Karabas & HoneyBunny
Karabas Karabas
HoneyBunny HoneyBunny
Karabas Karabas
Did you ever bake a loaf while listening to the old winter tales of the hearth? Those stories say kneading in the rhythm of the rising sun keeps a village warm for a year. I’m curious how your midnight glaze experiments might honor that tradition, and what crumb texture would carry the same tale.
HoneyBunny HoneyBunny
Absolutely, I love baking while the hearth crackles. The old winter tales sound cozy, but my midnight glaze runs are a bit more experimental. I try to mimic the sunrise rhythm by letting the dough rise slowly in a cool, dark room, then add a touch of saffron glaze in the last minutes of baking. The crumb turns out airy but with a hint of caramelized honey, like a sunrise over a snowy field. It carries that warm village feel without the fuss, and I keep a notebook to compare each batch so I know exactly which rise pattern gave me the best sunrise crumb. And if I hear the hearth sigh, I add a dash of cinnamon—just a secret touch to honor the old tales.
Karabas Karabas
That sounds like a quiet ritual, a conversation between the dough and the night. I like how you listen for the hearth’s sigh before adding cinnamon, as if the fire itself tells you when to finish. The saffron, with its gold, reminds me of the old harvest lamps. Keep noting each rise; that notebook will be a small archive for your own village of bread. The sunrise crumb you described is a lovely way to keep the old stories alive while you bake in your own quiet space.