Let's get one thing straight....

If it has butter in it, it's not challah.

The end.

To keep a lamp burning, we have to keep putting oil in it. (Mother Teresa)

I love doughnuts. I know that probably sounds redundant, coming from a blog about baking, but it's the truth behind this entry. I absolutely love doughnuts. I love yeast doughnuts, I love cake doughnuts. I love doughnuts with filling. I love frosted doughnuts, glazed doughnuts, sugared doughnuts. I love doughnuts with sprinkles or without. I love doughnut holes. I love beignets. I love zeppoles. I love berliners. If it's made of dough and it's fried, I'm there.

But I've never made doughnuts before. The idea of pouring a quart of oil into a pan myself and frying dough on my own just seems so... unhealthy. And what do I do with the rest of the oil I don't use? I live in a New York apartment--I don't have the storage space for useless oil.

I do, however, have an unhealthy obsession with cooking supply stores. An unhealthy obsession that probably rivals my obsession with doughnuts. And so when I went to Sur La Table today, with an American Express gift card expiring in October in my hand, and I saw this pan, my first thought wasn't "Baked? Really?" but rather, "Oo! Doughnuts!" I had two apples that were going bad, and I had a Master Doughnut Plan. It was only when I was on the train home that it struck me how weird baked doughnuts are. What is a doughnut if it's not fried? A baked doughnut? Really?

But, I had my Master Plan and I hate to see good fruit go bad, so, despite my reticence to accept that a baked doughnut could be delicious, I persevered. And then I Googled "what is the best baked doughnut donut recipe in the entire world?"

And I found one.

And thus, my Master Doughnut Plan was put into action. And the baked apple doughnut was born. Imagine a light cakey doughnut, flavored with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg, that when you bite down into it, you are surprised to be met with a full ring of apple inside the doughnut. Imagine that apple ring to be warm and soft, spiced and moist. And imagine how that brings this baked doughnut to, dare I say it, the same level of deliciousness as a doughnut deep fried in oil.

I submit for approval, the Baked Apple Doughnut: 

Baked Apple Doughnuts
adapted from Sur La Table, via Not So Humble Pie
makes 12 doughnuts

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour*
4 tablespoons cornstarch*
3/4 cups granulated sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice**
1 teaspoon cinnamon**
2 teaspoons kosher salt
3/4 cups kefir***
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons butter, melted
2 crisp apples, peeled, cored, and cut to fit in a doughnut pan
Bowl of cinnamon sugar (just put some cinnamon in some sugar, however strong you like it -- I like it really cinnamony, so that's a couple tablespoons of cinnamon per cup of sugar)

1. In a large bowl, whisk together the FLOUR, CORNSTARCH, SUGAR, BAKING POWDER, SPICES, and SALT
2. In another smaller bowl, mix together the VANILLA EXTRACT, KEFIR, BUTTER, and EGGS
3. Make a well in center of the flour mixture and pour in the egg mixture, then fold or mix (your preferred combining method) the dough until just combined
4. Spoon a shallow layer (about 1/3 full) of the batter into each of the doughnut pan holes, then place a cut APPLE ROUND on top of the batter, and proceed by covering the apple round entirely with more batter, filling the doughnut tin to the top
5. Bake at 425F for 9-10 minutes, or until the tops of the doughnuts spring back when lightly touched
6. Roll each doughnut in CINNAMON SUGAR**** while still piping hot

* Alternatively, you can use 2 cups cake flour in the place of the all-purpose flour and cornstarch
** Feel free to use the spices of your choosing that go well with whatever you're stuffing in these doughnuts. I could see a pineapple-stuffed doughnut with mint and ginger. I could see a mango doughnut with some cayenne. Go crazy.
*** The original recipe calls for buttermilk, but all I had was some leftover kefir, so I used that. You can also substitute unsweetened yogurt or greek yogurt, sour cream, or 3/4 cups of milk with a tablespoon of either lemon juice or white vinegar
**** If you want (and you probably want), you can brush the doughnuts with melted butter before rolling in sugar to help make it stick. I was trying to make these "healthy" though.

I'm not really a Jew, just Jew-ish; not the whole hog. (Jonathan Miller)

I'm going to tell you a secret. It kind of goes against everything most people feel about the world. It's an odd thing to say, and people will gasp and cover their mouths in shock if anyone actually said it in real life. So here, I'll say it on the Internet.

I really don't enjoy summer.

Wait, let me qualify that. I really don't enjoy summer in New York. You could probably go so far as to say I hate summer in New York. It's hot, it's humid, it's dirty. You start sweating at the end of May, and you don't stop until the end of September. You have to take three showers a day, you're afraid to turn on your oven, and walking around feels like wading through pea soup. You feel like you're suffocating on the subway platform, and your light blue shirts are consistently a dark navy from moisture.

So when September rolls around, I anticipate the day I wake up and step out my door and instead of going "Unghhh," I go "Aaahhh," it's a good day. And that day usually coincides with Rosh Hashanah.

Yes, I'm Jewish. And the best part of being Jewish is the holidays. And why is that you might ask? Because you feel closer to your god? No. Because you get to take a few days off work? No. Because we all enjoy hours of religious service following by getting your cheeks pinched by senior citizens who knew you when "you were just this tall"? No.

It's because you get to eat your face off. And you get to eat your face off with delicious, rich, filling, homey food. Noodle kugel. Beef brisket. Smoked salmon. I wouldn't say the Jews have the most sophisticated culinary repertoire, but dang they have a good one. The pinnacle of this, the one facet of the meal that ties all this together is challah (and no, it's not pronounced "ch"-"allah").

Challah is an amazing bread. I like to think of it as The Healthy Brioche. It's rich and eggy, but not greasy with butter (because butter would make it not-quite-kosher), and there's no pretention of being Too French. It's comforting, it's fun to rip apart with your hands, and I've been known to eat an entire loaf in one sitting while studying for finals in college.

Part of the joy of challah is the art that goes into shaping the final loaf. With a regular loaf of bread, you shape it into a boule, or throw it into a pan, and at the end of the ornate spectrum, you might have an intense baguette-ing process that involves a razor blade and some artsy slashes.

With challah, however, you must do something with it. It's not challah if it's not looking awesome. At the very basic (and traditionally holiday-appropriate), you make a turban for Rosh Hashanah. The standard braid works for everyday challah, and Shabbat. You can get more ornate with five braids, six braids, or more, and even stack challot on top of one another to mock a very complicated pattern. If you don't make the challah look beautiful, you basically have a crappier brioche. Who's ever heard of a pullman loaf of challah bread??

For this Rosh Hashanah (actually, Yom Kippur--shh... I didn't fast), I decided to make a challah using one of the main ingredients of the season: honey. I also made an apple pie, to use the other ingredient, but that's for another post. The challah turned out sweet (but not too sweet) and rich (but not too rich), and because I was impatient and didn't let it rise enough the first two times, it was craggy as opposed to smooth, and less fluffy and more dense. It had a substantial bite, and stayed dangerously moist inside the crust for hours (dangerous for my waistline, hours because it didn't last too long around these parts). I went with the traditional circular shape for the new year, but braided it because I just love pulling off the little nubs and chowing down. 

I would like to call it "artisanal," for the look was not quite the norm for challah, but because I'm not into mincing my words much, I'm just going to call it what it was: delicious.

Honey Challah
adapted from Smitten Kitchen, The Challah Blog, and a childhood in a synagogue
makes 1 challah loaf

1 packet active dry yeast
2/3 cup warm water
1 teaspoon + 1/4 cup honey
1/3 cup vegetable or canola oil
2 eggs + 1 yolk
3 teaspoons kosher salt
4 cups flour (plus more for dusting)
1 egg (for wash, and you can add in the extra egg white you have laying around if you want. waste not, want not)

1. Dissolve the 1 teaspoon of HONEY in the WARM WATER in a large bowl, sprinkle the YEAST on top of the water, and let it stand for 10 minutes (seriously, let it stand at least 10 minutes. I didn't and my dough had some trouble rising)
2. Dump the rest of the HONEY, OIL, EGGS (not the egg wash egg), YOLK, SALT, and FLOUR in the bowl, and mix with a wooden spoon until it looks like, as they say, a shaggy mass
3. Flour your countertop, and dump the shaggy mass out onto it, then knead as you've never kneaded before, until the dough is smooth and springs back when you poke it*
4. Oil a bowl and throw your smooth ball in there, turning it a few times to fully coat the dough in oil, cover with plastic wrap, and set in a warm (not too hot, not too cold, and preferably with a little moist humidity) place for an hour, until the dough is almost doubled in size
5. After an hour, dump the dough out onto the countertop, press into a rectangle, and fold it over itself a couple times, then press it out into a rectangle again and fold it over a couple times, gathering the ends underneath to form a ball again, then throw it back in the oiled bowl and allowing it to rise another hour
6. Take the risen dough out of the bowl and divide into however many strands you want for whatever shape you want to make (see above links for the many ways to knot a challah)
7. Shape and weave the dough, and place it on a baking sheet, with or without parchment (I don't care much either way), and brush with the EGG WASH
8. Bake at 375F for 10 minutes, then lower the heat to 350F and bake for another 35, or until it sounds hollow when you tap the bottom of the loaf (but be careful of burning your fingers when testing thusly)
9. Allow the bread to cool completely (if you can) before ripping into it like a zombie into a brain during the apocalypse

*Note: this is not a guarantee. I did this, and mine still took forever to rise. Seriously, I baked it the next morning before work.

From abundance springs satiety (Titus Livius)

There are some great things about growing your own stuff at home. Herbs are a perfect example. Herbs are expensive, and when you're cooking for one person, they really don't make much sense. Am I really going to spend $5 on a bunch of basil when I really only need 3 leaves for my bruschetta? No. But, if you grow your own herbs, you run into the problem of abundance. Now, you're left with so much basil, you have no idea what to do with it. Your freezer is full of pesto. Your fridge is full of pasta primavera. You've infused vodka. You've infused oil. You've used it as a substitute for toilet paper. In short: you have too much.

This is the situation I was recently in with kefir. You see, I like kefir. Scratch that. I like grocery store kefir. That stuff from Clover or Lifeway (P.S. did you know Lifeway makes frozen kefir? I must investigate. And not, they are not paying me) that's filled with sugar and flavorings. It's like milk, but also like yogurt, but sweet and delicious, and it has probiotics so I can't feel bad drinking an entire quart in one sitting, right? Unfortunately, that stuff is not cheap, and when you can't help but consume four servings as one, it adds up.

That's why when an email came across our corporate network from a home kefir-maker (kefirsmith?) saying he had an abundance of kefir grains he was giving away, I jumped at the chance to make this drink at home. What could be more fun, right?

I won't go into the details of my kefir making process--that's another post--but let's just say it involved multiple calls to my step-mom about the safety of milk that has been sitting at room temperature and when to tell a "good curdle" from a "bad curdle," and frantic Googling of topics such as "Proper kefir whey separation" and "How soon after consuming bad milk will I know if I've given myself food poisoning?" For the record, this is definitely the best site out there for kefir making, from soup to nuts--err... grains to drink?

In short, I ended up making kefir, but damn was that stuff tangy! Don't get me wrong, it was delicious, but I can tell why the supermarket brands pump sugar into their cultures. Without it, you're basically drinking what tastes like spoiled milk, but not as vomit-enducing. Great in smoothies, but there are only so many smoothies I can drink when making 16 ounces of the stuff every 24 hours. Before I knew it, I had a half-gallon of kefir and I was not drinking it fast enough.

I was faced with a ton of kefir, and my gears started turning. One day, when reading Uncle John's Original Bread Book, which might just be one of the best books on bread making ever, a light-bulb went off in my head. I wasn't just making kefir, I was growing kefir. Much like one would grow a sourdough starter. Why not use the kefir in the same way? Mix it up with some flour, let it sit, and let those kefir cultures do their thing: metabolize, give off carbon dioxide, and rise up some dough? It was a mad scientist moment. It was genius! (if I do say so myself)

So, yesterday, amidst the final (I hope) waves of New York summer heat, I decided to do something I say I'll never do during the summer, but always end up doing at some point: I made bread. Kefir bread. I dumped flour and kefir in a bowl with some salt, and got to mixin' and kneadin'.

And boy, did I knead. I think I watched two full episodes of USA's Suits until the bread got to a point in the kneading where I felt it was ready to rise. I'll note here, not to make myself sound like He-Man (but kind of), that I don't own a stand mixer, so this kneadin' was done with leftie, rightie, and their ten little soldiers. And this is why I don't make bread in the summer. 5 minutes it, I was covered in sweat as if I had just run 5 miles. That may be a better indication of my overall fitness level than of how hot it was or how intense the kneading was, but let me tell you, I'm not sure all the tang in the bread came from the kefir...!

I let it rise a ridiculous 24 hours (mainly because I couldn't stand to look at it after the war zone the kneading produced), then shaped it and let it rise another 4 or so. I should have let it rise to fully double its size the second time, but I was impatient and wanted to eat some bread with Nutella, so I popped it in the oven and let chemistry work its magic. What I came out with was a seriously funky looking bread with a thick crunchy crispy crust and a tenderly moist and incredibly tangy sour crumb. I tell you, I made San Francisco proud.

Kefir Bread
heavily adapted from Uncle John's Original Bread Book
makes 1 bread loaf

4 cups bread flour (plus about a cup more for when you're kneading)
2 1/2 cups homemade kefir, room temperature (note: this will not work with store-bought kefir, as the cultures are not quite as alive)
1 teaspoon kosher salt

1. Mix together FLOUR, KEFIR, and SALT with a wooden spoon, and then your hands, when dealing with the spoon gets to be a little too frustrating
2. Turn out the dough onto a well (very well) floured surface, and get to kneading!
3. Knead the dough until it's relatively soft, smooth, and not really all that sticky, adding more flour as needed (har har, did you catch that?)
4. Knead some more*
5. Put the dough in a bowl, cover it with plastic, and let it rise until doubled in size, about 24 hours (this is much longer than a usual bread dough rise, since there are less of the mircobes that are doing the metabolizing that make dough rise--in a standard packet of yeast, you'll have more live digesting organisms than you'll find in a couple cups of homemade kefir)
6. Turn the risen dough out onto a floured surface (and for godssakes, don't punch it down), and shape into whatever shape you want the dough to be. Mine was still kind of sticky and didn't hold its shape, so rather than make a giant blob, I put it in a paper loaf pan.
7. Bake the dough (on a cookie sheet, in case of spillover) at 400F for 10 minutes, the lower the temperature to 350F and bake another 40, or until tapping on the dough sounds rather hollow.
8. Let it cool completely before cutting into it (I didn't, but there are actual scientific reasons as to why you should let it cool. I wanted my Nutella, dammit)

* I'll note here that I'm really not the most experienced bread baker, so the whole "knead until it looks like this" or "until the windowpane method proves ready" hasn't quite caught on yet for me. So I just kneaded that dough until my arms felt like I just got back from the gym

Pick Battles Big Enough to Matter, Small Enough to Win (Jonathan Kozol)

Last Christmas, I made a pie. Not just any pie, but Amy's Mom's Whole Lemon Pie, which might just be the best dessert I have ever eaten and will ever eat in my entire life. And I'm a chocolate fan, so when I say a non-chocolate dessert may be the best dessert ever... that's a big deal.

I made the pie for my family for Christmas because I hadn't been able to shut up about the pie since I at it at Amy's Bread last summer, and my step-mom had just gotten some Meyer lemons from an old neighbor of hers. So, I made they pie, and it was good. I knew the crust wasn't the best, as I had somewhat spontaneously added lemon zest and basil into the crust for some extra oomph, and I didn't exactly have a proper rolling pin with which to roll it out (I used a wine bottle). 

I was so excited to show off my pie, how inventive I was with the alterations I made, how much it mimicked what I had had at the best bakery in the world. I was pumped to share it with my step-mom who had procured me the lemons, with my mom who saves her calories for dessert when I come around, and especially with my grandmother--the home economics major. 

When she tasted it, she was over the moon about it. The filling was so great! The balance of flavors was so harmonious! It was tart! And sweet! And deliciously smooth and buttery! If I had let it stand there, I would have been convinced my pie was nothing short of perfect. Alas, I knew she wasn't being honest, so I played bashful and said, "Yeah, the filling is great, but I think the crust could use some work."

Her body relaxed like a weight was lifted off her shoulders as she said, "I'm glad you said something, because the crust is a little too thick and crumbly, not flaky. Its flavor isn't the best and the texture is too tough, and it's a little burnt in places."

Even crickets dared not chirp as my eyes went wide like a full moon.

"Um... thanks for being honest Grandma."

And, as if nothing odd had happened, "But David, the filling really is delicious."

Since then, I hadn't made a pie crust. I didn't want someone to eat one of my pie crusts, for fear that it was a Bad Crust. Because I didn't really know how to make a Good Crust. Instead, I read voraciously about pie crusts. I read about shortening crusts, lard crusts, butter crusts, oil crusts, vodka crusts, graham cracker crusts, oreo cookie crusts, gingersnap crusts. I watched videos about crusts by food processor, crusts by pastry blender, crusts by knife, crusts by fingertips. I read the pros and cons. I looked at pictures. And I (of course) taste tested pies, and pies, and pies made by bakeries and restaurants whenever I could.

This week, I made a crust. And, I have to say, it was a Good Crust.

All Butter, Really Flaky Pie Crust
from Smitten Kitchen
makes one double-, or two single-crust pies

2 1/2 cups flour
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 cup unsalted butter, diced into small cubes and frozen
1/2-3/4 cups ice water

1. Whisk together the FLOUR, GRANULATED SUGAR, and SALT
2. Using a pastry cutter (or a food processor if you like to clean food processors), combine the cold BUTTER with the dry ingredients until you have a good mixture of small cornmeal-like granules, and larger pea-to-marble-sized pieces of butter
3. Continue using the pastry cutter or the tip of a rubber/silicone spatula to stir in ICE WATER one tablespoon at a time until it sticks in a clump when you squeeze a handful in a fist
4. Form the dough into a ball, flatten into a disc, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate at least a couple hours before rolling it out to make your pie

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie
adapted from Cook's Illustrated
makes filling for one nine-inch pie

3 cups strawberries, cut into thin slices
3 cups rhubarb, cut into 1/2" pieces
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup light brown sugar
1 tablespoon assorted autumnal spices* (nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, allspice -- basically pumpkin pie spice)
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 cup quick-cooking tapioca
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into bits
1 egg yolk + 1 teaspoon water

1. Preheat the oven to 400F
2. Roll out half of the pie dough into a circle an inch or so larger than your pie pan, transfer into your pie pan, and then stick it back into the fridge
3. Roll out the other half of the pie dough and prep it as you would like for the top (for lattice, cut into strips and keep this page handy; for shaped cut-outs, use a cookie cutter to create; for a covered top, simply roll out--basically, get creative with what you do, just make sure you have enough open space to allow steam to escape), and stick it back in the fridge
4. Stir together the STRAWBERRIES, RHUBARB, GRANULATED SUGAR, BROWN SUGAR, SPICES, VANILLA EXTRACT, SALT, and TAPIOCA into a large bowl
5. Dump the filling into the bottom crust and dot the top with the bits of unsalted BUTTER
6. Cover the top with the top crust, trim the crusts so the overhang only amounts to half an inch, tuck the rim of the dough underneath itself and crimp the edge using a fork or flute using your fingertips. It really doesn't matter what the edge looks like--it'll taste amazing no matter.
(6b. If by this time the crust has gotten soft, pop it back in the fridge for 10 minutes)
7. Transfer the pie to a baking sheet (in case it bubbles over! mine did) and brush the crust with the EGG YOLK mixture
8. Bake 20 minutes at 400F, then reduce the temperature to 250F and bake for another 30 minutes, until it looks amazing, with a golden crust, is bubbling, and smelling like you just entered nirvana.
9. Let the pie cool until the juices gel (a couple hours, preferably overnight), and then you're ready to eat.

* Note: I've seen this many times (and in fact the original Cook's Illustrated recipe has it) with 1 tablespoon orange or lemon zest with 2 teaspoons lemon juice in place of the autumnal spices, which I think would make the filling even better. I forgot to buy lemons at the store and had already been grocery shopping twice the day I made this, so I opted for the spice version instead.