Challah, Six-Strand, with Honey and an Egg Wash

Challah is bread that has a job. Every Friday, in Jewish homes around the world, two loaves come to the Sabbath table, and the braiding, the shine, the sweetness are all bound up in ritual and meaning that stretch back a very long way. You can make challah with no religious intent at all, as I do, and it is still one of the most rewarding loaves a home baker can attempt: soft, feathery, faintly sweet, and burnished to a lacquer shine that makes people assume you bought it.

The twist I hold to is honey rather than sugar for the sweetening, plus an extra yolk or two in the dough. Honey brings a floral roundness and, being hygroscopic, keeps the crumb tender for days longer than a sugar-sweetened loaf. The extra yolks make the crumb richer and more golden, closer to a brioche without tipping into the butter-heavy territory that challah, traditionally dairy-free, avoids. It reads as luxurious while staying, technically, a lean-of-butter bread.

Two loaves and a lot of meaning

The name comes from the biblical commandment to separate a portion of dough, the challah, as an offering; over time the word attached itself to the braided Sabbath loaf itself. Two loaves appear on the table to recall the double portion of manna that fell on Fridays so none needed to be gathered on the Sabbath. The braid has been read as arms linked, as love, as the plaiting-together of a community. On Rosh Hashanah the loaf is often shaped into a round or a spiral and sweetened further with honey and raisins, symbolising the wish for a sweet, unbroken year.

Challah as we know it, glossy and braided and egg-rich, took its familiar form among Ashkenazi Jews in Central and Eastern Europe, influenced by the ornamental breads of the surrounding cultures. The Sephardic and Mizrahi traditions have their own festive breads, often less sweet and sometimes studded with anise or sesame. What travelled to New York, London and beyond, and became the challah of every good Jewish bakery, is that Ashkenazi braided loaf, and it has since been adopted well beyond Jewish kitchens because it happens to be a superb enriched bread.

Braiding is the technique that carries over to other festive breads, and the six-strand method here is the same discipline you would use for a Swiss Zopf Sunday braid, which is challah’s butter-and-milk cousin from another tradition entirely.

The enriched dough

Enriched doughs behave differently from lean bread doughs, because the fat, eggs and sugar interfere with gluten development and slow the yeast. That means two things: you knead a little longer to build strength against the enrichments, and you give the dough more time to prove because the sugar and fat hold the yeast back. Do not rush either stage.

Start by proving the yeast in the warm honey-water until foamy, which confirms it is alive before you commit the eggs and flour. Then bring everything together and knead for eight to ten minutes until smooth, elastic and only just tacky. The commonest mistake is adding too much flour because the dough feels sticky early on; enriched dough is meant to be soft and slightly clingy, and it firms up as the gluten develops. Add flour a teaspoon at a time and only if it is genuinely wet, never by the handful.

The first prove wants warmth and patience, an hour and a half to two hours until properly doubled. A cold kitchen will stretch this considerably, so go by the doubling, not the clock. A poke should spring back slowly and leave a slight dent.

Braiding six strands

Six strands sound intimidating and are genuinely learnable in one go. Divide the dough into six equal pieces, and I do mean equal, weighed, because uneven ropes braid lopsided. Roll each into a rope about 35cm long, slightly tapered at the ends, working from the centre outwards and letting the dough rest a minute if it fights back and shrinks.

Pinch all six tops firmly together and fan the ropes out. The pattern is simple once it has rhythm: take the far-right strand and carry it over the two strands to its left, then take the far-left strand and go under one, over one. Repeat, right-over-two then left-under-one-over-one, all the way down. If you lose your place, the mantra “right over two, left under one over one” will get you home. Pinch the bottom ends together and tuck both sealed ends neatly underneath so the braid looks tidy at both poles.

If six feels like too much for a first attempt, a three-strand braid is completely respectable and the same dough. Build up to six; the extra strands give that dense, rope-like plait that looks so impressive on the table.

The double egg wash

The shine is not an accident, and it is where most home challah falls short. After the second prove, when the loaf is puffy and nearly doubled, brush it thoroughly with an egg wash made from a whole egg plus the reserved white and a pinch of salt; the salt loosens the wash so it coats evenly rather than sitting in globs. Rest it ten minutes, then brush a second coat, getting right down into the crevices of the braid.

Two coats are the secret to that deep, lacquered, professional gloss. One coat browns; two coats shine like polished wood. If you are using seeds, scatter them after the second coat while it is still tacky. Take care to brush the sides and the valleys, not just the crowns, or you get a striped loaf with pale ravines.

Baking and the doneness question

Challah bakes at a gentler temperature than lean bread, 175C fan, because the sugar and egg brown fast and you want the interior fully cooked before the crust burns. Twenty-eight to thirty-two minutes gets you there for a single large loaf. If the top races ahead and darkens before the middle is set, lay a sheet of foil loosely over it and carry on.

The reliable test is internal temperature: an enriched loaf is done at around 90C in the centre, a touch lower than a lean loaf because you want it to stay soft. Tapping the base for a hollow sound is a rough backup, but the thermometer is honest. Cool on a rack at least 30 minutes before tearing; the crumb is still setting and hot challah shreds into a doughy mess.

Keeping it, and the glory of the second day

Fresh challah is wonderful torn warm, but its real party trick is what happens when it goes slightly stale, because a rich, honeyed, egg-heavy crumb makes the greatest French toast, or pain perdu, in existence. Thick slices of day-old challah, soaked in custard and fried in butter, are reason enough to bake it. Day-old challah also makes a superb bread pudding.

To keep it soft, wrap the cooled loaf in a bag once fully cold; the honey holds moisture and it stays good for three days. Freeze slices for longer. If you have caught the enriched-dough bug, the same tender-crumb principles scale up beautifully into cloud-soft tangzhong milk rolls. The braid is the showpiece, the double wash is the shine, and the honey is the quiet reason it still tastes good on Sunday.