Shabbat blessings are an important part of my cultural identity as a Jew but my children often wondered, “Mummy, where’s the yummy special bread?”
So, I’m on a mission to master baking it from scratch, starting with a session with Boudicca Woodland at Exeter’s new One Mile Bakery. As I head into Woodland’s (non-kosher) kitchen, I’m nervous because my previous bread-making attempts have resulted in dense, inedible loaves.
We weigh out the ingredients, adding the yeast, salt and sugar into the flour, followed by warm water and eggs to create what is known as an “enriched dough”. Mixing this together, we make a messy, shaggy mixture in the bowl, and scrape this out on to the work surface.
“It’s important to knead your dough for ten whole minutes and time yourself so you’re not tempted to stop too soon,” says Woodland. It’s quite a work-out but, as I continue to knead, I can feel the texture changing as the stretchy gluten strands begin to form. “The more you knead it, the better your dough develops,” says Woodland.
Kneading becomes totally immersive — it’s therapeutic, ever so sticky, and, as it’s impossible to do anything else at the same time, the art of baking is mindful by nature. Woodland emphasises that although many people are tempted to add more flour at this stage, it’s not necessary. Just before the timer beeps, the texture of the dough becomes a smoother ball, and we leave it to prove for an hour on top of the warm oven, where it doubles in size.
She teaches me how to gently press the soft dough to deflate it a little before shaping. “It’s lovely and springy —the gluten strands are transforming the dough beautifully,” she says, “so now we split it into three pieces.” We plait our loaves and by the time I brush my loaf with egg wash and sprinkle poppy seeds on top, I feel emotionally attached to it, excited to see how it will bake once we have let it rest for another hour.
Once baked, I can’t wait to share my golden-brown challah with my family. The bread is light and airy, soft and sweet. Attempting to bake one at home on my own turns out not to be so successful. Disappointingly, my next loaf doesn’t rise sufficiently with out-of-date yeast.
With my attempts to perfect my loaf limited to weekly, it’s going to take time to develop that elusive baker’s instinct. I call Robin van Creveld, professional baker and founder of Community Chef in Lewes, who grew up in an observant Reform Jewish household and enjoys the ritual involved in baking, sharing and eating challah. “Apprentice bakers learn quickly by constant observation but when you’re only baking once a week, it takes time to develop the skills,” he assures me, as he advises me to keep practising. “You will eventually get a feel for the dough and understand how temperature, time, the ingredients and proportions all work together — it’s simple chemistry.”
There’s a lot of symbolism around challah. It represents the manna provided by God when the Israelites wandered for 40 years in the desert following the Exodus. Manna did not fall on the Sabbath, so a double portion would fall the day before, hence two loaves are often blessed together.
The plaiting is also symbolic. Van Creveld explains that the three strands of dough are said to represent peace, truth and justice and that some bakers bake two six-stranded loaves to represent the 12 tribes of Israel.
“Different traditions have been picked up along the way because the story of our Jewish baking traditions is the story of a nomadic, travelling people,” explains Anne Shooter, food writer and author of Jewish cook books, Sesame & Spice and Cherish. “Enriched dough came from Poland and Russia during the 19th century when Ashkenazi communities escaped the pogroms. There’s this lovely crossover of religious significance and the cultures Jews bought with them from these lands.”
Shooter explains that Sephardic coiled challah is a more basic, plain flour loaf made without egg or sugar, topped with spices, because enriched dough was considered to be cake and wouldn’t fulfil their ritual purposes. There are endless customs associated with challah — some families cut the loaf, others tear. Some sprinkle it with salt as a reminder of the connection to temple sacrifices, others dip it into salt.
Making challah is one of just three commandments women are obliged to carry out as pillars of the Jewish home: “I enjoyed teaching my daughters how to bake challah when they were growing up — that’s always a special part of Shabbat,” says Shooter. “It shows that we’re going that extra mile. For me, baking is a meditative, creative process with a valuable outcome, and I like the precision of it. The recipe only works if you are extremely accurate.”
After a few more inconsistent attempts, I find my own rhythm. Baking adds structure to my Friday and I start feeling a sixth sense as I work with the dough. As my confidence grows, I feel proud that I can create a complete Shabbat meal for my family. My children can’t wait to say hamotzi and the blessing makes it feels even more special.
Baking my own loaf gives my Sabbath a deeper meaning — it takes time, effort and patience, and the result is nourishing and reaffirming.
Real Bread Week is February 23 to March 3. For events and information about bread baking classes, visit the Real Bread Campaign
