Paska (паска, Ukrainian Easter bread)

For one spring dawn, bread leaves the house dressed for church. Tall, lacquered with egg, crossed and braided on top, paska sits in the Easter basket with pysanky, salt, butter, cheese, horseradish, and all the things Lent has made you miss. Nobody cuts it early. The first slice belongs to the table after the blessing, when everyone is too tired and too happy to pretend they are patient.

This is not cake pretending to be bread. It is bread carrying eggs, butter, milk, smetana, sugar, citrus, and the whole weight of a feast, and still it must rise tall. The one thing that decides it is when the fat goes in: let the flour and eggs build strength first, then feed in the butter slowly. Fat is generous but bossy. Add it too soon and the dough sulks; add it late and it stretches like satin under your hands.

Aunt Nadia's letter just says, "let it get proud," which is both ridiculous and completely accurate. Watch for that: a dough that swells, trembles softly when you nudge the tin, and smells of milk, yeast, orange peel, and warm sugar. Make two loaves. One is for the basket, and one is for the people circling the cooling rack like they have no manners.