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Posts Tagged ‘mahogany color’

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The first batch set to rise by my radiator.

I was at it again for the past two days, baking and delivering bread as my family has been doing for close to a century. My Italian grandmother (who died before I was born) made one recipe, my dad made another, and true to the pattern, I make still another. Mine’s Martha Stewart’s chocolate cinnamon babka, which I describe in my last year’s post.

Here’s my photo album of the past two days.

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A cool photo, but I’m hoping you’ll be more impressed by the fact that I shot it lefty.

Once the unbaked breads are in their buttered springforms, I put them onto my dining room table, next to a radiator. It’s there that they’ll rise overnight.

When I was growing up, we set the pans between layers of our sleeping bags. Now I use this vintage blanket. It was on my grandmother’s bed at my aunts’ and uncle’s house, and it was the one my sister and I slept beneath whenever we stayed there. Kind of works here.

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Waiting to go night-night.

There’s nothing like waking up in the morning and pulling back the covers to find the bread dough puffy and sweetly fragrant.

Woo hoo! Risen breads in the morning light!

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Right before they go into the oven, I brush them with egg and a splash of milk (an ‘egg wash’). This makes them brown up to a glossy mahogany color.

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Below, the first batch cooling while the second batch is in the oven.

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Then they get loosely wrapped in aluminum foil, oozing chocolate and all; schlepped to the car; and delivered around the county. All recipients used to live in Interlaken, where I grew up, but there’s only one there now. I’ve been bringing him bread since I was old enough to walk it to his house without dropping it, since about 1974. He’s in his eighties now and uses a cane, but still stands at the door not just to watch me walk to my car and see that I get in, but stays to watch until I drive away.

One more nice story for this year…

I mentioned in my last post that this was the first year I bought eggs from a local farm. Not just local, but organic; and not just a farm, but growers whom I consider friends—Silverton Farms in Toms River, NJ.

I used almost a dozen of their brown and Araucana eggs*, just under two days old. Next year I’ll try to get them even closer to the time I bake, but the breads still turned out lighter than usual, light as foam. This was the first time since my grandmother’s day—from the 20s or earlier to the 40s or 50s—that a family member used fresh, local eggs to make Easter bread.

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Happy Easter, everybody. Now go eat some chocolate. Show some discipline.

*Click the ‘eggs’ link for pretty pictures; they’re sometimes called Easter eggs because of their lovely colors. So it was fitting)

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