Russian sweet bread

Russian Sweetbread
A sweetbread that is a Pascha (Easter) tradition.
Makes three large or six small loaves; 24 servings

Ingredients

5 cups flour
1/2 cup sugar
2 pkgs. dry yeast
1 tsp. salt
3/4 cup milk
1/2 cup water
1/3 cup butter
2 eggs at room temp.
1/2 cup citron
3/4 cup chopped, toasted almonds





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The bucolic journey, which started as a rare time of togetherness for me and my Texan husband, turned tension filled and stressed out when we took a wrong term at Kerrville.

"Did you read the directions?" I asked

"I know exactly where it is," he offered, "don't worry."

Attending this retreat, for free, was a minor miracle in itself. We'd gotten a babysitter for the weekend and were actually going to spend 3 uninterrupted days with artists and poets and musicians. And eachother. Amazing.

When we pulled over at a friendly looking restaurant so I could ask for directions (note: I was asking, not my husband), we were nearly to Bandera. The very wrong way on the road that didn't turn into 71 like we'd thought it would. It was getting dark.

The GPS on the iPhone found a windy little road through the hills that felt like mountains- with hair pin turns that demanded we slow to 10mph. What should've taken an hour from the interstate was taking more than two.

I was frustrated and tired and hungry, and noting all this, I thought to myself in a rare moment of maturity "maybe there's a reason we're lost and late. Maybe it's a God thing."

When we finally made our way to the river road that leads to the lodge I began to see the reason. We opened the sunroof and the sky was a silver dome with pin pricks of black between the stars. We opened the windows and the air was clean and cool and clear.

When we arrived, we immediately met Edwina (pronounced Ed- winna, not Ed-weena). Well into her 80s yet exuding joy and vitality,Edwina welcomed us with hugs (we'd never met her before this moment) and asked if we were hungry. Our grumbling stomachs gave us away. "Well I'm just so glad you kids made it, I was so worried". Kids? I thought. I exhaled. We'd called her at the front desk at least 4 times when we still had phone service, trying not to sound like neurotic city folk, and Edwina had patiently tried to talk us through the directions.

We followed her into the lodge's kitchen where she gently nudged us toward the table she had laid. Hot, fresh, bread, and cold iced tea beckoned. The site of it nearly made me cry. I was tired, hungry and raw from a long journey, and frankly, from too many years of ministry without a break. And I didn't grow up with this sort of thing, this sort of hospitality. My grandmother passed away when I was 6 and my mother worked, alot. So I work, alot. It's what I know how to do.

I considered asking Edwina to adopt me. Though I am an adult and I'd known her for five minutes, it seemed like a great idea at the time, and still does. I could learn a lot from her. She chatted to us, making us feel comfortable and less guilty for keeping her awake until 10:00pm. "Oh, I don't go up to bed until after 11!" she assured me, and though I thought she was just being polite, I knew she was telling the truth. Staying up late, and caring for road weary strangers, heating up food and making small talk, seemed like the exact thing she had been looking forward to all day. She served us dinner, and hovered, making sure we had everything we needed. Matt and I looked at eachother dumbfounded when she left the room for a moment. "Is she real?" I asked, thinking that it was altogether possible that Edwina was an angel.

Before leaving us with a tupperware full of deserts, Edwina asked if we'd like to try the Russian sweet bread. “Is that what it's called" she asked looking directly at me, "Russian sweet bread?" Edwina doesn't know this, but I am Russian, or at least half Russian. And there would be no way that I would hear "Russian sweet bread" coming from a tiny, elderly woman, in a remote canyon in the Texas Hill Country, and not look over my shoulder to see if some long lost relative was about to jump out the pantry and shout "Candid Camera!" She said "Russian sweet bread" and I heard "This is for you. Not the other 40 people at the lodge this weekend, not even Matt, but just for you. This kindness, this love, this food, is just for you." I knew it was a God thing. I'd been lost, literally, and now was found. And full. Yum.



Cameron Dezen Hammon © 2010
*recipe courtesy of Russian Life