39. Spice Slows the Yeast, So Give It Time

Vera: Last time at this table, the jam went into the doughnuts after they were baked, through a little hole in the side. Today we turn it around. The fruit goes in first, kneaded right into the dough, and the oven does the rest.

Anton: And we keep the piping bag. It has one more job to do.

Four O'Clock, the Spice Tins Open

Vera: Nico is sitting by the open spice cupboard, lifting the lid of each tin and sniffing until he sneezes, and Lumi kneels on the bench beside the fruit bowl, picking the plumpest raisins out of the bag and eating every third one.

Anton: Every third one is a fair baker's wage. These buns are baked across the cool northern lands at the end of winter, when the first green shoots come up: soft, spiced, full of dried fruit, often with a pale cross on top.

Vera: The cross is the paste in the piping bag?

Anton: Flour and water, nothing more. It bakes pale against the brown, like a line of snow left in a ditch in March. A glaze of warm apricot jam makes the rest shine like wet leaves after rain.

Vera: Why does the fruit go in only at the end?

Anton: Kneaded in early, it tears the dough and bruises, and the crumb turns grey. A few folds at the end spread it evenly, like stones settling in a riverbed.

Question: Why does this dough rise more slowly than plain bread dough?

Answer: Spices like cinnamon and nutmeg hold strong oils that slow the yeast down, and the sugar, butter and fruit make the dough heavy. It needs more time, like a seed in cold spring soil. Spice slows the yeast, so give it time.

At the Work Table

For twelve buns in a buttered tin 23 by 33 cm (9 by 13 inches). Dough: 500 g plain flour (4 cups), 7 g instant dried yeast (2 1/4 teaspoons), 50 g sugar (1/4 cup), 6 g fine salt (1 teaspoon), 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg, 260 ml lukewarm milk (1 cup plus 1 tablespoon), 1 egg, 50 g soft butter (3 1/2 tablespoons).

Fruit: 150 g mixed dried fruit (1 cup), the grated zest of 1 orange. Cross: 40 g flour (1/3 cup) stirred with 3 tablespoons water. Glaze: 2 tablespoons apricot jam warmed with 1 tablespoon water. Oven: 200°C (400°F).

Anton: One, for a child: mix and knead the dough for ten minutes, then knead in the fruit and zest. Hard fruit can soak in warm water for ten minutes first, then be patted dry. Cover and let it rise for one and a half to two hours, until doubled.

Anton: Two, for a child: cut twelve pieces of about 85 g, roll them into tight balls, set them in the tin, and let them rise forty-five to sixty minutes.

Anton: Three, for a child: pipe a line of paste across each row of buns, then across each column, to make the crosses.

Anton: Four, for a grown-up: bake eighteen to twenty minutes, until deep brown, and lift the tin out in oven gloves. Children watch through the glass.

Anton: Five, for a grown-up: warm the jam glaze in a small pan, handle turned in, and brush it over the hot buns. Hot jam burns like hot sugar.

A Farmhouse with a Tiled Stove, Long Ago

Vera: My grandmother Margit baked these in a farmhouse with a great green tiled stove in the corner of the kitchen, so warm that the cat slept on top of it all winter and the dough rose beside it in a bowl wrapped in a shawl.

Vera: She let me pipe the crosses. Mine went crooked and wandered off the edges like hare tracks in snow, and she never once straightened them. She said a bun should look like the hand that made it.

Anton: Then mine would all look like old roots.

Vera: Strong and twisted, and older than the tree. Yes. I would be proud of that.

Twilight Coming, the Lamp Lit

Three quick questions. One: What slows the yeast in this dough? Two: What is the cross made of? Three: When does the glaze go on?

Answers. One: The spices, and the heavy sugar, butter and fruit. Two: Flour and water. Three: While the buns are still hot.

Vera: Lumi's crosses are straight. Nico's look like hare tracks, just like mine did. Good. Margit would have approved.

Anton: Then warm a pan of blackcurrant drink, a spoon of dark fruit syrup in each mug, topped up with hot water. Deep purple, sharp and sweet, it smells like a hedge of berries in late summer, and it is just right on a cool afternoon as the light begins to go.

40. Cut It Open and Show the Stripes

Anton: The cacao fruit, which chocolate comes from, does not hang at the end of a branch. It grows straight out of the trunk of the tree, about as long as a grown-up's forearm, and inside each one lie thirty to fifty beans, packed in a sweet white pulp.

Vera: The trunk the children remember from the dipped strawberries this morning. Thirty to fifty beans, though, is new to me. No wonder it was once a treasure.

Five O'Clock, the Light Going Gold

Vera: Jaro is sitting on the edge of the table by the window, where the low sun lies across the floorboards, breaking chocolate into a bowl. Pippa sits beside the warm oven door, counting the pieces he has eaten. Four so far.

Anton: Five. Today we finish the afternoon with a rich, buttery dough, rolled around chocolate, cut open along its length, and twisted. Bakers in the cold east make loaves like this for feast days. When you slice it, every piece shows dark stripes.

Vera: Why cut it open? It seems a shame to cut what we have just rolled so carefully.

Anton: It looks like a shame. But cut it open and show the stripes, and you understand: the layers lie open like the rings of a tree.

Vera: And the syrup at the end?

Anton: It keeps the crust soft and makes it shine like a pebble in a stream.

Question: Why do we cut the rolled log in half before twisting?

Answer: Cutting opens the layers, so the chocolate stripes show on top and bake into dark ridges. Twisting the two halves around each other, like two climbing vines, holds them together as one loaf.

A Bakery with Blue Shutters, Long Ago

Anton: I learned this loaf from Ludmila, in a town in the cold east where the bakery had blue shutters and a stork's nest on the chimney. In spring the storks clattered their beaks above us all morning while we worked.

Anton: She twisted the halves in one movement, quick as wringing out a cloth, and she let me slice the first loaf. I pressed too hard and squashed it flat. She laughed, gave me the knife again, and said that a good loaf must be cut as gently as it was made.

Vera: And the storks?

Anton: Came back every year. So did I, for a while.

At the Work Table

For one loaf in a 900 g (2 lb) loaf tin, lined with baking paper. Dough: 300 g plain flour (2 1/2 cups), 5 g instant dried yeast (1 1/2 teaspoons), 40 g sugar (3 tablespoons), 4 g fine salt (3/4 teaspoon), 2 eggs, 80 ml lukewarm milk (1/3 cup), 70 g soft butter (5 tablespoons).

Filling: 100 g dark chocolate, 60 g butter (4 tablespoons), 40 g icing sugar (1/3 cup), 15 g cocoa powder (2 tablespoons). Syrup: 50 g sugar (1/4 cup), 50 ml water (3 1/2 tablespoons). Oven: 180°C (350°F).

Vera: Some chocolate is made beside nuts. Anyone with a nut allergy reads the label first.

Anton: One, for a child: knead the dough ten minutes, adding the butter a little at a time. Cover and let it rise one and a half hours.

Anton: Two, for a grown-up: melt the chocolate and butter gently in a bowl over a pan of barely simmering water, minding the steam, stir in the sugar and cocoa, and cool until spreadable.

Anton: Three, for a child: roll the dough to 25 by 40 cm (10 by 16 inches), spread the filling, roll it up tightly from a long side and chill fifteen minutes.

Anton: Four, for a grown-up: cut the log in half lengthwise with a sharp knife. Then a child twists the halves, cut sides up, and lifts the loaf into the tin. Smears of chocolate are fine; a messy twist bakes into a beautiful loaf. Let it rise one to one and a half hours.

Anton: Five, for a grown-up: bake thirty-five to forty minutes, with foil on top after twenty. Boil the sugar and water for one minute, brush the hot syrup over the hot loaf, and cool it in the tin.

The Afternoon Ending, by the Window

Three quick questions. One: Where on the tree does the cacao fruit grow? Two: How many beans are inside? Three: Why do we cut the log open?

Answers. One: Straight out of the trunk. Two: Thirty to fifty. Three: To show the stripes.

Vera: Pippa is watching me slice, very gently, the way Ludmila taught you. Jaro has chocolate on his ear.

Anton: Then the afternoon is complete. The next part of the day is evening, and it brings soft buns that are steamed, buns filled with something savoury, and bread shaped into animals for supper, while the lamps are lit one by one along the street.