Making Peace with Yeast

I have a longstanding love-hate relationship with yeast. I’ve made bread as flat as a pancake. And I’ve made bread that was reminiscent of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. But today I determined to try again.

I’ve always believed that a really good Jewish wife/mother could make challah blindfolded. But that has never been the case with me. I took a class in challah-making several years ago at Temple Micah. The instructors were those who make gigantic challahs that feed the entire congregation on a Shabbat morning, wafting out the aroma of baking bread toward the end of the service. The resulting loaf, made with 5 pounds of flour, is warm and delicious and always looks to me to be perfect.

I was entertaining the people who were most involved in painting the Darfur tent for Shabbat dinner last night. I had determined to make a challah early enough in the day that I still had time to go out and buy one if it was a total disaster.

The night before I read over the instructions from my class. When I came to the line “mix in enough flour to form a dough that comes away from the side of the bowl”, I knew I was in trouble. I called the challah experts and learned that meant about 6 cups.

At the crack of dawn, I was proofing yeast and getting ready for a morning of kneading, rising, and braiding. I do love the feel of warm bread dough. I love the rhythm you establish as you turn and push until it becomes rather elastic.


It never fails to amaze me that you start with a little puddle of dough at the bottom of a big bowl that wants only to grow (unless you kill the yeast). I took care not to overheat my little puddle of dough.

After two risings, I divided and braided the dough, making a little braid to sit on top of the big one. I put on an egg wash and sprinkled it liberally with poppy seeds.


After a third rising, I put it in the oven to bake. That’s when the bread aroma creeps into every corner of the house, overpowering the smell of last night’s onions or wet dog. It is a very comforting smell.


My monster loaf of bread emerged from the oven 45 minutes later. It was far from perfect, having turned some braid lines into small dimples. But it was certainly presentable.

My guests seemed to like it and were quite willing to take home doggy bags of challah.

The challah was the traditional part of the dinner. We also had beet-tomato salad, roasted potatoes with onions and garlic, Swiss chard with raisins and pine nuts, barbecued chicken, and my favorite new dessert recipe from my friend LR: peach-blackberry crisp, served with homemade yogurt.

It was a good group. After talking for several hours, they went home with full bellies and leftover challah.

I looked at the two remaining packages of yeast and wondered if I would use them before they expired.