Most Hungarians, or people of Hungarian descent, or maybe even just New Yorkers, know cocosh and dream of cocosh and consider cocosh to be part of their cultural heritage. In my mind, my grandmother is synonymous with cocosh. You walk into her house, and there's a plate of cocosh, neatly sliced, on the table. She's comes for a visit, and there's a roll of cocosh, neatly wrapped, emerging from her bag. She even travels with the recipe, so she'll have it with her, just in case. (You never know when you might need an emergency roll of cocosh. Truth.) Cocosh, for those of you who don't have grandmother like mine, is a rolled yeast cake with a cocoa filling. It is the most perfect thing- a childhood memory of warmth and yeast and oozing chocolate, that actually lives up to itself.

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