The Challah Experiment

One of the things that frustrate me to no end is that my boys do not like baking. I mean they will eat cake, especially if said cake has any form of chocolate in it, and they will criticise the cake and the baker as if they are tiny Paul Hollywoods gone rogue, but they don't like the actual baking. Everywhere I look there are people whose kids absolutely adore helping them in the kitchen, people who regard baking with kids as a half-term activity, people who invent recipes with their kids. Baking, all the parenting sites say, is a great way to connect with your children. In theory at least. Apparently my kids didn't read those sites as their reaction when I even start saying "do you want to help me...." is to run away screaming. No, they would not like to help me. They would rather do anything else. They would rather tidy up their room, do the laundry, read a book, everything but bake.

For someone whose life revolves around baking, that is quite frustrating. And embarrassing. Of course I know why they don't like baking (and mainly baking with me), it is a lethal combination of Yon's fear of getting dirty, Ron's inability to accept deviations from the written recipes and my need for perfection. Add to that the fact that we constantly quarrel for control, and the only recipe you get is for disaster.

But I couldn't let it go because baking is such an important part of life -  it is the perfect combination between science and art, it is a place to work on so many of their issues and it's a great way for them to impress girls in the future.
And even that is not why I decided to bake with them.
It was because I found it inconceivable that they don't know how to bake a Challah. We Jewish people take our Fridays very seriously, and a big part of a Friday is the special-family-evening-meal, which the Challah is a big part of. For Jewish people braiding a Challah is basic, it is something you learn in nursery, when every Friday the nursery teacher makes the dough and all the kids braid their own little challahs. Well, at least that is how it was in the olden days. Ron never baked a Challah in his Israeli kindergarten days, but hey, why should I let reality interfere with my nostalgia and the fear that I am raising the boys to have no roots and no connection to their traditions?

You could argue that there are more important traditions the boys are missing out on, and you could definitely argue that teaching two baking-haters the secret of a good Challah isn't going to make them like their religion and roots more. But it was Friday, and I am not really good at listening, so Challah baking it was.
I've decided to go the extra mile (I don't do simple) and found a recipe that doesn't need eggs so I could divide everything to three and have them not only braid the Challah but make the whole thing themselves, because it will be more fun (?!) and it will let them experience for themselves the magic of baking. You know, that moment when your gooey blob becomes dough. I did not account for the fear of dirt, or the whining, or the constant comparisons.

I have to give it to them, though, they did try. They enjoyed helping me measure the materials (after I explained to Ron that we will not be following the recipe exactly), Ron did rather well with kneading (though Yon didn't touch it and Hidai did that part for him), we all had the "ahhhh moment" when the blob became dough, they understood the basic of braiding (surprisingly enough Yon more than Ron) and we only had one incident involving tears.

But without a doubt the best part was the decorating. In a brave and tradition-shattering move, I've decided to forgo the classic Challah decoration - sesame, poppy, or almonds - and go for the kids friendly - chocolate chips, candied nuts, and pearl sugar. Best decision of the day, and the only part I can say without hesitation both of them loved.
That and seeing their creations come out of the oven.

A few months ago I wrote a post about how life is like baking, about how sometimes you need something to remind you of who you are. Me, I could always find myself in baking.
My boys, though they did enjoy themselves and proudly showed everyone their baking-creations, grow up in a different world, with a different sense of self and different things to ground them. Traditions are a funny things, they are very easy to create and very hard to force. I can't make my kids  bake with me every Friday because this is the tradition I imagine I would like to have, or because it will ease my guilt. Though my Challah experiment was a success (or so Hidai informed me. I finished it with a headache and no ability to think straight) I have to let them grow up in the here and now, and enjoy the traditions we create together.
And honestly, once was enough.

The recipe I used is (link is to the Hebrew original) -
1 kg flour (I used strong white)
2 Spoons of dried yeast
150 gr caster sugar (the recipe itself says less. A lot less, but I like it sweet)
3/4 cup oil
2 glasses of lukewarm water
1Spoon salt
Put everything together (I like to put it all except salt, knead a little and then add the salt) knead well for about 10 minutes until you get a nice, soft, non-sticky dough (we did it by hand, but obviously you can use a machine), oil it well and let it prove until it double it size (around 1-2 hours). Then deflate it, knead for a little and start making rolls.
Put the rolls very speciously on a baking tray lined with baking-paper, and prove for about 30 minutes. After the second proving, heat the oven to 180 degrees and beat one egg. Brush the egg on the rolls and throw on the toppings.
Bake for about 25 minutes until they are golden brown and when you tap on the bottom (caution - it's hot) you hear a hollow sound.
Let it cool, because you never eat bread straight out of the oven.