This bread reminds me of my childhood in Istanbul, when we did not think of anyone’s religion, ethnicity or how “different” s/he was; my childhood in Istanbul when we lived together with our neighbours of Greek, Armenian, Kurdish, Turkish, Circassian, Georgian, whichever else ethnic background without questioning them and just caring about who they were, not “what” they were. The bread itself was named as “Easter Pastry” and I never really knew what Easter meant actually. Still, living in Helsinki where there is a public holiday each year for it, I forget the existence of “Easter” until the holiday comes. But I never forget the taste and smell of this bread freshly both from a bakery in Istanbul…