I’ve always envied those with a strong culinary heritage. My own origins are as murky as they are unexciting, with food appearing as a bit player, never the star. When asked, my general response is that I’m a European mutt, maybe Russian at most, or Ukranian, or German, or Austrian, or…
Clues are scant and hard to verify. There are stories, like family lore, that could be as close to fact as fairy tales. Anyone with the truth is long gone. The best evidence I have are photos, especially of my dad’s side, seen through a Kodaslide, illuminating the past in every sense of the word. Seen in 3D, there’s my teenaged grandparents at the pool, my dad and aunt as toddlers dressed in some unfortunate plaid jumpsuits, my other aunt as a child running away from what seems like a dead body lying in the grass; some of these moments in time raise more questions than answers.
My Great Grandmother May, Circa 1955
Naturally, I’m most drawn to images depicting holidays and dinner parties, the grand celebrations and feasts of yore. There, I can’t help but notice the towers of bread, stacked instead of splayed, like two pillars a the center of the table. Though it’s hard to identify much else, I know this for sure: it’s rye bread on display.
It turns out, I’m like rye bread. Any number of countries could claim it as their own, offering compelling facts to make the case. In Scandinavia, you’ll find sweet and crisp rye breads like the Finnish rye and the crispbreads of Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. Eastern Europe, particularly Russia and the Baltics, is known for its dark, dense, and intensely flavored rye breads. Germany has a wide range of rye breads, from the robust and complex to the rich and varied, with Vollkornbrot being especially popular. Other notable rye breads include the tender and piquant rye of Southern Poland, the aromatic and flavorful rye of Bavaria, Switzerland, Austria, and Italy, and the rustic French-style Tourte de Seigle. In essence, rye bread is also a European mutt.
Jewish rye bread, lightly sour, sweet, and flecked with caraway seeds, is the food of my people. Marbled loaves especially have held a certain undeniable allure, rippled with undulating waves of dark, cocoa-tinted dough. I’ve long promised myself I’d make a loaf of my own, and so, for this World Bread Day, I finally have.
Of course, as you probably already guessed, I couldn’t simply pander to tradition to recreate what’s already been done millions of times before. Mine is a triple take on the concept, weaving in an even darker braid dyed with edible charcoal for maximum impact. Looking like a streaky challah, the tender yet dense texture evokes the best parts of a brioche and a pullman loaf combined. There’s a uniquely savory edge thanks to the distinctive seasonings and earthy whole grain flours, making its thick slices the ideal end caps to any deli sandwich.
Happea Vegans Not Yo Mami Pastrami on Rye
Other recipes will advise that caraway seeds are polarizing and thus optional. This is true, and I’d never look down on someone who wasn’t a fan. That said, I will advise that this is my recipe, and for me, they are not. Want a simple rye bread without seasonings or inclusions? Want to skip the different colors, the braiding and waiting, the long prep time to make that distinctive final swirl? That’s perfectly fine. That’s not this recipe.
Like the story behind rye bread itself, layered, winding, and shaped by time, my journey has led to something uniquely mine. I can’t recreate the original exactly, but I can honor its spirit. This rye bread is my version, rooted in tradition, but entirely my own.
Continue reading “Catcher In The Rye”
