One would think that after conquering the zemel, I would have been satisfied. I had overcome my 'thing' about yeast and that should have been enough. No such luck. Zemels were only the beginning. For some strange reason, the zemel episode had somehow freed the Great Yeast Monster lurking inside of me. Let me explain.
The euphoria had suddenly given me the courage to address the bigger issue at hand--my decades long obsession with my personal Moby-Dick--the sweet challah. In all those years, I had never quite understood what I had done wrong, why the challah never came out right. Had it been me? The recipe? Was it my technique? Something had made it impossible for me to get it right. Until now. Now I felt that I would be able to tackle it. After all, now I have a secret weapon. Now I have.... a breadmaker! From deep inside me, I could hear Liza singing in my head, 'Maybe this time....I'll be lucky..'. Okay, the song is about a guy, but nevertheless... I was stoked!
So, with an aire of hope and flowers and butterflies and all things beautiful, I dusted off my old recipe. I was Captain Ahab, setting off to capture my Great White Whale!
I sailed around the kitchen, sifting through the fridge and pantry, gathering the necessary elements of the beast. With a sense of higher purpose, I carefully placed everything on my counter. Meticuously, (and with just the right touch of giddiness) I measured everything out and added the ingredients into the breadmaker. When that was done, and with a sense of new found pride, I drew a deep breath and finally pressed the glorious button. The process of kneading the individual ingredients together to create a whole new being began. With child-like wonder, I watched the machine dance (literally). And then, I went to the grocery store, because...really...how long can a person stare at a bread machine?
An hour and a half and a hundred dollars in groceries later, poof! The timer beeped. The moment of truth had arrived. The dough was ready for me to braid. I practically trembled in excitement. Had I really, finally done it?
Furtively I crept up to the window of the breadmaker to see what had transpired (I'm not making any of this up. I actually tiptoed up to the breadmaker, like it was a jack-in-the-box ready to blow). Like Goldilocks, I peeked inside the little window to see what I could see. There before me, was a beautiful ball of dough!
And then, I gulped. It really should be bigger than this, I thought....but in my desperation I reasoned that it had been many years since I had attempted the recipe...maybe I had forgotten how big the challah should have been. I decided to take it out of the breadmaker for a better look, and to see how it felt.
Hmmm. Not quite a bowling ball, but I could tell this was not boding well for me. Sensing that Moby had eluded me yet again, I pressed on. I broke the dough into thirds to create braids. As I worked, I became increasingly crestfallen as the reality and gravity (in more ways than one) were sinking in. The dough seemed dry. It didn't feel right. I tried to buoy myself by invoking the lyrics to Liza's song...."Not a loser, anymore...". I let the dough sit for the last rising. I egg washed it, made my famous 'crumma crumma' topping (a handful of flour, a handful of brown sugar, some cinnamon and drops of oil...enough to make it come together to the right consistency) and popped it in the oven to the requisite temperature.
And then I waited.
Well, it smelled good, I can tell you that.
I'll get to the point. The challah had turned out, just like the lyrics had suggested, 'Like the last time and the time before". Everyone at the table was very polite. They ate around the part that was raw in the middle and gave me many encouraging words. Luckily for everyone, I had a perfect, store bought challah sitting beside the dud that my family opted not to touch. I think they felt my pain, so they opted to inflict themselves with some of the lead bread in solidarity. And with that meal, so ended my relationship with this particular recipe, and why I'm not sharing the recipe.
Now, any bright person would end the story here. But now, I'm more determined than ever to get this right. Stay tuned for Part 2, because there will be one.
Hit it, Liza!
"All the odds are, they're in my favor
Something's bound to begin
It's gotta happen,
happen sometime
Maybe (the next) time I'll win"
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