Brioche with the kriebels

July 15, 2020

Johnwilliam Kriebel:

Strasburg, France is my father’s hometown. Strasburg lies in a unique place, both in location and culture. It straddles the German border and throughout its history it has been under the rule of both nations. This has led to a kind of hybrid culture within the area. The culture is French but there are elements of German as well. This is apparent in the native language, a hybrid of the two, known as Alsatian, which is slowly being forgotten by the younger generations. Food and baking traditions, however, have not been forgotten. The quality that is there even today as the world becomes more reliant on technology is undeniable and the artisan quality remains.

In France, baking is taken very seriously and is viewed as an artform as much as food. In Strasburg, a town in many ways untouched by the kinds of tourism that tends to flatten cultures, the tradition of baking as art holds very true. When I was younger and we traveled there, my dad would take me out to get bread every day from one of the local bakeries. Bakeries are family-owned and often have been in the same family for generations. The bread and pastries that are made remain handcrafted and follow similar recipes as they did when they started. It is because of this that bread has evolved from more than just food into an art.

My father trained as a baker in Strasburg and has a Master’s degree in baking. Through much training, baking became an instinct for my dad. There are no machines to shape the bread or to measure out ingredients. Instead, it’s all done by hand, and over time, it develops into instinct.

During this pandemic, much of our lives has been altered. However, as one of my classmates said --- the one thing that hasn’t changed is the way we view the kitchen and the role it plays in our lives. Ever since this began, my father has been making many more baked goods and passing them out to our friends in the neighborhood. This pandemic has given my dad a chance to go back to his roots and bake. This pandemic has allowed my dad to do the one thing he truly loves, to bake and to share his baking with the people around him.

Our neighbors have really appreciated it because it is something that is delicious and homemade. And, most importantly, they don’t have to go out to get it. I like to think in some ways his baking helps keep people grounded and sane. It can remind us that everyone is going through this together and an end will come soon - hopefully.

Margo Shea:

From the moment we started Historians Cooking the Past , I had this idea in my head that I wanted to do something in the kitchen that was interactive in real time through video calling. I really wanted to be in someone's kitchen with them. When Johnwilliam told me that he and his dad would be baking brioche as part of Johnwilliam's final Public History class project, I thought, "Perfect!" It is, after all, a benefit of teaching that students will usually treat your demands/expectations as legit, even when it means inviting you into their kitchens or other odd requests. Johnwilliam and I have had long talks about punk music and his dream of working in a comics archive, so I knew he'd probably be OK with it.

When our Zoom call started, all I could hear was Johnwilliam's father Claude shouting directions. I ignored him, trying to set up my computer and slowly bringing out cooking supplies. And then: silence. I glanced at my computer. Johnwilliam and his dad were just staring at me. I realized two things. 1. He had been talking to me, belting out instructions rapid fire. 2. It is possible to be so mortified on a video call that you want the earth to swallow you whole on the spot. I started to run around the kitchen, slamming ingredients down, doing my best to keep up. There was flour everywhere. In my hair, on my shirt, dusting the floor. Also all over my laptop.

"Is there a ....recipe?" I asked nervously.

"Hah! A recipe!"

Actually there was one. Johnwilliam's mom texted it to me. It was in French. I read French so that was OK, but the ingredients were all in metric measurements and all by weight.

"Where is your scale??????? Weigh your flour! Make a slurry! Warm water, not cold, not hot. Warm!"

I would like to say my authentic baking experience went more smoothly after that, but I'd be lying. I am a leisurely baker, a hobbyist. The Kriebels are professionals. They could do in a minute what took me ten. My experience of our Zoom baking session was mostly of a frenetic blur until the dough needed to rise. Their experience consisted of waiting around a lot for me to catch up with them.

I. loved. every. minute.

I loved especially the observations and instructions.

"Be firm with the dough. You are the boss."

" It should look and feel like a baby's bottom."

"This is not a pharmacy. It is a bakery. That is what we say. It is not a science. You have to feel it. The dough will let you know."

After 20 minutes of us sitting around, talking about Strasborg, waiting for my dough to rise, I had to confess that I hadn't put in nearly enough yeast. Because to me it sounded like way too much, so I thought I misunderstood.

"Ahhhhhhh. You shorted the yeast! Ah, no matter. It will take more time. But it will taste better."

I loved watching the Kriebels work with the dough, braiding and brushing and shaping it.

I also loved doing it, even though mine was a bit clumsy. I loved watching theirs come out of the oven and I loved that they texted me late that night to see how mine turned out.

I am not sure what Johnwilliam learned from our collaborative baking experience, but for me it was a taste of the cultural world Claude Kriebel was born into, a world he has managed to share with and convey to his son.

Johnwilliam Kriebel is a Senior Public History major at Salem State University. Margo Shea is, besides a novice brioche maker, Johnwilliam's advisor and professor.