Sunday is Easter.
In our household that means Chorek (Easter sweet bread) time. For the past few years I have taken on the responsibility of that treasured tradition of making my grandmother's recipe. I can't really call it a responsibility though, considering how much I love the entire process. Because we can't just make two or three, or even a dozen of them, (God forbid we run out in a few days, oh no, that won't do), it's a two day ordeal. An entire evening of making and kneading the dough, a whole night of letting it rise, all wrapped up in warm blankets, and an entire day to form and bake them. We all get involved, my kinds love it.
Some of my best childhood memories are of Easter time, not because we were going to have an egg hunt, or get a basket full of gifts, chocolate and little nik-naks that almost always end up in the trash the next day. But, because it meant that we were all going to cram into my grandma's small kitchen and make Chorek and color eggs. My grandfather was in charge of measuring all the ingredients, grandma (yaya) would be up to her elbows in dough and us kids would just be squirming around like ants, making sure we don't miss anything.
All this preparation led to a highly anticipated Easter breakfast, the whole family gathered around a huge table full of colored eggs, Chorek, milk, and my favorite feta with herbs. First came the egg fight, where we would all dual on who's egg is the strongest and could break all the others. Of course, my brother would always cheat, he would empty a raw egg through a small hole on the bottom and fill it with wax, so it wasn't a fake egg, but a real one that had some major work done on it. What fun that was, then came the lavash filled with egg, feta and some herbs, best one is tarragon (yumm). The rest of the day was spent just talking, laughing and being together. Can't wait till Sunday.
In the next couple of days all those memories will be passed on to my kids as we prepare for Easter. I hope some day they will look back and remember the fun they had, just like we do now.
When I'm elbow high in dough, I always feel my yaya around me, guiding me telling me what's next... I miss her so much.
In our household that means Chorek (Easter sweet bread) time. For the past few years I have taken on the responsibility of that treasured tradition of making my grandmother's recipe. I can't really call it a responsibility though, considering how much I love the entire process. Because we can't just make two or three, or even a dozen of them, (God forbid we run out in a few days, oh no, that won't do), it's a two day ordeal. An entire evening of making and kneading the dough, a whole night of letting it rise, all wrapped up in warm blankets, and an entire day to form and bake them. We all get involved, my kinds love it.
Some of my best childhood memories are of Easter time, not because we were going to have an egg hunt, or get a basket full of gifts, chocolate and little nik-naks that almost always end up in the trash the next day. But, because it meant that we were all going to cram into my grandma's small kitchen and make Chorek and color eggs. My grandfather was in charge of measuring all the ingredients, grandma (yaya) would be up to her elbows in dough and us kids would just be squirming around like ants, making sure we don't miss anything.
All this preparation led to a highly anticipated Easter breakfast, the whole family gathered around a huge table full of colored eggs, Chorek, milk, and my favorite feta with herbs. First came the egg fight, where we would all dual on who's egg is the strongest and could break all the others. Of course, my brother would always cheat, he would empty a raw egg through a small hole on the bottom and fill it with wax, so it wasn't a fake egg, but a real one that had some major work done on it. What fun that was, then came the lavash filled with egg, feta and some herbs, best one is tarragon (yumm). The rest of the day was spent just talking, laughing and being together. Can't wait till Sunday.
In the next couple of days all those memories will be passed on to my kids as we prepare for Easter. I hope some day they will look back and remember the fun they had, just like we do now.
When I'm elbow high in dough, I always feel my yaya around me, guiding me telling me what's next... I miss her so much.
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