still call it "chale" when we buy it.