What to Make for Your Holiday Breakfast or Brunch —rsquo; The Bread That Smells Like Christmas-Coming

The kitchen is the room I live in. The other rooms are storage for memories — the dining room with its china cabinet, the living room with Paul's shipwreck books, the upstairs bedrooms where the kids grew up and which I have not entered (except to dust) in years. The kitchen is where the present happens. The kitchen is where the food is made and the dog is fed and the morning begins and the evening ends. The kitchen is the entire territory of my daily life now, and I find that this is enough. Karin and I talked Sunday. Stockholm in winter is dark. Duluth in winter is dark. We compared darknesses. We laughed. Karin said: "Linda, do you remember the time Pappa drove us to Two Harbors in a blizzard because Mamma wanted lutefisk?" I said yes. The story unspooled across the phone for twenty minutes. I had forgotten half of it. Karin remembered all of it. The memory was, briefly, complete between us. Mamma's hands shake more than they did last month. I do not point it out. I notice. I notice everything. The shake is small — barely visible when she is at rest, more visible when she lifts her coffee cup, most visible when she is trying to thread a needle. She still threads needles. She still bakes. She still calls me on Tuesdays at 10. The hands shake. The shaking does not stop the doing. The doing is what Mamma is. I cooked Cardamom bread this week. The dough is enriched with butter and milk and egg, scented with cardamom that I grind fresh from the seed. The bread rises twice — once in the bowl, once braided on the pan. Forty-five minutes at 350. The kitchen smells like Christmas-coming. The bread is best the day it is baked. The second-best is toasted with butter on the third day. Damiano. The kitchen back-room I have known for over twenty years. The pot. The ladle. The faces. Gerald. The work continues. The work is the same work it has been since 2005. The continuity is, I think, the gift the Damiano Center gives me as much as the gift I give it. We hold each other up. Erik's house is empty now. The Fifth Street house has been sold (the new owners are a young couple from Hermantown, they are kind, they have promised to take care of it; they will paint the walls and tear up the carpet and the kitchen will become someone else's kitchen and I have made my peace with this, mostly). Erik's own house in Lakeside is being cleared out. I helped on Saturday. I packed Erik's coffee mugs. I held one for a long minute. I put it in the box. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. I have been reading the Bible more lately. Not in any new way. The same passages I have known since confirmation class in 1977. The Sermon on the Mount. The 23rd Psalm. The book of Ruth. Whither thou goest, I will go. The repetition of the verses is its own form of prayer. The verses do not change. I change. The change is held by the unchanged words. It is enough.

The bread I made this week is the bread I always reach for when the season is turning and the kitchen needs to smell like something hopeful. Cardamom bread is a Scandinavian holiday breakfast bread — the kind Mamma made, the kind her hands still know how to make even now — and braiding it on the pan, watching it rise a second time, is the closest thing I have to ceremony on an ordinary Tuesday in Duluth. If your kitchen needs warming from the inside out, this is what to make for your holiday breakfast or brunch.

What to Make for Your Holiday Breakfast or Brunch

Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 2 hr 45 min (includes rising) | Servings: 12 slices

Ingredients

• 3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading
• 2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast (1 standard packet)
• 3/4 cup whole milk, warmed to 110°F
• 1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1 large egg, room temperature
• 1 1/2 tsp ground cardamom, freshly ground from seed if possible
• 1/2 tsp fine salt
• 1 egg beaten with 1 tbsp milk, for egg wash
• 2 tbsp pearl sugar or coarse sugar, for topping (optional)

Instructions

1. Proof the yeast. Combine warm milk and sugar in a large bowl. Sprinkle yeast over the top and let stand 5–10 minutes until foamy.
2. Mix the dough. Add melted butter, egg, cardamom, and salt to the yeast mixture and stir to combine. Add flour one cup at a time, mixing until a shaggy dough forms.
3. Knead. Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead 8–10 minutes until smooth and elastic. The dough should be soft but not sticky.
4. First rise. Place dough in a lightly greased bowl, cover with a clean towel, and let rise in a warm spot 1 to 1 1/2 hours, until doubled in size.
5. Braid. Punch dough down and divide into three equal pieces. Roll each piece into a rope about 18 inches long. Pinch the tops together and braid loosely; pinch and tuck the ends under. Place the braid on a parchment-lined baking sheet.
6. Second rise. Cover loosely and let rise 45 minutes until noticeably puffed.
7. Bake. Preheat oven to 350°F. Brush the loaf gently with egg wash and sprinkle with pearl sugar if using. Bake 40–45 minutes until deep golden brown and the loaf sounds hollow when tapped on the bottom. If the top browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil after 25 minutes.
8. Cool and serve. Let cool on a wire rack at least 20 minutes before slicing. Best the day it is baked; toast remaining slices with butter on day three.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 218 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 37g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 110mg