A bright bread for a winter's day
How Ukrainian Christmas kolach delivered me from a lonely winter feeling.
My nearly windowless basement abode offers cavelike energy, especially on a cloudy winter’s day. I don’t spend much time in this space beyond sleeping, and the early or late day hours, so for the most part this dreariness isn’t too impactful. Though, when I find myself here for extended periods on a day off, an embodied feeling emerges of something being a-miss.
This past weekend was such an experience. I welcomed a highly anticipated day off, the first to myself ( at least in part) after holidays with loved ones and a nine-consecutive-day work week. While a breath of fresh air, or a breath of root-cellar-esqe air, by the end of the day, I was feeling lonesome.
I’ve learned that baking (and writing about baking) is a helpful means for me to understand and move with arising feelings and experiences which I might be finding unfavorable. Naturally, this awareness paired well with a craving for brownies. So I searched for the perfect recipe to take on, and soon the brownie craving was replaced with a different ambition. I discovered and recalled that all over, people are celebrating versions of Epiphany. Suddenly I had recipes galore to learn more about- like galette des Rois, Rosca de Reyes, and king’s cake.
Making Ukrainian Christmas Bread
I opted not to take on the previous recipes, perhaps due to my lack of food dye, plastic babies, and large beans. A different recipe won my heart- a pumpkin and orange kolach by Olia Hercules, adapted from Katrya Kalyuzhna. I’ve always wanted to make braided bread, and this seemed like a perfect opportunity.
To locate the recipe, I went down some rabbit holes, like subscribing to Katrya, a Ukrainian cooking blogger, via her Patreon platform. Her account, where she posts videos of how to make traditional Ukrainian dishes, brought a glimpse of life today in Ukraine. Katrya had a micro-bakery in her native town of Kakhovka, where she prepared sourdough bread and slow foods. Now, she has become a refugee to escape the Russian-occupied Kherson region of southern Ukraine. This past December 25th was the first time Katrya and her family, along with many Ukrainians, celebrated Christmas. While they traditionally celebrate on January 7th, they no longer wish to share their biggest holiday with Russia.
Similarly, Olia has not been at home in Ukraine in three years, and she does not have the opportunity to be with her parents this year. Her father returned to Ukraine to defend the frontline. Olia stated “No Christmas…next year, I refuse to lose hope, we will be in mum’s beautiful dining room again”.
To tend this bread was an opportunity to hold the experiences of Ukrainians in heart and mind. No matter the transient loneliness emerging in my case, it doesn’t hold much of a flame when I make space to focus on experiences like the destruction of native homes, obstruction of livelihoods, separation from loved ones, and the imposition of killing, famine, and needless suffering. Precisely when, otherwise, Ukrainians would be in their homes and communities with their loved ones, breaking into a warm Christmas bread.
So things considered, it seemed almost fitting to partake in this bread in isolation. And while there was more acceptance of my aloneness, it was also a moment for reflection. Like, if war, death, and forced migration are not being imposed upon me, what is presently inhibiting me from communing- an act from which I derive joy? Instead of stoking sentiments of dejection or complacency, baking enabled a more comprehensive awareness of aloneness and discovering what agency I have to address it. On that note, it seems fitting to end with the serenity prayer.
God give me the serenity to accept things which cannot be changed;
Give me courage to change things which must be changed;
And the wisdom to distinguish one from the other.
Just discovering this: https://www.cookforukraine.org/
You are NEVER alone. My thought are always with you!!!