Babka: a whirlwind romance

Good grief. I am writing from inside a coffin because I have DIED (but have been reanimated to post this). Today I tried my hand at babka, which is a traditional Jewish/Eastern European braided brioche loaf filled with chocolate.

Now I’m quite picky with sweets and baked goods because I’m more of a savoury person, but I can genuinely say that I got emotional over this. It’s fluffy yet rich, zesty yet earthy, buttery yet light. Which is to say, I will never stop boasting about it – sorry in advance to my IRL friends. But dang nabbit if this isn’t the most erotic thing I’ve ever made, or smelled, or eaten. Pre-babka I was but a girl, and now I am a woman.

I used this recipe: https://prettysimplesweet.com/chocolate-babka/ adapted from Jerusalem: A Cookbook by old mate Yotam Ottolenghi. This version makes use of lemon zest, which ingeniously cuts through the fattiness of the butter and gives it a zing. Zoo wee mama! That’s got some serious bite! Very spicy!

Being a total amateur, I own neither a stand mixer nor a dough hook. Instead I slapped and despaired away at this dough for nigh on 2 hours. Don’t let that put you off though, I work incredibly slowly. For anyone who is not me, it should take about an hour tops to prepare the dough. It does have to be left overnight to develop though, so it’s certainly a time-consuming process. Completely worth it. So, so worth it.

Here’s how to knead brioche dough by hand: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=796ZupzMvoI. (You’ll notice that the youtube link calls for milk, while the babka recipe doesn’t. Just mix the flour, yeast, eggs, and water together I guess? Then add the sugar, salt, and butter. At least that’s what I did.)

Also, I believe butter can be substituted for oil, but read the comments in the original link to be sure. Unfortunately, flour and eggs are essential for this recipe

If you clicked to ogle carbs, you have my permission to stop reading here. I am about to descend into fanciful, indulgent, and downright stupid prose.

Food like this always makes me feel nostalgic, even though it was my very first time making (or indeed eating) babka, and more importantly, even though I don’t have a single drop of European blood in me. They say that of all the senses, smell is the strongest conjurer of memories, but I didn’t grow up around buttery food so what this smell evokes for me, I couldn’t say. I think it’s just this style of rustic comfort food which has an unexplainable universal appeal.

While I was labouring away, I had visions of myself in another life as a Russian grandmother with a love of home cooking. (Babushka Makes Babka! Make that into a TV cooking show. I’m an ideas (wo)man.) Here’s some of my Yiddish alter ego’s inner monologue:

I knead the dough, though my arthritic thumbs ache. For a moment, I stop to peer at my knobbly joints, sighing. But I persist for my family; my hungry granddaughter, my hardworking daughter and her husband. “Ah Bubbe!! You are a baleboste!!” they will exclaim with gratitude. “Eat your fill, my bubbeleh,” I will reply. Galvanised by the thought of my beloveds’ appreciative cries, I tighten my shawl around my shoulders and dust flour off my tichel. Back to work it is. Industriously and rhythmically, I continue slapping the rich dough on the countertop.

And that, my friends, is my very limited and entirely speculative interpretation of life in pre-war Eastern Europe (informed by a grade 5 assignment about Eastern European immigration during WWI). I apologise to everyone who actually read that.

Anyhoo I couldn’t be more chuffed. My tastebuds are singing and my stomach is vibin’. Tl;dr – make babka. Eat babka. Achieve self-actualisation and subsequently, world domination.