It was a Monday morning in May 2018. I had just moved to Warsaw, Poland for a four-month fellowship and was headed to the train station for my first day of work. As I walked down Chmielna Street, I passed a small bakery just two minutes from my apartment and decided to pop in. Amongst the loaves of bread, mini rolls, and glossy chocolate pastries, I was shocked to see loaves of challah. Braided and shiny, there was no question what they were. I made a mental note to return that Friday and pick one up for Shabbat. My first Shabbat in Poland would include a fresh loaf of challah from a bakery on my street. Who would have thought?
Later, I learned that these loaves are called chałka, which I assumed was simply the Polish word for challah. Soon I discovered that nearly every bakery in Poland sells them. It was a poignant yet powerful reminder of how deeply Judaism and Poland were once intertwined. It made me feel at home.
It turns out my experience mirrored that of Laurel Kratochvila, who recounts a similar discovery in her new cookbook. Reading her cookbook, Dobre Dobre, I finally learned the key differences between challah and chałka. Kratochvila explains that while “the prevalence of chałka in the Polish bakery is a relic of the days when Jewish bakers made up a vast part of the profession,” chałka is enriched with milk – making it not pareve – and often topped with sweet streusel.
Kratochvila’s story hooked me from the start. She reels readers in with humor (“I fell in love with Polish baking because I didn’t like the pickles in the Czech Republic”) and curiosity. How did an American who never lived in Poland end up writing such a rich tribute to Polish baking? Emulating the country itself, she never explicitly calls her book a “Polish Jewish cookbook.” Instead, it’s a Polish cookbook that inherently includes Jewish recipes.
From bialys to pletzls to lekach to kichel, all your Jewish favorites appear here. If your ancestry stems from anywhere in Central or Eastern Europe, you are bound to find a familiar recipe. But make no mistake: this is not a book for the hurried home baker. These recipes are demanding, multi-day projects that require patience, care, and commitment. Kratochvila insists the effort is worth it, and she’s probably right, but it’s good to know what you’re signing up for.
Many of the recipes are built from foundational doughs that can be transformed into multiple creations. Instead of tossing ingredients into one bowl for a quick cookie, you first make the dough, then the filling, and often a topping too. The process reflects the depth and discipline of traditional Polish baking.
Visually, the book bursts with color. The photos are simple but gorgeous, evoking waves of nostalgia. The recipe pages, black text on white background, are dense with instructions but they feel intentional, echoing the no-frills practicality of Polish home bakers who worked through war and communism with limited resources. Each recipe title appears in both Polish and English, a thoughtful touch that reinforces its cultural duality.
When I took my family to Poland this past May, I made sure to include time to wander through local bakeries, including the one on my old street. I told them, proudly, that Polish bakeries often carry Jewish breads and pastries. Sadly, the bakery had closed during the pandemic, but the memory remains vivid. At other bakeries, I found myself saying, “Look! See, it’s challah – they call it chałka, but it’s rooted in Jewish bread.”
Kratochvila captures that same spark of discovery throughout Dobre Dobre. She recreates the joy of finding traces of Jewish heritage woven into Poland’s baking traditions, reminding readers that food is history you can hold in your hands and bake anew.