Making Bread

There is something incredibly fulfilling about making bread from scratch. To understand the lessons learned from doing it cannot be replicated in words, they must also be felt. I felt these lessons the first time I made a challah in my new apartment in Israel.

I set the goal to make a challah for my roommates and I for our first Shabbat. I wanted it to be special since we were in quarantine and could not go anywhere. I decided to make Jake Cohen’s Challah recipe, for obvious reasons (I love him, and it seemed simple enough). Despite the fact that we did not have any measuring tools, the Challah came out considerably well. Ben, my Canadian roommate who is an engineer and a wonderful su chef, made it together. We put a lot of attention and care into the dough, and using Ben’s technical skills along with my knowledge of baking, we succeeded in creating a delicious loaf of fresh, sweet egg bread.

The pride I felt from achieving such an ancient tradition surprised me. And, it wasn’t just one aspect of the process that moved me, it was everything combined. I did not expect to be filled with wonder from such simple ingredients as flour, water, sugar, eggs, and yeast. When you handle the ingredients individually, they don’t seem like much. Quite the contrary, they are the most commonplace, inexpensive ingredients that are easily found in most places. But just like any process, each ingredient is equally important, and no step can be skipped when making bread. It is a delicate chemical process that requires patience, adaptability, and even joy. I often find that the joy of wonder comes from being pleasantly surprised, which is exactly what I was when I experienced the magic of these ingredients coming together.

Patience. In order for the bread to come out loaf-like and fluffy in texture, the yeast needs time to feed. Yeast is a very underrated ingredient in my humble opinion. It is a microorganism known to be the oldest plant cultivated by humans. The yeast is the leavening agent that allows the bread to ferment. Chemically, in moist and warm conditions, the yeast feeds on the sugars in the flour mixture and releases carbon dioxide, which causes the dough to swell and grow. Therefore, the yeast is an essential ingredient. To me, bread without yeast is like ice cream without sugar - tasteless and rough with almost no redeeming qualities. These tiny little organisms hold so much power, a metaphor for nature at large. In bread making, I am reminded constantly of its relationship to the natural order of the world. In nature, most things require time and patience. So it only makes sense that the longer the dough rises, the better your bread comes out. Needless to say, patience is learned and rewarded when checking on the progress of your rising dough every couple of hours as you go about your day.

Adaptability. No one loaf of bread is exactly identical. This is because the chemical process required to make it is so specific and influenced by various factors, like the temperature of the water used, the type of flour, the temperature of the air, the amount of kneading done, and on and on. In turn, bread makers must be open to getting creative, and adapting gracefully with whatever happens. Again, we see nature at play here. Things in nature are often outside of our control. Making bread teaches us that instead of trying to control nature, we must work in conjunction with her, and adapt ourselves and our own processes to mirror her extraordinary and ceaseless cycles. This is where creativity comes in. Sometimes, the dough is stickier, and sometimes it is drier. Sometimes, I knead it more, and sometimes I knead it less. Over time, I have instinctually developed an unspoken communication with the dough, a knowing of what it needs to reach its optimal consistency. My hands ask the dough what it needs, and its body responds without failure. When you become a part of your creation, this is where true creativity occurs. And what is creativity if not a personalized adaptation, an interpretation to the materials you have been given? Creativity is being a creator, in any setting.

Joy. Kneading dough takes me back to my playfulness, my childlike fascination with life. Just like handling play dough, there is no right or wrong way to knead real dough. You don’t think about it, you just do it. And enjoyment quickly ensues. It is pure fun to get your hands dirty, to feel the soft, malleable texture of this magical ball of potential, to have the freedom to mold it however you please. Making challah reminds me to take pleasure in the simple joys in life, to really connect with my inner child. For when we do this, the seemingly ordinary activities we habitually do become extraordinary. I will leave you with a quote from Khalil Gibran, on pleasure:

“How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?”
Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,
But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.
For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life, And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,
And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.

In making Challah, I have found that starting from scratch is sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves. Khalil Gibran is one of my Dad’s favorite poets, and this poem is from his book The Prophet, which was the first gift my Dad ever bought for my Mom. In making Challah and finding the kind of pleasure that feeds my soul, I am reminded of this passage and of the history of my existence behind it. The last lesson that making Challah has taught me is gratitude. Gratitude for the simple, for its potential to become complex and profound, gratitude for pleasure and the feeling of accomplishment when making it, and gratitude for delicious, loving food. For the ultimate reward when making a Challah is of course, eating heavenly, nurturing bread.