Harry Grabsch's Brioche

Here, at last, is the post I intended when I wound up with Trouble Comes in Threes. It’s a tribute to my grandfather and the bread he baked when I was a kid.

Opa, hubby Josh, me and Oma

Not too long after my parents’ divorce in the early 80s, my mother, brother and I returned from California to Virginia, where we moved in with my grandparents for a year while my mom prepared to provide for my brother and me.

What I tend to recall from that period isn’t the pain of a family splitting apart – though of course it was there – but the camaraderie and comfort of living with my grandparents afterward. We’d always been close, but that experience cemented our bond.

During that year, it was on very special weekends that my grandfather would hoist down the ceramic mixing bowl that he kept on top of the refrigerator. I imagine he kept it up there because it was the only place it would fit. Opa was a big man, and a big, thick bowl suited him. In my memory, it was about 18 inches in diameter and weighed 10 lbs before you put anything in it. (Who knows how big it really was.)

What he would mix up in that bowl – his massive frame leaning into it to stir and knead, glasses falling down onto the bridge of his nose – was some of the most wonderful bread I’ve ever had. All of the egg, butter, milk and honey in those brioche loaves gave them a fabulously decadent flavor, a beautiful pale yellow hue, and the smell…it was heaven.

When the loaves were done, Opa would slice off a piece and hold it out silently – a sacred offering. As you took it and ate it, he’d eat his own piece, never taking his eyes off of your reaction. He showed his love in his cooking, and he wanted to share that little moment of bliss with you

As a kid, bread that sweet and soft was an outright miracle. It was so good, that you pretty well knew that any other adult that happened by would take it away from you. I must have adopted some sort of protective stance, shielding the bread with my body, to prevent just such interference.

Opa's bread

More than twenty-five years later, I sit here with a loaf of Opa’s bread baking in the oven of my sunny California kitchen. (Yes, I made my way back over the years, this time in the company of my husband and young daughter). Opa won’t see this house, nor did he get to meet our daughter. But the aroma of his bread in the oven is enough to evoke his spirit for my daughter to experience.

If you’d like to try Opa’s bread, the recipe is below. It’s perfect for beginners and guaranteed to endear you to your family. It’s absolutely wonderful for breakfast, toasted, and spread with a little more butter or honey (or both).

Harry Grabsch’s Brioche
Makes two 12” loaves
2 packets (or 4.5 t) of active dry yeast
½ cup of lukewarm water
6 cups flour all purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
¼ lb (1 stick) of butter, melted
1 cup of milk (any kind – soy, whole, skim, rice - will work)
½ cup of honey
2 eggs, beaten

Dissolve the yeast in the water and let it sit for about five minutes until it “blooms.”

Meanwhile, mix together the flour and salt in a large mixing bowl. Mix the milk, melted butter, honey and eggs together and add that wet mix and the bloomed yeast to the flour mixture. Stir the wet and dry ingredients together for a few minutes in the bowl using a wooden spoon. Once the mixture has come together some, dump it out onto a well-floured surface and knead for five to ten minutes. It’s ready when the dough has smoothed out and begins to feel more elastic.

Put the kneaded dough into a buttered bowl. Opa used to cover the bowl with a towel and let the dough do its first rise on the counter over a couple of hours. I tried covering the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and placing it in the refrigerator over night. (To prevent the wrap from sticking to your dough as it rises, spray it with a little Pam before covering the bowl.)

Then next morning, remove the dough from the refrigerator and let it sit on the counter for 2-3 hours or until it comes to room temperature. Then, split the dough into two with a bench scraper. Knock down each piece of by gently pressing it out on the counter. (You want to give the yeast access to more sugars without removing all of the nice air that you’ve worked so hard to get into the loaf.) Shape the dough into loaves, and place it into two 12” buttered loaf pans.

Let the loaves rise again on the countertop covered with a towel until doubled in size. Be patient. These are heavy loaves and it will take a while, especially in the winter. Mine took over two hours. You’ll know their ready when a finger pressed lightly into the surface leaves an indentation.

Once they are doubled in size, you may opt to glaze your loaves with a little melted butter – this gives the crust a deeper warm brown tone once the loaf is baked and adds to the overall decadence.

When you’re almost ready to bake, preheat your oven well to 400 degrees. After you place your loaves in, turn the temperature back to 375 and let them bake for about 30 minutes.

When they are done, they will make a hollow sound when you thump the bottom of the loaf (yes, you should take it out of the pan before thumping). Again, be patient on the cooking time – you don’t want pale, anemic looking loaves – don’t be afraid of the rich caramel color the tops will develop. When they are done, remove the loaves from the oven and allow them to cool completely – if you can wait that long. I never can.