I am a traitor. I have betrayed the bread I love.
In my universe, Acme challah is impossible to acquire. Methods of obtaining it include 1) finding my husband during the day and convincing him to walk ten blocks to the Ferry Building on his lunch hour or 2) going to the Ferry Building myself. Note that I am much more likely to achieve 1) than 2) because I belong to a CSA and thus have no need to enter the Ferry Building unless I want the best chocolate in San Francisco or the best oysters + a great view or to be mauled by sticky tourists with expensive cameras.
Still! Despite these insurmountable obstacles, challah was achieved. Challah was served. Challah was greatly enjoyed.
All this time, I believed I liked Acme challah so much because it is rare in our household. Instead, I discovered that I like Acme challah because it is very, very good.
Challah Wars 3: Acme Plain
I planned ahead! I contacted my husband at 11:30 AM, which is like going back in time and changing the sad future where we say motzi over plain hamburger buns. He brought back Acme challah, and Acme rye, and Acme epi baguette. (Epi baguettes briefly convinced me that I might start baking. Then I found out how they are made and I laughed, and laughed, and went to buy another baguette prepared by someone who makes bread that tastes good, as opposed to me).
He also brought a host of Boccalone delights that should probably not be discussed in a post about the Sabbath. (Psst. Over here. Mortadella, brown sugar and fennel salame, lonza, nduja, and capocollo. It fed our family for days.)
Acme challah is enormous.
It could probably feed an entire shtetl, for serious. It’s lovely, too — like the Girl From Ipanema of challah:
Tall and tan and young and lovely
The [loaf of Acme challah] goes walking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes – ah
I don’t know where that crossed the line, but it did, and I’m sorry. I’m normally very much against the sexual objectification of kosher breads.
Crust: Almost delicate. Browned, but not sweet.
look how pretty!
Interior: The perfect balance between moist and dry. Airy, but not overly so.
Fluffiness: Yes. Enough to offset the moisture.
Flakiness: Yes! How could it be a little fluffy but also slightly flaky? I don’t know either! I don’t bake!
Sweetness: Just the slightest amount, and — here’s the best part — slightly salty, too. The most richly flavored of any of the challot so far. Edible out of hand.
Verdict: I was going to award it an A-, but, despite everything, I think I was just being loyal to Arizmendi up to the very end. Acme challah deserves its A.
How will House of Bagels, the challah gold standard, measure up? Stay tuned, loyal reader.
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