Babka, the Old World Way
by Mary Anne Limoncelli
So you want to make Babka? Okay, but it’s quite the commitment! You’ll need to set aside about six hours of your life, and be prepared for things to get sticky.
You should know this is not some fancy Babka full of chocolate and cinnamon and cheese and whatever other abominations you Westerners have added to my Babka. This is Babka in its most pure form. Still interested? Alright then.
Wake up one morning. Roll directly out of bed and stagger in your pyjamas into the kitchen. Separate a dozen eggs, putting the yolks into the biggest bowl you own. You’ll need all dozen yolks now, but save the whites! You can make omelets or meringue or something. And oh, while you’re separating the eggs, get your sister to microwave a cup of WHOLE MILK until it’s slightly warm, but not hot. Tell her to add 3 yeast packets to the milk and make her stir it.
(I am sure there is a way to make Babka without a sister, but I do not know it. If you are not lucky enough to have a sister, find a family member you can semi-order around, or a friend with a few free hours.)
While the yeast is “blooming,” (ew) beat the egg yolks with a fork. Once the yeast/milk looks ready — it should be bubbly — pour it into the beaten egg yolks. Add two cups of flour, and mix that all up with that fork until it’s combined. Cover with one of those nice cloth napkins you have but never use, and put it somewhere warm — somewhere in the sun, perhaps?
Step one is done! While the Babka doubles in size, you can shower! And eat breakfast and have a coffee and realize that, oh boy, your nail polish is chipping like crazy and unless you want bits of nail polish in the babka, you better get all of that nail polish off, and then get the horrific acetone nailpolish remover off of your hands as well. Wash with soap, then wash soap off with copious amounts of water.
Okay! The Babka is roughly twice the size it was when you left it, right? If, at this point, your Babka bowl is more than halfway full, you’re screwed and need a bigger bowl. Alright. Get a wooden spoon. Put your damn Kitchenaid stand mixer away. Did my Babcia bring a Kitchenaid stand mixer over with her from Białystok when she was fleeing the Germans, on a boat that was shot at by U-boats? I THINK NOT. You will use no mixers, handheld or stand in this recipe. You will use wooden spoons, and you will use your hands. AND YOU WILL LOVE IT.
So. Take your wooden spoon and mix the batter for a moment, deflating the lovely rising that’s just occurred. Give your sister a box of white raisins, and tell her you need a cup of the good ones. This ensures that none of those horrific shriveled rock-like raisins make it into your Babka. While she is sorting raisins, dump in another 2 cups of flour, 1 cup of sugar, 2 sticks of unsalted butter into your bowl of Babka batter. (Yes, unsalted.) The butter should be pretty soft, but not quite liquid. Pour in a teaspoon of vanilla, preferably directly on top of the butter. Debate with your sister how much a “dash” of salt is, then sprinkle some salt onto the whole thing. Root through the liquor cabinet for the apricot brandy, which is all the way in the back because it only ever gets used for Babka. Carefully measure out a shot and pour that in. Then pour in a bit more “for extra flavor,” and because you never measure liquor. (If you must, you can substitute triple sec, cherry brandy, or any fruity thing; for nondrinkers, maybe elderflower syrup? Or a fruity extract.) Add in the hand-selected raisins from your sister. Ask her if she wants to start stirring, and let her do so.
While she does the initial stirring WITH A WOODEN SPOON, clear off half of the kitchen table. Scoop up some flour with the one-cup measure, and lay down a light sprinkling, leaving a bunch still in the cup. Take off your rings, and lick a fingernail. Taste like acetone? No? You’re good to go! Once the batter is essentially together, dump the Babka out on the table. Knead it as best you can. This will not be easy!
Your simple “push out, fold over, turn it 90 degrees” will not quite work, as Babka, being halfway between bread and cake, is also halfway between batter and dough. It will be sticky. The main thing you can do is keep a metal spatula handy, and keep scraping your dough off the table and towards the center. Sometimes you can try and hold all the dough in one hand while you scrape the whole side of the table clean! (Note: this should not be possible — the dough should be loose enough that it oozes between your fingers and falls back onto the table long before you’ve scraped it all up.) Add more flour when necessary, but you really don’t want to add much more than ¾ a cup — let the kneading turn it from a stiff batter into what is, most definitely, dough. It is mostly through trial and error that you will find when this moment is, but it’s essentially when it starts to act like it is one cohesive unit. It should be far looser and moister than bread dough, but still definitely a dough.
Oh! This is essential. You must sing “Greensleeves” while kneading. You must. I tend to knead for about 20 minutes, give or take.
Okay! That was the hard part! Take the dough and put it back in your initial bowl, which, if you’re lucky, you’ve convinced your sister to wash for you. If she seems resistant, don’t worry about it — you pretty much scraped it clean right before you started kneading, right? Good. Cover the bowl again with that nice cloth napkin and put it somewhere warm. Now clean up the kitchen and your hands! You have about an hour before you need to do anything else with the Babka, so you could maybe run an errand! Or if you’re me, start a second Babka (this usually requires a written-out timeline) Anyway, do something with yourself for an hour — though I expect you’ll spend half that time cleaning up yourself/your kitchen.
After an hour’s passed, “punch down” the dough, except don’t. Deflate it gently, perhaps by turning it over and poking at it, or by just patting it. Punching the Babka as if you were an angry 15-year-old results in bruised knuckles when you hit the bottom of the bowl. This was step 3, and it is the easiest of the steps. You’ve got another hour off, and you should probably find your bundt pan and wash it — it’s covered in dust. And don’t you need to make cookies or something else as well?
Another hour passes, and it’s time to take the Babka out of its bowl, and put it into the INCREDIBLY WELL GREASED BUNDT PAN. I do use Pam, but only under duress — it is not authentic (see above re: U-boats). Probably back then they used lard but butter or the like works. When placing the dough into the bundt, make a hole in the dough so it looks like a giant doughnut, and then put it into the pan — do not try to put it in as a log and push the ends together. That results in an uneven Babka! Look at the top of the dough, relaxing in the Bundt pan. Are there any raisins sticking out? Push’em under, or pull dough over them! Burned raisins are bad. Cover it with that same napkin, and let it chill out (in a warm place! But not too hot!) for another hour.
Forty minutes in, preheat the oven to 350. Depending on your start time, you might be able to start drinking now! Anyway. Put the Babka into the oven, and then leave it for at least 40 minutes. At that point, pull it out and insert a cake tester deep into the Babka, and see if it comes out clean. If it does, try it 3 other places. If it comes out gooey, call your sister in, and ask if the Babka “looks too brown.” If it does, cover with tinfoil (careful!) and return it to the oven. Check every 5 minutes, and DO NOT leave it in the over for over an hour.
After the Babka comes out of the oven, let it sit for a little bit, maybe 20 minutes in the pan, unless it looks too brown, in which case, don’t wait. Get 2 large dinner plates and place one upside down, on top of the Babka. Using oven mitts, invert the Babka on the plate, and gently remove the bundt pan. Then, IMMEDIATELY, put the 2nd plate upside down on top of the Bakba, and flip the thing again, so it is oriented the same way it was in the bundt pan. Why? Because the top of it looks so pretty! That’s right, my Polish family serves bundts upside down. Which is to say, “right side up.” It is traditional.
Let the Babka cool down until it’s at room temperature, then fill a shot glass with water and GENTLY drop it down into the hole in the bundt. Wrap the whole thing carefully with saran-wrap, and leave it alone until the appointed time. Enjoy!
If you find this all too stressful, you can always consult The Old Warsaw Cookbook, which explains Babka nearly as well.
Mary Anne Limoncelli is mostly Polish, despite the last name.
Illustration by Susie Cagle.