Well, they’re done. Sort of.

I swear, this is the strangest bread recipe ever.

I baked all FIVE batches with an instant-read thermometer stuck into the loaves. Normal breads are usually baked when they hit 190 degrees, but since this is Stollen, I went higher. Like, 212 degrees internally.

That’s the boiling point for water. Theoretically, if the inside of a loaf of bread hits that temperature, it’s pretty much going to be fully cooked, right?

Yeah, that’s what I would think, too.

The thing is, when I took batch number 3 out of the oven, one of the loaves broke in half, still clearly wet and oozy. I even stuck in another thermometer, in case my digital one was off. But, nope, the needle on the old analog one–whose markings only go up to 190–still went well past that last mark.

I got on the internet to double check other, possibly more “sane” stollen recipes. King Arthur Flour says, “The finished loaves should be golden brown, and their internal temperature should register 190°F on an instant-read thermometer.”  Ditto for the Fresh Loaf, the Chowhound forum,  the Big Oven,  the Food Network, even this recipe at North Jersey.com.

So, how is it possible that MY loaf, baked to 212 degrees, is still unbaked in the middle.

(There’s a reason I hate doing this every year.)

And then, of course, I immediately started doubting the doneness of the loaves from batches one and two. And, in fact, have my doubts about batch #2 … though, since those loaves are completely cook by now, isn’t it too late to put them back in the oven?

(Seriously. NOT a rhetorical question. Tell me!)

Sigh. I’ll just keep reminding myself. I love my father. I love my father. I love my father.

Are you interested in the recipe? (Heaven help you … although, the people I know who love stollen say it’s wonderful, even if I would be happy to never look at another loaf.)

Deb’s Grandmother’s Stollen

Warm 2 cups milk to JUST lukewarm, then sprinkle with 2 tablespoons of yeast and stir in 1 cup of flour. Let sit while you mix the rest of the dough.

Cream together:

1 cup sugar
1 cup butter

Add in, one at a time, 5 eggs, beating well after each addition.

Add the milk mixture, 1 tablespoon of salt, and 1 cup of flour, mix until combined.

Add (one at a time) another 2 cups of flour, at which point, this should be a thick batter, but not quite a dough yet. This is where I add the fruit (because it’s easier to mix it in while the dough is soft.)

Add–in batches--48 oz. candied fruit–the kind that’s called things like “fruit cake mix” and is mostly candied citrus peel. I use 48 ounces (3 of the 16oz tubs) because my Dad adores the stuff. You could probably get away with just two. Also, if desired, add 1 cup of raisins and/or 1 cup of slivered almonds.

Once all the fruit is mixed in, start adding flour again–probably about 3 more cups, until you have a heavy dough. (And I do mean heavy!)

Turn it out on a well-floured board and knead, adding more flour if necessary. Then put into one large, oiled bowl, cover and let rise. Traditionally, you let it rise until double in volume, but I find that that’s asking too much of the yeast. Usually, I just let mine sit overnight and then start the next step the next morning.

After your dough has risen, turn it out onto your counter again to shape. Knead it briefly, and then cut into at least four sections, but you could easily get 6 or even 8 loaves from this. Press each section into a flat rectangle and then roll up, pinch the seam, make sure there’s no air trapped inside, and place on a cookie sheet to rise. (Theoretically, at least.)

One or two hours later, preheat the oven to 325. Then brush the loaves (however many you’re baking in your first batch) with melted butter, put them in the oven, and start praying. This is dense, this is heavy, this is heart-rending dough, and anything can happen. I usually lay some foil loosely over the top to prevent the top from burning before the center is baked. (Go ahead, ask me why). I’ll take that off when it’s getting close to the end.

Baking time? Obviously, I have no idea. It varies every year, depending on who knows what factors, and is part of what makes this a frustrating process for me. (Your mileage may vary, of course.) As mentioned above, traditionally this is baked to an internal temperature of 190-195, but, um …

The good part? Once this is done, it smells wonderful. It’s rich and buttery, and that candied fruit adds a really lovely fragrance. Dad and Chappy love eating this more than anything else I bake, I think. (So do my aunt and cousins.) It freezes well, too … just don’t drop it on your toe. (Did I mention this was HEAVY?)

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