Carrot Banana Bread

Thirty-eight weeks. I have read two novels, reorganized the kitchen cabinets twice, made enough soup to survive a siege, and watched the entire back catalog of a show I won't admit to watching. The waiting is its own full-time occupation.

My mother came over on Tuesday and we cooked together—she brought the ingredients for her mother's brown bread and we made four loaves and the apartment smelled like the kitchen in Dorchester when I was seven years old. I've been thinking about childhood food this week in a specific way, the way you think about things you want to pass forward. My grandmother's brown bread. My mother's sweet potato casserole. The slow-roasted lamb shoulder my father makes at Easter. These are the foods that mean home to me and I want them to mean home to Liam the way they mean home to me, which is a kind of inheritance that doesn't require paperwork.

Sean's mother called on Thursday with a recipe. Maureen does not call with recipes. She called to ask if I wanted the recipe for the lamb stew that Sean had made from memory, "since he might have forgotten some of it." I wrote it down while she talked. At the end she said "you're going to do beautifully." It was the first direct encouragement she's offered in eleven years of knowing me and I held it in my chest for the rest of the day.

Due date is next week. The crib is assembled, the quilt is folded, the hospital bag is at the door. I made my grandmother's brown bread again on Saturday, a second batch, because making bread is something you do with your hands when you don't know what else to do with them.

My grandmother’s brown bread will always be the one that means the most — but it’s her habit of baking I want to carry forward just as much as her recipe. When Saturday came and my hands needed something to do, I found myself reaching for what was ripe on the counter and what was left in the crisper, and this carrot banana bread came together the way the best things do: without much fuss, smelling like something Liam might one day ask me to make for him. It’s not an heirloom recipe yet. But it could become one.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 10 minutes | Servings: 10 slices

Ingredients

3 very ripe medium bananas, mashed (about 1 1/4 cups)
1 cup finely grated carrots (about 2 medium carrots)
2 large eggs
1/3 cup melted butter or neutral oil
1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 cup chopped walnuts or raisins (optional)

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x5-inch loaf pan and line with parchment paper, leaving overhang on the long sides for easy lifting.
Mix the wet ingredients. In a large bowl, mash the bananas until nearly smooth. Whisk in the eggs, melted butter, brown sugar, and vanilla until well combined.
Add the carrots. Stir the grated carrots into the banana mixture until evenly distributed.
Combine the dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger.
Fold together. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and fold gently with a rubber spatula until just combined — a few streaks of flour are fine. Do not overmix. Fold in walnuts or raisins if using.
Bake. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top. Bake for 50–60 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean or with a few moist crumbs. If the top browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil after 35 minutes.
Cool before slicing. Let the bread cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then lift out using the parchment and transfer to a wire rack. Cool at least 20 minutes before slicing — it finishes setting as it rests.

Nutrition (per serving)

Carrot Banana Bread — The Loaf You Bake When Your Hands Need Something to Do