Easy Homemade French Bread

Surgery week. May 8, Tuesday. The expander placement — the first stage of reconstruction. Mom arrived Saturday with her suitcase, her reading glasses, and a FedEx-sized shipment of cinnamon rolls, because Diane Dawson believes that all of life's transitions should be accompanied by pastry, and she is correct.

I prepped the house: meals in the freezer, laundry done, school schedules printed, emergency numbers on the fridge. The same siege preparation I did before the mastectomy, except this time the feeling is anticipation, not dread. I am walking into this surgery with my eyes open and my heart rate normal and the knowledge that on the other side of it, my body will begin to look like mine again.

Mason helped me pack my hospital bag. He put in the stuffed dog from Jamie (the one from the mastectomy — it's become a talisman). He put in a granola bar. He put in his microscope, "in case you get bored." I did not tell him that hospitals do not allow microscope examinations of medical equipment. I thanked him and zipped the bag and held him, and he held me back, and we stood in the hallway for a minute, not saying anything, because we've done this before, and there's a language for mother-and-son standing in a hallway before a surgery that doesn't require words.

Lily was less ceremonial. She said, "Are the doctors going to fix your boobies?" because Lily has the directness of a freight train and the filter of a four-year-old, which is to say: none. I said, "Something like that, yes." She said, "Good. Then you can carry me better." The logic is impeccable. The delivery is Lily.

I spent Sunday evening alone — Mom had the kids, and I sat on the back porch with Hank and watched the sun set behind the Boise foothills and thought about the woman who sat on this same porch two years ago, before the diagnosis, before everything. She was worried about the thermostat. She was managing a husband who drank too much and a life that wasn't enough. She had no idea what was coming. And if I could go back and tell her — tell her about the cancer, the chemo, the divorce, the bell, the first tomato, the sourdough starter named Frank — she wouldn't believe me. She wouldn't believe that the worst was coming and that she would survive it and that surviving it would make her someone she likes better than the woman she was before. Life is cruel and kind in equal measure, and sometimes the cruelty and the kindness are the same thing.

I didn't make a new recipe this week. I made Mom's cinnamon rolls — the ones she brought, reheated, eaten warm on Sunday morning with Mason and Lily and Mom, all of us at the table, the last breakfast before surgery, the same ritual, the same rolls, the same love in edible form. Some weeks, new is not what you need. Some weeks, you need the old recipe, the familiar taste, the steady hand of a mother who has been making these rolls since before you were born and will keep making them long after this surgery is a memory.

Mom’s cinnamon rolls are hers — her recipe, her hands, her tradition to carry — and I wouldn’t dream of giving that away. But if you’re looking for something to fill your kitchen with that same warmth the morning before everything changes, this homemade French bread is where I’d point you. It’s the kind of recipe that doesn’t ask much of you — simple ingredients, a little patience, a golden loaf that says someone in this house cared enough to bake from scratch. Tear it warm at the table with the people you love. That’s the whole point.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours (including rise time) | Servings: 2 loaves (about 10 slices each)

Ingredients

2-1/2 cups warm water (about 110°F)
1 tablespoon active dry yeast
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 teaspoons salt
6-1/2 to 7 cups all-purpose flour
1 egg white, beaten
1 tablespoon water (for egg wash)

Instructions

Activate the yeast. In a large bowl, combine the warm water, yeast, and sugar. Stir gently and let sit for 5 to 10 minutes until foamy.
Mix the dough. Add the olive oil, salt, and 3 cups of flour to the yeast mixture. Stir until smooth. Gradually add the remaining flour, 1/2 cup at a time, stirring until a soft dough forms and pulls away from the sides of the bowl.
Knead. Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 8 to 10 minutes until smooth and elastic. The dough should spring back when poked gently.
First rise. Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, turning once to coat. Cover with a clean kitchen towel or plastic wrap and let rise in a warm spot for about 1 hour, until doubled in size.
Shape the loaves. Punch down the dough and divide it in half. On a lightly floured surface, roll each half into a rectangle about 10 by 15 inches. Starting from the long side, roll the dough tightly into a log. Pinch the seam and ends to seal, then tuck the ends underneath.
Second rise. Place the loaves seam-side down on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Using a sharp knife, make 3 to 4 diagonal slashes across the top of each loaf, about 1/4 inch deep. Cover loosely and let rise for 30 minutes.
Preheat. While the loaves rise, preheat the oven to 400°F. Place a shallow oven-safe pan on the bottom rack of the oven.
Bake. Whisk together the egg white and 1 tablespoon of water, then brush the tops of the loaves with the egg wash. Place the loaves in the oven and carefully pour about 1 cup of hot water into the pan on the bottom rack to create steam. Bake for 22 to 25 minutes until the crust is deep golden and the loaves sound hollow when tapped on the bottom.
Cool. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool for at least 10 minutes before slicing. Best served warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Easy Homemade French Bread — The Steady Hand of a Mother’s Kitchen