Julekake (Norwegian Christmas Bread)

December, and the cookbook revisions have begun. Catherine Wells sent editorial notes — thirty pages of notes on a hundred-and-eighty-page manuscript, the notes sharp and specific and generous, the notes of an editor who loves the book and who wants the book to be better than it is, not because it is not good but because good is not the standard. Beautiful is the standard. And the standard is high. And the highness is the gift.

The revisions will take six months. The publication date is set for fall 2023. The date is real. The date is on a calendar. The date is the proof that the book exists in the future, waiting for me to bring it there, waiting for me to revise and polish and complete the thing I started at the desk Robert built four years ago when I sat down with a journal and a coffee and the particular faith of a woman who believed that her mother's recipes were worth preserving.

Mama has been sleeping more. The sleep is deep and long, the sleep of a woman whose body is conserving energy for the essential functions: breathing, heartbeat, the occasional hum. The humming is less frequent now. The hymns are fragments of fragments — a line here, three notes there, the music dissolving the way sugar dissolves in water: still there, still sweetening, but invisible.

I have been decorating for Christmas with the particular determination that the holidays require. The fruitcake is curing. The stockings are hung. Joy's stocking is on the mantle. The tree is up. The lights are lit. And the lighting is the argument against the darkness, and the argument is annual, and the annual is the tradition, and the tradition is the love.

I made gingerbread — the dark, dense, December cake that has been the smell of Christmas in this family for three generations. The gingerbread filled the house with the smell of the parsonage, with the smell of Mama at her peak, with the smell of a kitchen that exists now only in the recipes and in the book and in the baking.

The gingerbread was the first thing I baked that December, but it was not the last. When the house already smells like spice and molasses, when the oven is warm and the revisions are waiting on the desk and Mama is sleeping her deep sleep down the hall, you keep baking. You bake because the baking is the doing, and the doing is the living. This julekake—dense with cardamom and studded with fruit, the kind of Christmas bread that demands you knead it with your whole body—is the recipe I reached for next, because it filled the house with a second layer of warmth, and because some Decembers ask for more than one argument against the darkness.

Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 45 minutes (includes rising) | Servings: 16

Ingredients

1 cup whole milk, warmed to 110°F
1 packet (2 1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 large egg, beaten
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 to 4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup candied citron or mixed candied fruit, chopped
1/3 cup golden raisins
1/4 cup dried currants
1 egg yolk, beaten with 1 tablespoon water (for egg wash)

Instructions

Proof the yeast. Combine warm milk and yeast in a large bowl. Stir in 1 tablespoon of the sugar and let stand until foamy, about 5 to 10 minutes.
Mix the dough. Add the remaining sugar, softened butter, beaten egg, cardamom, and salt to the yeast mixture. Stir until combined. Add flour one cup at a time, mixing until a soft dough forms that pulls away from the sides of the bowl.
Knead. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 8 to 10 minutes until smooth and elastic. During the last few minutes of kneading, work in the candied fruit, raisins, and currants until evenly distributed.
First rise. Place dough in a greased bowl, turning once to coat. Cover with a clean towel and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 to 1 1/2 hours.
Shape. Punch down the dough. Shape into a round loaf and place on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Cover loosely and let rise again until nearly doubled, about 30 to 45 minutes.
Preheat and bake. Preheat oven to 350°F. Brush the loaf with the egg wash. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, until the top is deep golden brown and the loaf sounds hollow when tapped on the bottom.
Cool. Transfer to a wire rack and cool completely before slicing. Serve as is or with butter.

Nutrition (per serving)

Julekake (Norwegian Christmas Bread) — The Smell of Three Generations