Stollen

Who knew? Evidently every baker in the world except for me has baked some holiday version of fruit bread. Whether it be Pandoro, Pannetone, Stollen, or grandma's fruitcake - I think the aroma of holiday breads evoke the most distant memories we ever formed.

I can picture the scene. I am in my highchair, the one my mom loaded into the trunk only hours earlier. I grip the cool plastic tray with both miniature hands and discover the spongy, soft and sticky slice. It's golden and studded with liquor-soaked fruits. A line of winter white almond paste threads its way through the center of the golden folds. The buttery, tangy, sweet slice of heaven is coarsely protected with a fat layer of snowy powdered sugar. This whole memory is completely fabricated - I'd never tasted stollen until I pulled two from the oven last friday.

As I was mixing the dough, I was drawn to the enticing aromas - cinnamony, brandy-laced, heady with yeast and eggs and dairy. I zested half a grapefruit, and orange and a lemon right into the mixing bowl. I rolled out a bit of almond paste and placed it onto the center of the preshaped loaf and gently folded the dough over and coaxed the loaf into a crescent.

Trembling with restraint, I loaded the loaves into the waiting oven. It was impossible that baking this silken dough could possibly improve the sensory delight. Yet, this necessary exercise was prescribed by the rule of following directions the first time any bread is made. Saddened by the realization that I would no longer be tasting bits of the dough, I waited for the timer to alert me that it was almost time.

One half of a loaf had been consumed before the loaves were cool. Another loaf was gone by monday morning. To the best of my knowledge, there are no existing specimens from this baking experiment. Alas - you may enjoy the photos. I started with Peter Reinhardt's, "The Bread Bakers Apprentice" formula for Stollen and adjusted it to fit my available and preferred ingredients.

I think I'll be baking more for the holidays!