Showing posts with label Celebrations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Celebrations. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Where I'm From: Food Edition

I am a different eater now, but I have not forgotten where I am from.

I am from Lauren’s salty chocolate chip cookies, from Good Season’s Italian dressing on iceberg lettuce, and take-in double-cheese Bocce Pizza while we watch the game on Sundays, always. I am from weekly chicken fingers at the Four Seasons Diner, hands and face dripping with chunky-tangy Rudy’s blue cheese.

I am from home-baked chicken dinner with steamed broccoli and Uncle Ben’s wild rice pilaf. Four people at the dinner table, every weeknight; TV off. I am from Lauren and Arthur, bickering, bickering. A kiss. A smile. Bickering more.

I am from “how was school today?” and “pass your chicken bones to Dad” and “yes you can have seconds on dessert.” My sister talks about Grease rehearsal  while Dad Hoovers the drumsticks clean. They wait forever for me to finish my broccoli stalks (tops go to mom).

I am from thumbs on the wishbone, pulling hard, and taking turns for chores: Aimee set, so Tammy clears.

I am from a camera shop owner and a Catholic-turned-Jew. I am from a boy scout troop leader and a dentist who found chickens and eggs on his doorstep as payment for pulled teeth. I am from theater people. They wrote their own stories and sang them. I am from travelers. I am from Poland and Russia and New York and Syracuse and Buffalo.

I am from sloppy/sappy/noisy/crowded Christmukkah in our brown living room, where dozens of family and near-strangers gathered to devour a mountain of presents and bagels and lox and sweetsweet kugel. High on holiday spirits, dripping brisket juice and applesauce onto the shag rug, the guests pledged lifelong devotion to my parents. They made good on their word. 

I am from 30 Jews and adopted Jews stuffed around the Passover table, helping themselves to seconds on everything except the lousy kosher desserts. They sing about four flawed brothers to the tune of Clementine and belt out God Bless America in honor of Irving Berlin. Slowly I progress from "the one who cannot ask at all" to "the wise son."

I am from shore lunches on the rocks of the Georgian Bay and Sahlen’s hot dogs charred and steaming from the grill, indoors or out. I am from Lauren’s fresh blueberry pie at family reunions by the stream. I am from Easter in the woods with The Woods, where I helped peel potatoes for thirty. I stole my annual taste of ham and gorged on peanut butter cups from my Easter basket while Aimee was off fishing with the boys. 

Today, I am the keeper of half-forgotten recipes. I’m from “add a little of this and a little of that” followed by the shock of “yours doesn’t taste like mine.” I am from much more sugar. I am from a significant amount of real butter.

I am the owner of Synagogue cookbooks and the handwritten matzah ball soup letter (“because someday you’ll want to know how to make my soup and I won’t be around to tell you.”) I have bound copies of the close-enough zucchini bread recipe card and the transcribed, “best I can remember” ratios of potato to egg for Aunt Robin’s scalable potato kugel. My own record-keeping has not been much better.

And my children will inherit this tangled mass of edible history. They will know that the food we eat is bound up in our identity. It is part of every story we tell about ourselves and about our families. As in all cultures, our food links us to our past and helps define our future. 

My childen will understand their place in my history and reconcile it with their place in their father’s very different food legacy. They will eat with us at the table (screens off); they will hear our stories, and they will add their own. They will know their food, and they will know where they are from.

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Thank you to Nina Badzin, via Brain Child Magazine, and Galit Breen, via Mamalode for introducing me to this template and prompt. Also thanks to MamaKat's Writer's Workshop, for reviving the template again. It was a perfect jumping-off point to help remember the food that defined my childhood.


Monday, May 5, 2014

Party of the Year

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Once upon a time, before the reign of Reality TV, I was the star of my own social experiment. The setup reads like the beginning of a joke:

What happens when a lowbrow, mid-western young Jewish girl (me), lands a PR job at a posh New York City investment firm … run by the bluest blue bloods still surviving today … and THEN… gets put in charge of the 80 year-old CEO’s social calendar? 

I'll tell you what happens: there's a major culture clash. Comfort-zone-wise, it was worse than Wife Swap. Hilarity ensued.

Although I had had plenty of experience planning fundraising events in my previous job, I had no idea of the mountain of etiquette I'd need to scale in order to organize this company’s soirees. 

I couldn't figure out the rules about how to address envelopes to Lords and Ladies; where to seat the dinner guests at a formal dinner party; even placing a stamp on a return envelope became a lesson in class distinctions. (“If they can’t afford the stamp on the return envelope, they shouldn’t be attending the event,” I was told.)

I was reprimanded for wearing blue suit pants, rather than a skirt, to the office. I flubbed the menu for the Board meetings at the 21 Club and miscounted the guest list for the dinner at LeCirque. And the wine lists! Our CEO had a very specific idea of what should be served, and I didn’t know my cabernet from my claret. Thank God for the sommeliers (a word I learned on the job).

Then there was the annual trip to the Ascot races and the after party in London. I planned every detail of the lodgings, food, travel and entertainment --  long-distance --  for months in advance, but was not invited to cross the pond with the team. Talk about class distinctions!

Our grandest event of the year was held the first Tuesday in December, in conjunction with the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. For this party, 200 of New York’s high society hovered above the festivities taking place in the freezing plaza below, observing the lighting ceremony from the floor-to-ceiling windows in our office. Dom Perignon flowed as swiftly as the ancient aristocratic blood in our CEO’s veins, beluga caviar disappeared by the tinful, and 24-carat-gold encrusted hors d’oeuvres whirled around the room on gleaming silver trays. The elite of New York City were dazzled.

Does it surprise you that my time at the investment firm was brief? Alas, I only regret that it had not been filmed. "The Blue Blood Chronicles" would have made great TV.

It is in this spirit of Gatsby-esque decadence that I embarked upon this week’s culinary adventure, sponsored by Julia Child and her featured guest baker, Gale Gand. Our Tuesdays with Dorie project was scallop and pesto “purses”.
The recipe itself was simple enough, but I did visit five different stores to gather the choicest ingredients. After making the pesto and melting the butter, it was all about assembly. (But first place the scallop in a strategically lit dramatic pose for the blog photo op.)

14 minutes in the oven, and the party began. The phyllo/parmesan dough purses were appropriately buttery, and the scallops inside, dripping with pesto and garnished with scallions, devolved into an opulent, fleshy indulgence that inspired sighing and fawning from my honored guests: my 8 and 10 year old. 

We slumped in my worn out Ikea kitchen chairs, decked in our coziest pajamas after a long sweaty day on the baseball field, happily licking cheese and butter off our chins. Seating arrangements be damned. The ornate purses were served on white, Stop and Shop paper napkins, paired with nothing but tap water. There was not an ounce of  gold plating to be seen, and yet, it was the party of the year.


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 To see how other bakers from Tuesdays with Dorie fared, check out their links here. For the recipe, buy the book!

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Thursday, January 9, 2014

Well What Would You Call Them?




Dorie Greenspan always gives her confections clever names like “The Cake That Got Me Fired” and “World Peace Cookies,” not to mention my favorite name ever: “Chocolate Spice Quickies" (all these recipes can be found in this masterful cookbook).

So in honor of Dorie, I’m in search of a name for the cookies I made tonight, which were a version of her “Chocolate Chunkers.”

Please leave your vote for one of the following names in the comments section: 
  1. National Bittersweet Chocolate Day Cookies.  January 10, 2014 is officially National Bittersweet Chocolate Day. I'm convinced that these holidays exist so food bloggers have something to write about. Always. 
  2. Bake Your Hormones Happy Cookies. A great deal of chocolate is involved with these cookies. Bittersweet, unsweetened, semi-sweet, cocoa powder, and white chocolate if you’ve got it (and you count it). This much chocolate should cure pretty much anything that ails you.
  3. Spotless Pantry Cookies. No white chocolate? No peanuts or pecans? No worries. I used walnuts, extra raisins, and extra bittersweet chocolate instead. Use what you've got, then take advantage of the empty shelves to clean the pantry before you restock.
  4. Hit and Run Accident Cookies. Don't fret: Everyone is safe, and it’ll be much easier to find my car amid all the other Toyotas in the Stop and Shop parking lot now. That’s all you need to know. But after you file the police report, talk to your third-rate insurer, pacify your husband, and call your mother, it's time to engage in a little bake therapy. This cookie recipe will do the trick.


Don't like any of these naming options? Feel free to share your own ideas. And if you're local, I'm happy to provide samples so you can make an informed decision. 
All votes will be tallied and a winner chosen sometime before National Bittersweet Chocolate Day 2015. Thanks for playing!


Wednesday, December 18, 2013

As You Wish: A Party from the Pantry

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Be ready. Stock the fridge and the pantry with big, happy, wintry foods that set up quick and settle deep (beany-beery chili, corn chips and hearty veggies, a few good breads and cheeses). Make sure you’ve got plenty of firewood, some beer and wine. Pull out the folding table, extra chairs, some board games, plastic utensils. Nothing fancy. All you need now are one or two very good friends and a miracle.

With almost no planning and a great deal of luck this weekend, I conjured such a miracle in the middle of a storm of foul moods and foul weather.

Every December my husband’s impending birthday seems to suck him down into the Pit Of Despair. He’ll shackle himself with worry over possible ideas for celebrating. He’ll list, and then methodically reject, all kinds of outings, meals, cakes, and general family merriment. He will mope around the house for days, terrorized by the threat of another year passing with nothing to show for it.

“I don’t want a party,” he’ll declare. But then, inevitably, about 18 hours before the big day, he will realize that only being around friends and family will cure him of his annual birthday blues.

I’ve spent the last twenty years building up an immunity to his birthday malaise, so I refused to be sucked into his Fire Swamp of drama. Instead, like the raspy old Albino, I set about nursing my poor husband back to his pre-birthday health.

Thankfully this year the winter weather predicted for his big day forced the cancellation of many regularly scheduled activities, and our neighbors were feeling a bit restless. So when we summoned them over on the morning of the event, they gratefully agreed to storm our castle for a few hours of merry-making.

We spread out a lavish buffet of mis-matched munchies. Ben happily chunked together a pot of his famous turkey chili while I steamed up some ciabatta (recipe here). There was no time for cake, so our friends brought a big tray of homemade holiday cookies. (Even with no chocolate coating, they went down easy.) 
Brave wet friends tramped in, dragging dominoes and soggy children behind them.

Wine flowed, fire crackled, sarcasm reigned. Songs were sung, games were played, and no one bothered to keep score. My husband was revived. Love and laughter had conquered all.

Ironically, this is the second consecutive year that we’ve thrown an impromptu birthday party for my husband. I should have known it would come to this.

Next year, I’ll be ready for my true love’s annual drama, but still I’ll wait for him to figure out the solution. Just when he’s almost dead from the stress of facing another birthday, I’ll remind him that we simply need to take stock of our assets, then call in the reinforcements. With my brains, his chili, and maybe a holocaust cloak thrown in for good measure, we’ll be prepared to be spontaneous.

As you wish, dear, As you wish.
(photo credits: MGM)


Ben’s Turkey Chili: A Loose Guideline

2 lbs ground turkey

5-6 peppers (sweet red and green, banana, chili – whatever combination you like)

6 cloves garlic

2 cups celery

6 dried ancho peppers, reconstituted and seeds removed

28-oz can of crushed tomato

1-2 bottles of dark, malty beer

4 tablespoons cumin

3-4 cans of beans (pinto, black, roman, cannelloni – whatever combination you like)

Garnishes: chopped cilantro, tomatoes, shredded cheddar, chopped jalepeno peppers, variety of hot sauces, sour cream, etc.



In a large skillet, brown turkey and remove to a large pot.

In the same skillet, sauté peppers, onion, celery and garlic until soft. Add this to the turkey.

Place dried anchos in blender with a little water and grind. Dump this into the pot with meat and vegetables.

Add beer, tomatoes, cumin and beans. Throw in a little water, until pot is 1/3 full

Bring to a boil, then simmer for 30 minutes. Taste. Add more water if necessary, or replace with beer.

Add salt and pepper to taste. 

Simmer for another 30 minutes or all day until guests start getting cranky.

Serve warm with fresh bread and allow guests to garnish to their hearts’ delight.



Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Celebrate Rhubarb!

If only the cake looked this pretty AFTER it was baked.
Rhubarb season is upon us! Thank you, Julia and friends, for opening up a world of possibilities for this jem of a fruit.

The assignment for this week’s Baking with Julia/Tuesdays with Dorie project was rhubarb upside-down baby cakes.

However, there was nothing babyish, nor even attractive, about my cake. Thankfully, after one bite, nobody cared what it looked like – they were too busy swooning over the flavor. Crisped up in a cast iron pan with a luscious pecan/bourbon caramel topping, this cake was a sweet-and-sour buttery delight.
A little confectioners' sugar helped -- a bit.
As with many of the recipes in this collection, the rhubarb cake was a bit time consuming, but not difficult. The trickiest part was the interminable folding that was required to mix the wet and dry ingredients. My folding abilities leave much to be desired. Let’s just say that if the folks at the French Culinary Institute had witnessed my technique, I’d have been guillotined on the spot.
The batter was significantly more dense than it should have been...
...And yet the cake was surprisingly light, despite the heavy ingredients and my pathetic folding skills.
The cake calls for lots of butter and crème fraiche, which makes the batter intensely rich, but packed with flavor. The ingredients also bump up the cost of this project considerably, but I think the investment is worth it. As Dorie says, "this tender, soft-crumbed butter cake" is a "classic of it's genre" and it is "universally appealing." 

My family agreed -- so much so that the Bean requested this cake again, to share with her friends at her birthday party. Who am I to begrudge her?  (I know, I know, who feeds a bunch of 10-year-olds a cake with $11 worth of crème fraiche in it? Suckers like me, that’s who. Details on the rest of the ridiculously over-the-top, spy-themed party coming soon.)

It turns out you can make your own crème fraiche -- who knew it was so easy? Probably a lot cheaper too. (Recipe below.) I’ll have to remember this for next time, when I’m not busy developing secret codes, collecting fingerprints and identifying criminals for the CIA’s wanted posters. Did I mention that our party was a bit over the top?

For the rhubarb cake recipe, visit  Erin’s blog and check out the other TWD folks' versions here.

Just because I’m a sucker for rhubarb and I was afraid I might miss the season, I also revisited the rhubarb jam recipe from last year's Hungarian Shortbread project. Yup—its still amazing. Especially on a cracker or homemade toast with a little hunk of Farmer cheese. (Recipe below.)
But I’m not the only one obsessed with rhubarb. Check out this site for the Annual Rhubarb Festival, which is held in Lancaster County (Intercourse, PA, to be exact. What an unfortunate name). My favorite activity just might be the rhubarb derby
The festival is May 17-18. Who’s up for a road trip? If you can’t make it, will you at least vote for me for rhubarb queen?


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Creme fraiche recipe
(from Baking with Julia, by Dorie Greenspan)
1 cup heavy cream
1 Tablespoon buttermilk

Put the heavy cream and buttermilk in a jar or container with a tight-fitting lid and shake it a couple of times to blend the two liquids.Let the jar sit at room temperature for 12 to 24 hours, or until it thickens. Once thickened, chill the creme fraiche for at least one day before using. It will keep for two weeks and become tangier.

Rhubarb jam recipe
(from Baking with Julia, by Dorie Greenspan)
1 pound rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 1-inch pieces
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 vanilla bean

Place the rhubarb, sugar and water in a medium saucepan. Split the vanilla bean, scrape the soft, pulpy seeds into the pan, and toss in the pod. Bring to a simmer over low heat, and cook, stirring often, until the rhubarb softens and almost seems to melt. The cooking time will depend on the rhubarb, but it probably won't be more than 10 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, retrieve the vanilla bean, and cool the jam to room temperature.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Underdog Stories


Madeleines with powdered sugar
It’s a lifelong habit of mine to root for the underdog. No matter what the situation, I’ll always empathize with the little guy. Maybe it has something to with being short myself, or maybe I just want a happy, All-American ending to the stories I witness.

This week, I have two stories with happy endings:

First, a quick hockey headline, in case you hadn't heard: YALE BULLDOGS WIN NCAA NATIONAL HOCKEY CHAMPIONSHIP!!! 

(Not a hockey fan? Neither was I, until recently.) 

This win is an enormous accomplishment for a team that was ranked as the 15th seed in a 16-seed tournament. No one but the slightly delusional yet deeply committed Yale fans had any hope that we’d come home with a trophy. Personally, I think it was my family’s presence in Pittsburgh that tipped the scales, but the boys on the team might ascribe their win to something else – sheer heart.  Either way, it was a fabulous event to witness first hand, and I’m thrilled that we got the chance to go. When Disney comes calling, this story will be ripe for the next made-for-TV special, entitled “The Dogs Have Their Day.”

And for my second tale, I have a story about my most cherished underdog, the MOTH, and his mother, Madeleine. Yes folks, this is obliquely related to the TWD assignment of the week. As I whipped up the eggs for the madeleine cookie recipe, praying that they would ultimately rise to great heights, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share a little family lore.

Back when the MOTH-to-be was a junior in high school, working on applications for college, he made a deal with his mother: If the MOTH got into Yale, mom (Madeleine) would buy him a car. The prospect of the MOTH being accepted to an Ivy League school seemed outrageous – no one could deny his intelligence, but his grades and extracurricular activities were less than stellar, to put it mildly. Nevertheless, the MOTH insisted that the deal should be put into writing and stored in a safe place.

As expected, the MOTH didn’t get accepted to Yale for undergraduate school. But somehow, through sheer force of will, the MOTH eventually learned how to study, and earned himself a reasonable degree at a state university. This accomplishment, along with some work experience, gained him entry into a wacky little graduate program at New York University. From there, it was only a small leap to being accepted at the illustrious Yale University for a Master’s in Business Administration. (Okay, so it was a few years of employment, a couple of long-distance moves, then a few years of unemployment and 6 months of wait-listing hell – but the point is, he finally got in!) Approximately eight years after he first began his quest, the underdog had won!

When that acceptance letter arrived in the mail, the MOTH hurried to unearth the agreement that he and his mother had signed all those years before. Upon receipt, Madeleine was true to her word. She bought a car for her son. Unfortunately for him, the car measured about four inches by two inches, and it was produced by the Matchbox company. She claimed the previously signed agreement had expired long ago, citing something about a statue of limitations. But I digress.

The point here is that both these stories have to do with underdogs rising to the top despite all the odds. I’m proud of my husband for all he’s accomplished with his education, and proud of our Yale hockey boys. They’ve all proven that, with a little luck and a lot of perseverance, smart kids can achieve their dreams.

Now about those cookies: I’m not a huge fan of the spongy texture, but I’m happy to report that despite potentially massacring the egg-folding process (let’s just say I’m glad there were no witnesses), they turned out okay. See the photos above and below for details. 

If I make them again, I will add a flavored extract or a quick dunk in chocolate, as other TWD'ers have suggested. This should improve their grades considerably. Then they could be real contenders!

For the recipe, visit Katie and Amy of Counter Dog and be sure to check out the other TWD'ers blogs about madeleine’s here.


Never got to the "airy, pale and tripled in volume" stage, but this seemed close.

Folding in the butter. I think I need professional help.


Overfilled the pans! Don't do this at home.

Sad attempt to make ladyfingers with leftover batter -- without a pastry bag. Take it from me: not all ziploc bags are made the same. And this really can't be done without a tip. Eventually I gave up and scooped the batter into the pan again.
Little Mexican-hat-peaks means I didn't totally deflate my eggs while folding. Win!















Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Inspiration for Break Fast or Breakfast: Three Breads to Celebrate (and a Recipe Too)


For centuries, great thinkers have written about the mystical nature of bread. I’ll let them lead us on this week’s bread journey:
Avoid those who don’t like bread and children. - Swiss Proverb 
It’s a perfect analogy: bread and children are the embodiment of pure, authentic joy. Unless you've got a serious gluten allergy or you were raised by wolves, you have no excuse for not appreciating these things. Just ask MFK Fisher:
“The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight...

It does not cost much. It is pleasant: one of those almost hypnotic businesses, like a dance from some ancient ceremony. It leaves you filled with peace, and the house filled with one of the world's sweetest smells. 
But it takes a lot of time. If you can find that, the rest is easy. And if you cannot rightly find it, make it, for probably there is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of meditation in a music-throbbing chapel, that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread.”
M.F.K. Fisher, The Art of Eating: 50th Anniversary Edition
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: make the time to make bread. It is one of the most gratifying processes you will ever experience, and your family will thank you too – if you choose to share. Although there are some great artisan bread bakers out there, nothing is more homey and inviting than the smell of a warm yeasty loaf coming out of your own oven, and there are an infinite number of ways to enjoy it.
“I am proud to be an American. Because an American can eat anything on the face of this earth as long as he has two pieces of bread.” - Bill Cosby
It’s true. Just spend a week eating with my husband. It's due to quotes like these that, no matter what the hour or the current decade, Cosby Show re-runs reel me back to the couch again and again. Viva la Cosby. And viva la sandwich!
“There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” - Mahatma Gandhi
Who can deny that baking and sharing bread feels like nestling up to godliness? Whether you hunger for enlightenment or physical nourishment, bread is a symbol of sustenance and a source of fulfillment. And if god can reside in bread, the act of creating that bread becomes an act of meditation and thanksgiving. At this season of reflection for Jews and Christians, it seems the perfect vehicle for our attention.
So whether you’re breaking your Passover fast, celebrating the end of Lent, or just in the mood for a sweet treat at breakfast time, I give you three breads:
 
Rustic Potato Loaf -- also makes great buns for burgers


Gooey cinnamon-raisin swirl loaf


White loaf -- good for a Cosby-inspired sandwich or just plain toast

Below is the recipe for the white loaf and the cinnamon/swirl loaf. You can find the recipe for Rustic Potato Loaves here or in the Baking with Julia Cookbook.  Be sure to check out other TWD bloggers’ posts about the potato loaves.
Note: the time it takes to read through each recipe is actually longer than the hands-on time for making any of these very straightforward breads. Go for it!
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Dinner and Breakfast Loaves

Adapted from Baking With Julia, by Dorie Greenspan. Contributing baker, Craig Kominiak

Makes two, 1 ¾-pound loaves: one plain white, one cinnamon swirl

2 ½ cups warm water (105 – 115 degrees)
1 Tablespoon active dry yeast
1 Tablespoon sugar
7 cups (approximately) bread flour or unbleached all-purpose flour
1 Tablespoon salt
½ stick (2 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature

For the cinnamon swirl loaf:
½ cup granulated sugar
½ cup light brown sugar
1 Tablespoon cinnamon

½ cup raisins, boiled in water for 3-5 minutes, until plump (optional)
¼ cup flour (approximately)

½ tsp sugar

1 Tablespoon butter, melted

Mixing and kneading (both loaves)
Pour ½ cup of the water into the bowl of a heavy-duty mixer, sprinkle in the yeast and sugar, and whisk to blend. Allow the mixture to rest until the yeast is creamy, about 5 minutes.

Working in the mixer with the dough hook in place, add the remaining 2 cups of water and about 3 ½ cups flour to the yeast. Turn the mixer on and off a few times, just to get the dough going without having the flour fly all over the counter and then, mixing at low speed, add 3 ½ cups more flour.

Increase the mixer speed to medium and beat, stopping to scrape down the bowl and hook as needed, until the dough comes together. (If the dough does not come together, add a bit more flour, a tablespoon at a time.) Add the salt and continue to beat and knead at medium speed for five to ten minutes, until the dough is smooth and elastic. If the dough starts to “climb” the hook or the mixer seems to be struggling, remove the dough from the bowl and, with the mixer on low, replace it, a large pinch at a time, until it comes back together. If you prefer, you can knead the dough by hand on a lightly floured surface for 8 to 10 minutes.

When the dough is thoroughly mixed (return it to the mixer if necessary), add the butter, a tablespoon at a time, and beat until incorporated. Don’t be disconcerted if your beautiful dough comes apart with the addition of butter -- beating will bring it back together.


First Rise
Divide the dough into two equal parts and shape them into balls. Place one ball into a large buttered or oiled bowl (one that can hold double the amount of dough). Turn the dough around to cover its entire surface with butter or oil, cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap, and trace a circle on the wrap with a marker to indicate the beginning size of the dough. It’s also useful to write down the current time on the surface of the wrap. Let the dough rest at room temperature until it doubles in bulk, about 45 minutes to 1 hour.

First rise for cinnamon swirl loaf:

Place the boiled raisins in a bowl and combine with some of the flour to lightly coat.

Turn the second ball of dough out onto a lightly floured work surface and gently knead in the extra ½ tsp sugar and the flour-coated raisins. If necessary, add a little more flour, 1 Tablespoon at a time, to prevent the dough from sticking.

Re-shape the dough into a ball and place it in a large buttered or oiled bowl (one that can hold double the amount of dough). Turn the dough around to cover its entire surface with butter or oil. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap, mark the top of the wrap with the beginning size of the dough and the time you’re starting the first rise. Let the dough rest at room temperature until it doubles in bulk, about 45 minutes to 1 hour.

Shaping the dough
Butter two 8 ½ inch by 4 ½-inch loaf pans and set them aside.

Combine the sugars and cinnamon in a small bowl and set aside.

For the white loaf: Deflate the dough and turn it out onto a lightly floured work surface. Using a rolling pin, roll the dough into a large rectangle about 9 inches wide and 12 inches long, with a short side facing you. Starting at the top, fold the dough about two thirds of the way down the rectangle and then fold it again, so that the top edge meets the bottom edge. (A “business letter” fold.)

Seal the seam by pinching it. Turn the roll so that the seam is in the center of the roll, facing up, and turn the ends of the roll in just enough so that it will fit in a buttered loaf pan. Pinch the end seams to seal, turn the loaf over so that the seams are on the bottom, and plump the loaf with your palms to get an even shape. Drop the loaf into the pan, seam side down.

For the cinnamon/swirl loaf:

Deflate the dough and turn it out onto a lightly floured work surface. Using a rolling pin, roll the dough into a large rectangle about 9 inches wide and 15 inches long, with a short side facing you. Brush the melted butter all over the top of the dough, then generously coat the entire surface area with a layer of the cinnamon sugar mixture. (The layer should be at least 1/8-inch thick.) Pat down the cinnamon/sugar mixture so it sticks to the dough. Then, starting at the top, tightly roll the loaf toward you and pinch the long seam to seal. Gently stretch the ends of the dough over the swirl and pinch to seal. (If any of the swirl remains showing on the outside of the dough, some of the cinnamon and sugar will ooze out during baking.)

Turn the loaf over so that the seams are on the bottom, and plump the loaf with your palms to get an even shape. Drop the loaf into the pan, seam side down. Sprinkle the top of the loaf with another generous layer of the cinnamon/sugar mixture and pat down gently with your fingertips. (You will likely have some cinnamon/sugar mixture left over. Save it and sprinkle a little on your toast in a day or two.)

Second rise
Cover the loaves with oiled plastic wrap, and allow them to rise in a warm place (about 80 degrees) until they double in size again, growing over the tops of the pans, about 45 minutes.

While the loaves rise, center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Baking the breads
When the loaves are fully risen (poke your finger into the dough; the impression should remain), bake them for 35 to 45 minutes, or until the white loaf is honey-brown and the cinnamon/swirl loaf is deeply caramelized. If you like, 10 minutes or so before you think the loaves should come out, you can carefully turn the loaves out of their pans and let them bake on the oven rack or on a jelly roll pan so they brown on the sides. (If the cinnamon/swirl loaf is oozing some of it’s sugars, be careful not to burn yourself!)

The bread is done when an instant read thermometer plunged into the center of the bread from the bottom measures 200 degrees.

Allow the breads to rest for 5 minutes, then remove them from the pans and let them cool on a rack. These should not be cut until they are almost completely cool; just-warm is just right.

Storing
Once completely cool, the breads can be kept in a brown paper bag for a day or two. Once a loaf is sliced, turn it cut side down on the counter or a cutting board and cover with a kitchen towel.

Both loaves can be used to make delicious French toast after a day or two.

For longer storage, wrap the breads airtight and freeze for up to a month. Thaw, still wrapped, at room temperature.