David Friedli

By the Dashboard Lights

January 3, 2008

Memorable Twists

“Bretza.”

That’s what I remember my Grandmother Clara Friedli calling her bread pretzels.

Grandma Friedli, who spoke in an interesting mix of English and German I would not fully appreciate until I studied the latter language in high school, made bretza infrequently. In fact, I remember having bretza only three times: twice I tasted the twists out of batches my brother received from Grandma for his birthday. The third, and final, time was when I became wise enough to ask for my own birthday bretza.

Even then, requesting bretza brought no guarantee of receiving bretza. My mother told me the process was difficult. Gnarled finger joints and splayed out hands and wrists caused by Grandma’s rheumatoid arthritis certainly added to the difficulty of the task.

These days, most large malls have an outlet that serves a facsimile of Grandma’s bretza. Airport snack bars and convenience stores offer something called Super Pretzels. The mass-produced concession stand pretzels are, in a word, awful. Those made at the mall are too much like gourmet bread.

Eating a Grandma Friedli bretza took time and was a savoring experience. Like authentic bagels, a bretza has a firm exterior and a dense interior, salty and chewy. Bretza is no dinner roll, but it isn’t hard and crunchy either.

A bretza and an ice-cold Coke are perfectly paired. Make that two bretza. Or three. It is easy for me to imagine a German lad reaching into his overcoat pocket, drawing out a bretza for a sustaining snack as he tromps through the snow-covered Black Forest on a winters day.

Over the years since my Grandmother’s passing, I have tried my hand at making bretza. The internet provides dough recipes, cooking tips and even video (“auf Deutsch”—in the German language) of a master pretzel twister. Judging from on-line comments, there are others in the world craving an authentic homemade bread pretzel.

Dough making is a straight-forward exercise. Twisting the pretzel shape and parboiling before baking is the arduous task of bretza. I understand now why bretza came from Grandma’s kitchen so seldom.

Rolling bread dough into long strips and shaping it into a classic pretzel shape takes strength and a knack. Toughening the exterior is the result of a brief dip in boiling soda water. This final step has been the ruination of many a promising bretza, as the perfectly twisted shape releases into a glob of lumpy dough.

In my last attempt, post-dough-making activities accounted for three hours of rolling, forming, boiling and baking four dozen bretza.

Eight bretza were sent to my Aunt Gwen--Grandma Friedli’s daughter--who assures me she appreciates my efforts.

The forty remaining bretza disappeared too quickly at the hands of my family.

I had a hand in that, too.