Buttermilk Banana Bread

Rosh Hashanah. The Jewish New Year. The house has been in full preparation mode since Monday — the cooking began Tuesday, the table was set Wednesday, and by Thursday evening, when the first stars appeared and the holiday officially began, my kitchen looked like a battlefield where food had won a decisive victory. Brisket, challah (round for Rosh Hashanah, not braided — the round shape symbolizes the cycle of the year, the unbroken continuity, and Sylvia would lecture anyone who brought a braided challah to the New Year's table with the gentle fury of a woman for whom symbolism was not optional).

David and Jennifer drove down from White Plains with the children. Ethan walked into the house and went directly for the honey — he knows that Rosh Hashanah means apples and honey, and he is two and a half, and his understanding of theology begins and ends with sweets, which honestly puts him ahead of most adults I know. Sophie, six months old, sat in her carrier on the counter and watched the preparations with her dark, serious eyes. She is always watching. She is always serious. I suspect she is writing a review.

Rebecca came with wine and flowers and the particular energy of a woman who has been working too hard and needs to be fed. I fed her. I always feed her. I made honey cake — the Ashkenazi New Year cake that tastes like autumn and patience and the bees' best work. Sylvia's honey cake was dense and dark, almost gingerbread-like, and mine is the same because I use her recipe without alteration, because some recipes are sacred texts and you do not edit sacred texts. You receive them. You preserve them. You pass them forward.

Marvin carved the brisket and made a joke about accountants and the Book of Life — something about God keeping better books than the IRS, which got a laugh from David and an eye-roll from Rebecca and a sigh from me that was really a laugh in disguise. This is our family: one accountant, one doctor, one professor, one teacher, and a table full of food, and the joke is that we are all, in our own way, keeping records — of money, of health, of literature, of meals — and the records are what will remain when we are gone.

I dipped the apple in honey and said the prayer: "May it be Your will to renew for us a good and sweet year." Sweet. The honey dripped onto the tablecloth. Sophie grabbed a piece of challah and squeezed it in her fist. Ethan said, "Happy New Year, Bubbe!" and the year turned, and we were in it, together, fed, alive, grateful.

Every year after Rosh Hashanah, when the brisket is gone and the honey cake has been picked down to crumbs and the house is quiet again, I find myself wanting to keep baking — to hold onto that feeling of a warm kitchen and people who love each other gathered around something sweet. This buttermilk banana bread has become my bridge between the holiday table and the ordinary week: it has that same dense, tender crumb as Sylvia’s honey cake, the same quality of patience made edible, and it fills the kitchen with a smell that makes anyone who walks through the door feel, briefly, like they are exactly where they are supposed to be. Ethan would approve. He is two and a half, and his theology, as I noted, begins and ends with sweets.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 60 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 10 minutes | Servings: 10 slices

Ingredients

3 very ripe bananas, mashed (about 1 1/4 cups)
1/2 cup buttermilk, shaken
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon fine salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Instructions

Preheat and prepare. Heat your oven to 350°F. Grease a standard 9x5-inch loaf pan with butter or nonstick spray, then line the bottom with a strip of parchment paper for easy removal.
Mash the bananas. In a large bowl, mash the ripe bananas thoroughly with a fork until mostly smooth — a few small lumps are fine and add texture. The riper and more spotted the bananas, the sweeter and more flavorful your bread will be.
Mix the wet ingredients. Whisk the melted butter, sugar, eggs, buttermilk, and vanilla into the mashed bananas until well combined and smooth.
Add the dry ingredients. Sprinkle the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon over the wet mixture. Fold gently with a spatula until just combined — do not overmix. A few streaks of flour are preferable to a tough loaf.
Fill and bake. Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and smooth the top. Bake for 55 to 65 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean or with just a few moist crumbs. If the top browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil after 40 minutes.
Cool before slicing. Let the bread cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack. Allow to cool for at least 20 more minutes before slicing — it will slice cleanly and the crumb will set properly.

Nutrition (per serving)

Buttermilk Banana Bread — The Sweet Loaf That Carries the Spirit of the Holiday Table