Challah! Hollah!

As almost anyone who knows me can testify, I am a pretty able-bodied cook. There's not too much in the way of food categories that I routinely avoid cooking out of sheer fear. But there is one major category: BREAD.

I love baking, particularly cookies, cakes, pies, tarts, etc. I have never shied away from making a pie crust. I grew up watching my mom shun fancy equipment to make her pie crust; she cut into the mix with two knives, back and forth for what seemed like hours. When I do it, it is a pain, but I know how to do it right.

After years of dying to try to make bread, I finally took out the yeast (nevermind I've probably owned this same yeast for years). This morning, first thing when I woke up, I took out my Challah recipe. I had been tempted by the New York Times magazine's quite lovely feature and tempting photos for "The Best Challah," a recipe that had originally appeared in the 1970s.

I usually do not read recipes in advance of starting them (one of my major kitchen flaws), but this one, I did read ahead of time. Must have had it with me on the MARTA or something and peeked at it. It required chilling dough for 8 hours, so I had time still.

My first mistakes took place immediately. I put in 1.5 T salt instead of required 1.5 t. Not too much of a biggie, I tried to take out as much salt as I could, tasting the different white crystals of salt and sugar so much I almost gagged. Next mistake was to put ALL the butter in the bowl (though I didn't mix it), though the required amount was 2 T, not 1 stick + 2 T. Oh boy.

Coming back to this several hours later, I now moved on to the first phase of rolling the dough. The directions were obscenely complicated, and I kept looking for a measuring stick to check to see if my original oval had turned into a 5 x 8 rectangle (yes, these are the actual directions). I couldn't find one, so made do with my knowledge of paper measurements and photo frames. Uhhh...

The next task at hand required rolling out the butter. Then take out dough. Then literally push the butter into 2 halves of the dough. Then roll into another mathematical challenge--6 x 12. Fold into thirds, and refrigerate again.

Umm...I wish I could say it ended there, but of course ending there means I have a lot of uncooked dough in odd formations, and on final challah. Roll out again into new dimensions, slice into 9 strips (not 3), and braid, braid again. Neverending. In there is more chilling, more dimensions, and rising. All of which is totaling my entire life!!

In the end, the stupid dough didn't rise. And no, my yeast hasn't expired. I have no idea what went wrong. But overall, it was a huge waste of time! AHHHH! Worst culinary experience of my life.


And that experience precisely, my friends, is why I've been intimidated by breads. This is the most confusing and complicated recipe EVER! Too many unknowns, too many uncontrolables.

The recipe can be found here. Make sure you NEVER do this!

The bad luck in the kitchen followed me. Later on as I prepared a meal for the refugee family, I burned my hands twice, and then burned the lentils so much that they started smoking everywhere. Blegh. Bad day!

Other weekend highlights included a Mac & Cheese contest, for which Ben and I (knowing we would win if we applied ourselves) took the more challenging route of making Bourbon Brioche Bread Pudding with Caramel Sauce....and took the cake for desserts (only one entered). Actually the M&C's were delish!