Within forty-eight hours, I've seen and/or heard from the last three men who've swooped in and out of my life over the past ten years. One of them has D.J. with him somewhere near Thompkins Square Park, and with that thorn-in-my-side, combined with an almost overdue copy edit—think bondage and cougar shape-shifting—I've decided to make the ultimate in Passover irreverence (though not my initial intention): challah.
However, I couldn't decipher the recipe from my Cordon Bleu textbook—damn, must make a list of questions to ask Chef before the course is over—so I researched a few recipes on the web, and finally came up with "Challah Recipe from the New York Times," adapted from I Like to Cook.
By the way, I'm currently in the fermentation stage, and it is not working. It's barely bigger, at all. And the sixty-minute timer just went off. (Frankly, I'm not sure it was correct to knead the dough for ten minutes, as per instructed.)
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