Christmas Stollen

I looked at the clock. It was 6:25 a.m. "Ohmigosh, I've gotta get going!" "Whaaa?" said Leo, under the covers. "It's the day I make stollen and I've got to get it together cause it takes a long time." I put on my robe and go into the kitchen and begin pulling out flour, raisins, butter, bowls, yeast and the recipe I had copied from Aly's old, used cookbook at Thanksgiving. I made a "sponge" out of the yeast, milk and flour and after I got it into the oven to raise, I called Mimi.
“Think good thoughts,” I begged. I had been visualizing Nonnie all morning, putting on her red and white apron, surround by her enameled kitchen appliances, pulling out a pound of butter in a bowl, dipping into the flour bin. The only advice I got from my mother was, “I think Nonnie soaked the raisins. She always said that if she didn’t soak them they turned the bread brown.” Leo suggested we soak them in bourbon. I decided that wouldn’t be a good idea, besides he wouldn’t give up any of his Jack Daniels for a Christmas Stollen.
“Buzzzzzzz.” The timer went off, I peeked in the oven and removed the dish towel covering the mixture. I saw a gray mass that looked more like first grade paste than stollen sponge. Not ready yet. I had learned from my rye bread making experience that dough takes a long time to rise. So I gently covered up my creation and quietly closed the oven door and began beating the butter and sugar into a creamy, satiny cloud. At that point I checked the sponge again…it was ready to mingle. I put it in the bowl with the butter mixture and began adding, one cup at a time, the seven cups of flour I had sifted. [I know, I don’t have to sift in this day of pre-sifted flour, but I’m into the zen of this ritual and besides I had pictured Nonnie sifting a bowlful of flour.] The dough seemed to grow.
“Leo, help me.” He walked into the kitchen to see me trying to knead a pile of dough that was as big as a basketball. “I’ve got to get this robe off!” The dough was trying to crawl up my arms; my sleeves were in the way. I continued to push and press the dough as it began to change from a gelatinous lump of gooey, dare I say, muscus to the plastic, responsive glomp of raw bread that I recognized from my rye bread days. Hey, this is working. I kept adding flour and the dough finally said enough. It was giving and taking in that elastic way that tells you it’s ready to go to a resting spot so it can breathe and grow.
At this point, Debby is saying to herself, Sue really is losing it. Or else, doesn’t she have anything better to do? Well, I do have to be at the arboretum today at 12:30 so I’m hoping that this process will be finished by then. But Aly, I’m practicing “the mindfulness of baking”, you understand. And Deb, I know you really understand. And Carrie you understand why I have to record this in writing, don’t you. And Mimi, you understand why I have to share this with all of you, don’t you? And Rich, you are thinking, now what’s stolen, and do I like it? And yes, you will all get to taste it except Alyson. But Aly we will report on the results, I promise. So everything is really going smooooothly…
Arghhhh! The dough has risen and it looks like it will fill a washtub. I knead in the almonds, the candied fruit and the raisins and the dough has tripled in size. “Place dough on greased pans…” Pans! I didn’t know that I would need two pans. How am I going to cook two of them at once. I don’t know if I can fit two into the oven at the same time and cook them together. I calmed down and brushed melted butter on the two loaves following the recipe. I dug out another cookie sheet and put the smaller loaf on it and they are sleeping peacefully in the warmed oven. After forty-five minutes I place them into a 350 degree oven to bake. By the way, Mom, do you still have some of that stolen left over from Thanksgiving? You should eat it now, all of it, maybe leave a crumb or two for a taste test. (So much for mindfulness…)
Ever heard of burritos as big as your head?! Well, this recipe makes TWO loaves as big as footballs,… no, bigger. Now I know we will have to mail at least one of them. I still want to bring one out east with me so you and Dan will get to taste this traditional bread from our family. By the way, after Nonnie passed, away Aunt Francie took over the tradition. I think Mom said that Aunt Francie couldn’t beat Nonnie’s stolen, though. If I ship this to St. Joseph we will try to pack it so it’s nestled in something so it won’t get crushed. Actually it might weigh twenty pounds so maybe it will be the one doing the crushing.
At eleven o’clock the two loaves are in the oven baking. I have an hour before we leave for the arboretum. All I have to do is make the glaze and I’m finished. If any of you want to take over this tradition, it doesn’t take all day. Just five or six hours and lot of flour and butter. Happy Holidays. Love Sue
P.S. I just removed the loaves from the oven. They are each as big as Leo’s leg. Now what? I think I’ll mail half to Deb and a full one to Mom and bring half to Dan and Carrie’s IF the bread is any good. I also talked to my friend Malina who makes Swedish sweet bread every year and she says she doesn’t let it double in size because it continues to rise in the oven…I found that OUT! Help!... the bread is taking over the kitchen…………………………………………………

We arrive in Brookyn two days later. I wrapped the half loaf in plastic wrap and security didn't even ask to unwrap it. In fact I didn't get checked at all. That night while celebrating Shabat with Carrie and Nir, my biggest thrill was to see the Stollen next to the Challah on their table. Four days later, we arrive in Kansas City and the first thing I do when I get to my sister's is look for the Stollen. "Yes, it made it here. It's in the refrigerator." There were the loaves, taking up a whole shelf. My second biggest thrill was watching my mother spread a slice with butter Christmas Eve morning and remark, "Sue, this is really really good. Nonnie would be proud!"