Holiday baking, love in a box.

Sassafras Curio

One business item, if you didn’t see the Welcome post, be sure to give it a look for a little background. Otherwise, let’s get to it.

Hi folks,

We’re well into December in Vermont and the days are dropping like the last of November’s leaves. There’s an advent calendar by the door and we have our tree up, but it’s only strung with lights. We’re waiting for my oldest, Clementine, to get home from college before we add decorations.

For those of you also living with, or adjusting to missing pieces in your family, you understand how we miss her. But she’ll be home soon and that which has felt off-kilter, lost, or ached-for, will be made whole. And we’ll decorate the tree. And hug on her more than she may want. And bake.

Something that’s evolved at our house in recent years is that I now have the reserves and desire to bake at home during the holidays. When I was a production baker all of that energy was spent at work. My first year out of the bakery I made Gibassier, an olive oil and butter-enriched bread flavored with home-candied orange peel and anise seed. After baking I brushed it with butter and tossed it with granulated sugar to coat. If Mediterranean sunshine was a donut – light as a cloud, sweet, citrus-scented, with hits of anise – it would shine like this.

The second year I made stollen. A classic version with rum-soaked fruit, warming spices, toasted almonds, and a marzipan filling, I dunked them in hot butter (twice) after baking, then added a layer of non-melting sugar and a seasonal gift wrap, then delivered them with hand-made cards. Behold, unto us a [baking tradition] is born. (If you’re looking for a project bake, this chocolate-hazelnut stollen I wrote is a twist on the usual and worth the time.)

Last year, Clementine tested positive for Covid right before her flight home from college so my wife, Julie, drove 12 hours straight to pick her up and then took her (double-masked for the whole journey, windows open) to an empty family home where they quarantined for Christmas. A tough, weird, (but perhaps fitting?) end to the year.

Back in Vermont the baking continued. With more fervor and need than ever before. If the signs said, “no dancing,” then we danced harder, kicked higher, and baked what we could of it.

We chose Choux aux Craquelin, a cream puff dough baked with a sugar cookie cap on top then filled. My team – Anthem and Arlo – and I made two flavors: One with a black cocoa cookie cap, filled with eggnog pastry cream and cinnamon whipped cream. The other was Earl Grey pastry cream with orange whipped cream and a vanilla cookie cap. It was a two-day affair and the baking wrapped just as the sun set on the 24th (my birthday).

I found a Santa hat and a battery-powered string of lights. We filled boxes then piled into the car and sped blinking through a cold, dark Vermont night, surprising friends with a quick text heads-up en route. (Are you guys around? We have treats!)

For a minute, an hour, or maybe five, the weight of the year, the separation from family, the mounting Covid losses, and the ways in which life is at once divine and perfect and fatally flawed, all lifted. I could breathe. I could smile. I could love my friends as family. I could be grateful, forgiving, compassionate, and swept up and away by the best of the season.

I posted a picture of the box, and wrote:

“If the past year has been a lesson for anything it’s shown the need for motion; don’t stop, don’t look too far ahead, but also, don’t spend too much time looking down. This ain’t easy.

But food — what we make, how we make it, and most importantly, what we share — is here for us, offering more than sustenance, solving more than hunger, saying more than “eat.”

And so, in that spirit, lured by the salve of baking and sharing – the love which is received not by gathering or holding onto, but giving – we’re planning our bakes for 2022.

Here’s what we’re making.

Gibassier

These are back by popular demand. This evening I made my first batch of candied orange peel, and, at my current rate of snacking I’ll need to make more. If extras persist I’ll dip them in tempered dark chocolate. (I know that the combination of orange and chocolate is controversial for some. It is not controversial to me.)

Gibassier recipe is on my website. Link is here.

Four-strand challah

For years I made challah professionally. While the formula made beautiful, sturdy loaves that braided well with muscular plaits, it simply wasn’t flavorful. During the pandemic Arlo and I made a video using a different recipe and it brought some appropriate renewal (and respect) to this dough that I now lo[a]ve.

While less enriched than brioche, this recipe produces a tender crumb, a light texture that “shreds” like cotton candy, and a beautiful, burnished crust (that I always cover with seeds). I’ll make these on the small side, 5” to 7” across, in order to fit into a small gift box with the other things. I love the round, four-strand form, but if you prefer a three strand or other shapes, proceed with your preference. No rules here. (And the dough makes great pull-apart rolls, cinnamon buns, pan loaves, and more.)

For the miniature four-strand challah, a standard batch of the Classic Challah on the King Arthur Baking website will yield four small loaves. (Three notes if you make that recipe. 1) Use the higher flour amount. 2) Use sugar rather than honey. 3) For the mix, use a stand mixer and mix on medium (KitchenAid speed 4) for 5 to 7 minutes.)

I weigh the strand pieces at 60 - 65g each and preshape as tubes, then chill until cold. The chilling step makes the strands much easier to roll evenly to about 12” in length. If you’re new to the round four-strand challah, I think that Debbie Rosalimsky demonstrates it perfectly on YouTube. “Under goes over,” just remember that, and, thanks, Debbie!

Pain d’épices

Wanting something dark with decadent spices, I’ve gone to my stable and pulled a recipe from my book. Drawing significant inspiration from my dear friend, the great baker Richard Miscovich’s recipe, this bread is a celebration of honey, dried apple, warm spices, citrus zest, and rye flour. I heat the honey and aromatics then mix into the rye flour while hot. This method gives the bread a texture that creates its own category.

But in the end it’s not the recipe, is it? It’s the gesture. Make something, share it, breathe life into your community, your family, your self, one loaf at a time.

Happy baking, friends. And thanks for reading.

Martin