For Granny V,
Thank you for teaching me how to be strong in the face of your worst fears
Photo taken by my great grandmother of my mother helping to make the bread.
I sit at the kitchen table, watching as my mother kneads the dough, the smell of yeast and the heat of the oven warms my icy fingers, cold from playing in the snow. Christmas will be here with the next snowfall. My mother always asks how I know when it’ll snow, I always tell her it's about the chill in the air. It shifts before a snowfall, I know I’ll find myself wrapping my red wool scarf tighter around my neck when I step outside.
The cold walks home from school have turned into runs, my brother and I rush to return to the warmth of our home. Where we know our mother will be busy kneading that dough. I know when I walk through the door, she’ll smile at me and tell me to get out of the snow pants I’ve stuffed beneath my skirt, to wash up and come help her finish up so the bread will be ready in time for dinner.
I grow up. I find myself without the time to help her knead and mix. I go away to university, I get married, I have two children, I forget to make her bread for my son's first Christmas, too busy with my husband's family to remember.
My daughter is barely ten months old when my husband passes away, my son’s just over a year old. They are so young, and already without a father. My heart rips to shreds as an insurmountable pressure falls on me.
I fall asleep as I watch my children play on the floor of our living room. I wake up to the smell of yeast, the warmth of the oven. I open my eyes to see my mother in my kitchen, speaking softly as she teaches my children how to knead the dough of her coffee bread.
My mother’s been gone for years now, the wounds have had time to be threaded with string, stitched back together, reduced to scars that ache distantly enough. She lives on in my children, and in their children. In my own daughter, my daughter's daughter. She passes on her laughter, her curiosity, her love for the arts. I pass down her memory, I teach her recipe to any loved one who will listen.
The cold walks home from school have turned into runs, my brother and I rush to return to the warmth of our home. Where we know our mother will be busy kneading that dough. I know when I walk through the door, she’ll smile at me and tell me to get out of the snow pants I’ve stuffed beneath my skirt, to wash up and come help her finish up so the bread will be ready in time for dinner.
I grow up. I find myself without the time to help her knead and mix. I go away to university, I get married, I have two children, I forget to make her bread for my son's first Christmas, too busy with my husband's family to remember.
My daughter is barely ten months old when my husband passes away, my son’s just over a year old. They are so young, and already without a father. My heart rips to shreds as an insurmountable pressure falls on me.
I fall asleep as I watch my children play on the floor of our living room. I wake up to the smell of yeast, the warmth of the oven. I open my eyes to see my mother in my kitchen, speaking softly as she teaches my children how to knead the dough of her coffee bread.
My mother’s been gone for years now, the wounds have had time to be threaded with string, stitched back together, reduced to scars that ache distantly enough. She lives on in my children, and in their children. In my own daughter, my daughter's daughter. She passes on her laughter, her curiosity, her love for the arts. I pass down her memory, I teach her recipe to any loved one who will listen.
My younger brother, my cousin, and my Granny making bread.
Picture from: https://food52.com/recipes/76896-finnish-cardamom-coffee-bread-nisu
The Recipe
My mom making the bread before Christmas dinner
Ingredients:
- 2 pkg traditional dry yeast
- 1 tsp sugar plus ½ cup of warm water
- 3 eggs
- ¾ cup of white sugar
- ½ tsp salt
- ¾ cup of evaporated milk plus ½ cup of water
- ½ cup of margarine or butter, softened
- ½ tsp crushed cardamom seed (approx. 3 pods)
- 5 ½ flour
- 1 cup raisins (optional)
My mom, my uncle, my granny, and my great grandmother about a year after my grandfather died.
Directions:
- Let yeast grow in a bowl of lukewarm water and 1 teaspoon sugar for about 10 minutes.
- Beat eggs; add sugar, salt, milk/water, cardamom and margarine in a separate bowl.
- Add yeast to egg mixture.
- Stir in 2 cups of flour; beat well. Add 3 1/2 cups more flour.
- Mix with a wooden spoon. Knead in the bowl until it bubbles.
- Wash raisins; drain. Place raisins at the bottom of a large bowl. (optional)
- Stir in 1 tablespoon evaporated milk to the raisin mixture. (only do this step if you choose to add raisins)
- Place kneaded dough on top, buttering the sides of the bowl and the top of the dough. Cover dough with a clean, damp tea towel.
- Let rise until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.
- Punch down dough. Knead in the raisins. (If you choose to add raisins)
- Dough should be elastic in consistency. Using as little flour as possible, form into loaves or buns as follows: first, divide dough into 3 equal sections. Use 1/3 of the dough for each type of loaf, 2/3 for the festive ring (no. 4).
The four ways to divide the dough:
- Roll out dough into a flat rectangle. Spread with strawberry jam and cinnamon. Roll up into a jelly roll loaf. Place in the pan.
- Roll out dough into a flat rectangle. Sprinkle it with cinnamon, brown sugar and dot with butter. Roll up into a long slim, jelly roll loaf. Slice off into 6 or 8 buns. Place buns, cut side up into a greased 8x8 inch cake pan. (Sprinkle maple syrup and chopped nuts on the bottom of the pan first, if desired.)
- Subdivide one section into 3 parts, Roll them into 3 long ropes. Braid the ropes into a loaf, Fold the ends under, Place loaf into pan.
- Roll out the dough as in no, 1 or 2 above. Form the "jelly roll loaf into a ring; join ends. With kitchen scissors, cut 2/3 into the roll every 2 inches around the circle. Spread open the cuts. After baking, ice and decorate with chopped nuts and cherries. Sometimes we made "dough man" too with raisins for eyes, nose and buttons and decorated them with icing and chamies. Let formed dough rise again until double in bulk, about 45 minutes. Bake at 325°F for 20 to 25 minutes. Tip loaf gently from the pan and tap on the bottom. Loaf is done when it sounds hollow. Buns will bake in about 15 minutes. Brush the tops with brown sugar/hot water. Leave the loaves sideways on the rack to cool. Cover with a tea towel.
My mom and my uncle in Thunder Bay visiting their grandmother a few years after their father died. They went on many trips to Thunder Bay after their dad died, so my great grandmother could help my granny out.