
Chef Ally
Braided Challah
A golden, egg-enriched loaf braided by hand, its burnished crust giving way to a crumb so tender it pulls apart in soft, sweet strands. The bread of Friday nights, holidays, and ordinary weeks made sacred.
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Four ingredients, two hands, and one day of unhurried attention. This is the loaf that connects you to ten thousand years of bread-making, and it starts with flour you can trust.
Start with the flour. Stone-ground, if you can find it, from a mill that grinds whole wheat berries and sifts to order. This matters more than any technique I can teach you. Industrial flour has been stripped of its germ and bran, then artificially aged. It bakes predictably but tastes of nothing. Flour from a small mill smells alive, faintly sweet, almost grassy. It wants to become bread.
Sourdough is the oldest leavened bread we know. Wild yeast captured from the air, fed with flour and water, kept alive in a jar on your counter. No packets, no manufacturing plants. Just time and attention. The starter is a living thing. Treat it like one.
This boule teaches you to watch, to feel, to trust your hands more than any timer. The dough tells you when it is ready. It domes. It jiggles. It holds the impression of your finger, then springs back slowly. These signs matter more than hours on a clock. Every kitchen is different. Every starter has its own pace. Learn yours.
The bread you pull from the oven will have a crust that shatters when you press it, a crumb that is open and airy, and a flavor that no commercial loaf can match. You made this. From flour, water, salt, and time. Nothing more.
Quantity
500g
preferably stone-ground from a mill you trust
Quantity
350g
at room temperature
Quantity
100g
Quantity
10g
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| bread flourpreferably stone-ground from a mill you trust | 500g |
| waterat room temperature | 350g |
| active sourdough starter | 100g |
| fine sea salt | 10g |
Combine the flour and water in a large bowl. Mix with your hands until no dry patches remain. The dough will look shaggy and rough. This is right. Cover and let it rest for thirty minutes to one hour. This rest, the autolyse, allows the flour to hydrate fully. Gluten begins forming without any effort from you. Good bread rewards patience from the very first step.
Scatter the salt over the dough. Dollop the active starter on top. Pinch and squeeze the dough, folding it over itself until the starter and salt are fully incorporated. This takes three to five minutes. The dough will feel tight and resistant at first, then relax as you work. When the surface looks smoother and you cannot see distinct pieces of starter, you are done.
Over the next four hours, stretch and fold the dough four times, once every thirty to forty-five minutes. Wet your hand, slide it under one side of the dough, stretch it up gently until you feel resistance, then fold it over the center. Rotate the bowl ninety degrees and repeat. Four stretches around the bowl equals one set. Cover between folds. Watch the dough transform. It begins slack and sticky. With each fold, it becomes smoother, stronger, and holds its shape better.
After the final fold, leave the dough covered at room temperature until it has grown by about fifty percent and feels airy when you gently poke it. This takes three to five hours depending on your kitchen and the vigor of your starter. Look for domed edges and small bubbles visible through the bowl. The surface should look alive, slightly domed, trembling when you move the container.
Flour your work surface lightly. Turn the dough out gently, disturbing the air inside as little as possible. Fold the edges toward the center, building tension on the surface. Flip it seam-side down. Cup your hands around the dough and drag it toward you, letting the friction of the counter tighten the surface. The skin should feel taut, like a drum. Do not overwork it. A few confident motions are better than many hesitant ones.
Line a bowl or banneton with a clean kitchen towel and dust it generously with rice flour or a fifty-fifty blend of rice and bread flour. Place your shaped dough seam-side up in the basket. Cover with plastic or a damp towel and refrigerate overnight, at least eight hours and up to fourteen. The cold slows fermentation and develops flavor. This is where sourdough becomes sourdough. Do not rush it.
One hour before baking, place your Dutch oven with its lid inside your regular oven. Heat to 500°F (260°C). The pot must be screaming hot. This creates the steam that gives sourdough its shattering crust. Without this trapped moisture, you will have good bread but not great bread.
Remove the cold dough from the refrigerator. Turn it out onto a piece of parchment paper, seam-side down now. Using a razor blade or very sharp knife, slash the surface in one confident motion, holding the blade at a thirty-degree angle. The score should be a quarter-inch deep. This is where your loaf will bloom. Carefully lower the dough into the hot pot using the parchment as a sling. Cover immediately.
Bake covered at 500°F for twenty minutes. The steam trapped inside the pot allows the crust to stay flexible while the loaf expands. Remove the lid, reduce heat to 450°F (230°C), and bake another twenty to twenty-five minutes until the crust is deeply caramelized, almost mahogany. When you tap the bottom, it should sound hollow and resonant, like knocking on a wooden door.
Transfer the loaf to a wire rack. Listen. You may hear it crackle as the crust contracts, what bakers call the song of bread. Let it cool for at least one hour before slicing. Cutting into hot bread releases steam and leaves the interior gummy. Patience, still. The bread finishes cooking as it cools.
1 serving (about 70g)
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