The kitchen is covered with a faint cloud of flour which serves as a trophy for the goal achieved: I've made enough challah dough to braid 8 baby challahs. And that's convenient because 8 babies will be joining me with their mum's (my friends) to braid their bread and roll in flour in my garden on Thursday.
Challah seems to hold a coveted place as one of the few things we generally assume are un-makable by normal people, an art only perfected by Glicks or Hendon Bagel Bakery or whoever. Now, though my challah is not as sweet and perfect as theirs, its pretty cool to see you little one and best mates munching on your own home made bread. I love messily compiling my ingredients, kneading the dough, listening to the radio on a weekday evening. There is a feeling of both primitiveness as accomplishment. Highly recommended and fun to do with a friend over red wine!
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