Spring Bread
Some call this Easter bread, and you can, but that implies it can only be eaten one day a year, and that is a travesty. Yes, a travesty. Why would you want to limit the consumption of a bread so sweet, so tender, so full of the very best things in life to just one day a year? No. I won’t hear of it. This is Spring bread, just as it should be, to be enjoyed all the months this great earth enjoys a little warm-up of its own.
To make a right and proper spring bread you will need two days. Nothing more, nothing less. And like all good things, there are many steps involved. So put on your apron, roll up your sleeves, and let’s begin.
Day1:
A tablespoon and a half of dried yeast (Now don’t stop here. It’s only yeast. You’ll be fine) is mixed with a half cup warm water along with two tablespoons sugar to help the whole thing along. It’s left to sit for about ten minutes or until bubbly.
While that’s going one and a half cups whole milk is warmed just enough to get the chill off—about eighty degrees. When the ten minutes are up, the milk is stirred into the yeast and the whole thing is poured into a large mixing bowl (if you have a stand mixer, now is the time to put it to use). Seven and a half cups bread flour are added and given a light stir before the mixer is turned on low, just until blended (Or, if you don’t have a mixer, stir by hand until, you know, until just blended).
The bowl is covered with a dishtowel and set aside for thirty minutes while everyone gets to know each other a bit better.
While that thirty minutes is transpiring, three sticks of butter are melted in a saucepan and when they is, the pan is removed from the heat and two thirds cups sugar is stirred in along with the zest of one lemon, a teaspoon of salt, and a quarter cup of good brandy. It is stirred until the sugar is dissolved, and once it’s cooled a bit, two eggs (room temperature) are also stirred in. The entire mixture is poured over the dough and kneaded in with a dough hook (or a big wooden spoon if done by hand, once it comes together, dump the bowl onto the counter and get kneading) for about five minutes (fifteen to twenty by hand) or until it looks like a dough should: shiny and supple. At this point a cup of diced, dried apricots are added, along with a cup of dried cherries, and a quarter cup of diced almond paste. That is kneaded until all is spread evenly throughout the dough.
A large bowl is buttered and the dough rounded into a ball and set inside and lightly covered with a dishtowel for an hour and a half, after which time the dough is deflated by rounding into a ball once more and placed back into the buttered bowl, which is now covered with plastic wrap and the whole thing set in the fridge to rest and mingle and grow overnight.
Day 2:
The dough is removed from the fridge and the bowl which had been its resting place the whole night through. It’s set on the counter and cut into six equal pieces. These pieces are rolled back and forth between the counter and hands until each are eighteen inches long and an inch in diameter.
Three of the pieces are joined on one end and braided; weaving and tucking plait after plait. Once the entire eighteen inches is done, the beginning is brought to the end in the way of wreath, and the entire concoction set on a parchmented baking tray. The process is repeated with the other three pieces until two wreaths are smiling up at you.
Both pans holding their precious cargo are covered loosely with dishtowels and let to rest until doubled, about an hour.
An egg wash is brushed over all followed by the wreaths being baked in a preheated four-hundred-degree oven for approximately forty minutes, or until golden brown.
The breads are taken out and let to cool on a wire rack during which time, the glaze is made.
The glaze:
One tablespoon meringue powder is beaten with a quarter cup good brandy, two tablespoons cream, two tablespoons almond paste, and a cup of sugar of the confectionary variety until all is smooth and right with the world. Once the wreaths are cool, the glaze is liberally applied. And I mean liberally. Nothing beats a good glaze, especially one doused with brandy.
