As a young girl, I knew the smell of my mother’s baked challah signaled the beginning of her Friday evening preparations. Each week our kitchen would overflow with these beautiful braided breads, some of which we would deliver to friends and family. My mother cooks and bakes in the manner of many grandparents: unscripted and unmeasured. Her consistent result is remarkable to me. After several sessions of testing and retesting, we finally documented the mystery of the beautiful challah of my childhood. This challah is bread-like, dense, soft, and just sweet enough.
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