Sweet tale of the past: the kogut, the chałka, and the sękacz

“The practical Warsaw chef” containing 1503 different meal recipes as well as instructions for baking cakes and stocking the pantry, one of the greatest classics of Polish cookbooks of the end of the 19th century, opens its 500-plus-page treasure trove of knowledge with the motto: “Where the housekeeper is industrious and the cook willing, the table will be merry, with good humor all around.”

Traditional recipes faithfully recorded on faded pages, notebooks with meticulous descriptions of the cooking process and carefully measured proportions, as well as collections of pages ripped from advice books or culinary periodicals have for centuries played a key role in the kitchens of homemakers who managed the domestic menu. Among these notes, baked goods have always held a special spot, the cherry on top of both elaborate dinners and everyday gatherings around the kitchen table.

In M. Huvert’s “Cakes, pastries, and cookies”, a book published right after World War Two, the author emphasises that Poles like to host: “despite difficult living arrangements, and often tough financial circumstances, the proverbial Slavic hospitality reigns triumphant, no matter the occasion.” The most important part of these gatherings is teatime, which extends far beyond the beverage alone. It’s important to be at least somewhat prepared for a surprise visit, “so that two to three people aren’t forced to run to town to find provisions, something to go with the tea.”

Depending on where in Poland you found yourself invited for tea, you might’ve been served the Kazimierz kogut, the chałka, or the sękacz. Every one of these baked goods has to this day its own meaning, symbolism, and, most importantly, a devoted guardian of the tradition.

The most famous Polish rooster

For the Sarzyński family, the craft of baking is both passion and tradition that’s held strong for four generations. In their home, every morning has begun the same way for more than one hundred years – from baking yeast bread and cake. The family’s history, preserved by the Polish Film Chronicle [a weekly newsreel that aired between 1944 and 1994], became a part of the identity of Kazimierz Dolny, a town in eastern Poland. The lead role in the Sarzynski saga has always belonged to the historical building in the Kazimierz town square, purchased by Zbigniew, the patriarch, and then carefully restored by his son, Cezary. It’s there that we can find the family bakery, which to this day serves as a reminder of a multigenerational heritage.

Although the bakery is known for many of its baked goods – from onion-topped pastries to crispy rolls – the rooster-shaped bread (“kogut” in Polish) has become a local symbol recognizable in the entire country. The recipe for the buttery and yeasty dough is based on simple, natural ingredients: flour from a local supplier, real butter, eggs, and milk. The formula is a family heirloom and no one intends to change it. “It’s definitely a recipe that’s been passed on from generation to generation. It is our family heritage and we try to take care of it,” says Anna Sarzyńska, the co-owner of the Sarzyński Family Bakery.

The treat from Kazimierz is indelibly tied with a local legend about the devil, who many centuries ago took a liking to the town. Finding the poultry in Kazimierz tasty, at night he’d raid all the chicken coops in the area, until there was only one old and clever rooster left. The bird hid in the town’s deep, dark dungeons so effectively that the furious and hungry demon had to move on elsewhere. To commemorate this trickery the local bakers started making browned dough roosters – a symbol of the victory of cunning over evil.

“In every legend there is a kernel of truth. This story is still alive in us and makes for a pillar of local identity,” notes Anna Sarzyńska. “Even though these days many simply treat it as a charming tale, it’s still happily being handed down to subsequent generations in an effort to preserve it in the memory of locals and tourists.” Thanks to this story, the treat has forever been embedded in the region’s landscape, becoming as recognizable as the town’s coat of arms. And though these days many spots in Kazimierz offer the specialty, at the Sarzyńskis, the bake tastes the same as it always has and it is unchangingly celebrated in the most delicious way: with a solid portion of butter, homemade fruit preserves, and a glass of warm milk.

Real challah teaches you patience

The chałka or challah bread has long had its place in Polish and Jewish cuisine. It’s not only a sweet, yeast-based baked good, it’s also something that seamlessly combines the ordinary with the festive.The process of baking is a multi-stage affair. The kneading itself requires patience and focus at every step leading up the final result: a soft, fragrant plait.

“It’s a ceremonial ritual for me. You can approach it like you would a mindfulness session. Or simply with respect for the tradition and for the memories. I need a lot of time to make it – it’s a moment just for myself. I then only focus on baking. I set aside all my other thoughts and I observe nature doing its part. It’s pure bliss,” says Sabina Francuz, author of the food blog Głodne Kawałki (“Hungry Pieces”), who also collaborates with the Museum of the History of Polish Jews on various workshops and culinary events.

Jewish challah [which is slightly different from its Polish cousin] should be kosher. For the bread to serve as an accompaniment for both meat as well as dairy-based products you must use neutral ingredients: water and oil instead of milk and butter. The key to success, however, is patience and the quality of the ingredients.

“I use fresh yeast, which has a completely different smell and which makes the dough work differently. I love the moment of starting the process, when I proof the yeast and witness its power. I’m reminded of the difference between mildly sparkling water and the kind whose bubbles explode on the surface,” adds Sabina Francuz.

You can’t speed up the process of raising the dough. It has to rest, puff up with air, double in size, all on its own. Depending on the temperature and the amount of yeast, the rise can take an hour, or as long as three.

The most spectacular moment of creating the challah starts with the braiding. The hands work as if in a trance, alternating the strips of dough in a rhythm that resembles weaving or making music. “I learned my favorite way of plaiting the challah from six strips of dough from a pastry chef whom I met while frying doughnuts. He showed me a method that I grasped immediately – the movement has something magical within it; it’s very rhythmic,” recalls Sabina Francuz. During Shabbat, you always put two loaves on the table – plaits of six and six add up to the symbolic number twelve. For Sabina, the most meaningful interpretation of that number is the reference to twelve tribes of Israel. “The braiding is also a symbol of unity and love,” she adds.

The custom that she also upholds is covering the challah with a decorative fabric, which she says symbolises morning dew that protected the manna in the desert. Modern recipes are often the effect of yearslong searches and experiments. Among the most intriguing sources are the notes of Fania Lewando, a legendary Vilnius restaurateur who perfected her recipe in the 1930s. “Her challah is a bridge between tradition and modernity. It recalls bread more than it does a sweet yeast bun with crumble on top [which is the Polish version]. While working on recreating the recipe, I ran into some difficulties because pre-war measurements were different. It took some trial and error to reach the ideal proportions. The dough recalls modelling clay. It doesn’t stick to your hands, and when you pull it out of the bowl, nothing stays on the edges,” says Sabina Francuz. The history of the challah holds within a fascinating evolution – from simple, ancient loaves to today’s intricate form. Its shape changed gradually, and in the Middle Ages the bread spread far and wide with the Jews’ journey across Europe, becoming a signature of Ashkenazi culture. It’s difficult to identify a specific date for this aesthetic turning point. It’s conceivable, for example, that it was the invention of one baker which with time became the standard. “An important element of the tradition is the timing: you bake the challah early on Friday, finishing up your work before noon because the holiday starts in the evening. It’s a process that requires focus and labor first thing in the morning. It’s a form of meditation whose goal is beauty. We want the table to be truly festive,” emphasises Francuz. The morning ritual transforms the challah from just a bread to an expression of taking care of the hearth.

But during Passover, the joyful tradition of baking the challah makes way for strict discipline. It’s a time during which the fluffy dough is replaced with matzah, unleavened bread meant to remind the faithful of suffering and captivity. As Sabina Francuz explains, during this time, leavening agents that cause dough to rise (or chametz) are forbidden. In the Jewish tradition, a rising dough symbolises an inflation of the ego, while during Passover you strive for humility and simplicity. The preparatory regime is very strict: if the process of baking bread lasts too long, the product is deemed fermented and not kosher. Getting rid of chametz is a  symbolic cleansing, which allows the faithful to focus on the spiritual aspect of the holiday and celebrating liberation.

Baking sękacz is a craft

The sękacz cake and its local varieties are included in a list of heritage Polish products in the category of baked goods and sweets. Many legends have been built up around its provenance. According to some sources, its origins in Poland reach back to the 16th century, to a visit to the country’s northeast by the Italian-born Polish queen Bona Sforza. Regardless of where the singular bake comes from, the tradition remains alive to this day, also thanks to the Sawicki family, which has for generations cherished the art of sękacz baking in the Podlasie region.

The family’s history with the cake reaches four generations back. The precious recipe is never written down on paper – it’s only passed down verbally, reaching those who show the most enthusiasm and heart for the work. “There’s a family story that I was crawling by my mom’s feet when she was preparing the sękacz. I apparently took my first steps right by its side. In our family, everyone can tell who made each cake,” says Urszula Sawicka.

Baking the sękacz is a process that can’t be cheated or sped up. It’s a craft that starts with simple ingredients – butter, sugar, flour, and eggs — but requires something much more precious: time.

Everything happens on a cone-shaped spit made from wood from fruit trees, which has to be appropriately heavy for the cake to be able to take the appropriate form. The work starts with preparing the oven: in some homes people use a traditional wood-burning one, while in others they use a modern, electric type that has a heating element. The cone is wrapped in parchment paper and cotton string, which is then buttered and warmed above the heat. When the first layer of the dough binds, the baker, using a ladle and spoon, spreads the next, thin portion over the spit, all while controlling the temperature and taking care not to burn one side of the cake. They add each following layer after the previous one is baked, always turning the spit at the same time.

“The cake is made layer by layer, and before our eyes we see the emerging “tree knots,” its most distinctive feature – the one that gives the cake its name [“sęk” means “tree knot” in Polish]. The process of baking itself teaches us humility,” says Urszula Sawicka. Depending on how big of a sękacz the baker is aiming for, and what kind of oven is at their disposal, making one cake can take even four hours.

With time, for the Sawicki family, this process has become something more than just domestic labor. Although they are not professional bakers, the sękacz is a constant companion in their lives. Urszula says that as a teenager her own words today would make her laugh, but she now particularly appreciates how she can tune everything out as soon as she hears the distinct crackling of the dough and feels the soothing warmth of the flames. The fact that her brother Szymon is carrying on the family tradition makes her especially proud. What was previously a woman’s world has opened up to everyone – gender becomes irrelevant where there is true passion and engagement.

Although today you can buy the sękacz in many stores around the country, the bakes from Podlasie in eastern Poland are decidedly different. Real sękacz must be infused with smoke from the fire and free from any modern enhancements such as colorful icing or coconut shavings. It’s a bake made for big occasions – weddings, christenings, Christmas or Easter – and specifically created to be shared.

“The sękacz tastes best when eaten with your hands. Even if you use a knife to slice it up, the act of breaking off the nubby knots with your fingers holds the most charm. And sękacz quietly stolen off your grandmother’s stairs so that no one notices the missing piece may top all others,” underlines Urszula Sawicka.

For every generation of bakers, the sękacz has unwaveringly served as a symbol of permanence. It still tastes best two or three days after baking, reminding us that the best things are worth the wait.

Polish baked goods, with the karpatka cream pie leading the way, are topping the charts in rankings of the world’s best deserts. At the same time, what has been precisely honed by generations of bakers is now also being creatively reinterpreted by new cohorts of home bakers and pastry chefs. Poles may be inspired by Nordic or French baking trends, but the growing popularity of artisanal bakeries and pastry shops also shows that we most often appreciate the local and long-cherished. The Polish chałka, rooster, and sękacz could also see a similar renaissance, making the same impression on the global stage as they do at home.