Challah French Toast -- The Breakfast I’m Already Planning for Next Week

I held Ethan today. For the first time in over a year, I held my grandson. The vaccines are working. The restrictions are easing. David drove down with Ethan — just Ethan, the oldest, the one who has been asking to see Bubbe for months with the persistent longing of a seven-year-old who does not understand immunology but understands absence.

He ran to me. He ran across the driveway and launched himself at me, and I caught him — all forty-five pounds of seven-year-old boy — and held him, and the holding was so overwhelming that I could not speak, could not breathe, could only stand in my driveway clutching a child who smelled like shampoo and grass and everything I had been missing. He said, "Bubbe!" into my shoulder. One word. The only word. Enough.

We went inside. I fed him — of course I fed him. Chicken soup, the soup I had promised through a screen across a twelve-foot gap months ago. The promise fulfilled. He ate two bowls. He said, "This is the best soup you've ever made." He is seven. He is already doing the Feldman declaration. The family tradition of hyperbolic food praise has been transmitted to the next generation, and I am undone by pride.

Marvin was in his recliner. Ethan went to him and said, "Hi, Grandpa." Marvin looked at Ethan with an expression I watched carefully — looking for the recognition, looking for the circuit connecting "Ethan" to "grandson" to "David's son." The circuit fired. Slowly, uncertainly, like a light bulb flickering before it holds. But it fired. Marvin said, "Hey, kiddo." His word. His voice. The right word aimed at the right child. Ethan climbed into his lap. Marvin held him. The holding was automatic, muscle memory, the body remembering what the mind is forgetting: this small person is mine. Hold him.

I stood in the kitchen doorway and watched my husband hold my grandson and I did not take a photograph because some moments are not for cameras, some moments are only for the people in them, and this moment was for Marvin and Ethan and the space between them that the disease has not yet touched — the space where a grandfather holds a boy and the boy feels safe and the grandfather feels purpose and the purpose is enough.

I made rugelach. I sent Ethan home with a tin. He said, "Bubbe, can I come back next week?" I said, "You can come back every week for the rest of my life." David, standing behind him, met my eyes. He understood. Every week. For the rest of my life. However many weeks that is. Starting now.

Ethan asked if he could come back next week, and I said yes before the words had finished leaving his mouth — so now I have a week to plan. The soup was the promise I kept; rugelach was the goodbye gift. But next time, I want a breakfast. I want him to sleep over, wake up in the house that smells like his grandfather’s coffee and his Bubbe’s kitchen, and sit at this table in his pajamas while I make him challah French toast — thick, eggy, golden slices of the same braided bread I’ve been baking for Shabbat longer than his father has been alive. It is the right food for a morning when everything feels, finally, like it is going to be okay.

Challah French Toast

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 loaf challah bread (about 12 oz), cut into 1-inch thick slices
• 4 large eggs
• 3/4 cup whole milk
• 1/4 cup heavy cream
• 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
• Powdered sugar, maple syrup, and fresh berries for serving

Instructions

1. Make the custard. In a wide, shallow bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, heavy cream, sugar, vanilla extract, cinnamon, and salt until fully combined and no streaks of egg remain.
2. Soak the challah. Working in batches, lay the challah slices in the custard mixture and let them soak for 30 to 45 seconds per side, pressing gently so the bread absorbs the custard without falling apart. Challah is absorbent — don’t rush this step.
3. Heat the pan. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in a large skillet or griddle over medium heat. When the butter is foamy and just beginning to turn golden, you’re ready to cook.
4. Cook the first batch. Add soaked slices in a single layer without crowding. Cook for 3 to 4 minutes on the first side without moving them, until deeply golden brown on the bottom. Flip carefully and cook another 2 to 3 minutes until both sides are golden and the center is just set.
5. Cook remaining slices. Transfer finished slices to a low (200°F) oven to keep warm. Add the remaining tablespoon of butter to the pan and repeat with remaining soaked challah slices.
6. Serve. Dust generously with powdered sugar and serve immediately with warm maple syrup and fresh berries alongside. A seven-year-old will not complain.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 52g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 390mg