Hawaiian Cheese Bread

It is done. March 14th. The Ides of March. The moving. The arrival. The room.

David drove. I sat in the back seat with Marvin. Marvin was calm — medicated, slightly sedated at the neurologist's recommendation, peaceful in the way of a man who does not understand where he is going and whose body is not producing the anxiety that his mind would produce if his mind were still producing things. He sat beside me and I held his hand and the car moved through Long Island and the Long Island I have lived on for forty years moved past the windows, and the movement was ordinary, just a car on a road, and the ordinariness was the most devastating part, because the most devastating things are always ordinary — they happen in cars and kitchens and hallways, they happen on Tuesdays, they happen while you're holding someone's hand and the traffic is moving and the radio is playing something you don't hear.

We arrived. The room was ready — the recliner in the corner, the photos on the dresser, the bathrobe on the hook, the containers of brisket in the kitchen. I walked Marvin to his room. He looked around. He sat in his recliner. He recognized the chair — I saw it in his body, the way he settled into it, the muscle memory of forty years of sitting in this specific chair, the body knowing what the mind does not. He sat. He settled. He said nothing. I said, "This is a nice room, Marv." He said, "It is." He did not ask where he was. He did not ask why. He sat in his chair and he was calm and the calm was the mercy, the one mercy in a day without mercy, the calm of a man who has already lost enough that the losing of his home does not register as a new loss.

I stayed until he fell asleep. I kissed his forehead. I walked to the car. I drove home. I walked into the house. The house was empty. The living room was missing the recliner. The bedroom was missing Marvin. The kitchen was missing the sound of him breathing in the next room. The house was full of furniture and empty of everything. I sat at the kitchen table. I put my head on the table. I cried until I could not cry anymore. Then I stood up. Then I made challah. Because it was Friday. Because Shabbat does not care if you are alone. Because the candles need lighting. Because the challah needs braiding. Because the chain does not break. Not today. Not even today.

The challah I braided that night was for Marvin — it always has been, even now, even when he is not at my table to tear it. But the Hawaiian Cheese Bread is what I make when the family comes the next day, when my son David and his wife arrive with the grandchildren and the house fills back up with noise and everyone needs something warm to pull apart with their hands. There is something about a bread you tear rather than slice that asks people to stay a little longer, to reach toward the center, to be fed. After a day like March 14th, that is the only recipe I want.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 10

Ingredients

1 large loaf Hawaiian sweet bread (about 1 lb)
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
3 cloves garlic, finely minced
2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
1/4 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 350°F. Tear off a large sheet of aluminum foil and place it on a rimmed baking sheet — enough to wrap the whole loaf loosely.
Score the bread. Using a serrated knife, cut the loaf in a crosshatch pattern at 1-inch intervals, cutting nearly all the way down to the bottom crust but not through it. The loaf should hold together as one piece.
Make the garlic butter. In a small bowl, whisk together the melted butter, minced garlic, parsley, onion powder, and salt until combined.
Fill the cuts. Gently pull the sections apart and use a pastry brush or spoon to work the garlic butter deep into every crevice. Be thorough — every cut should get butter.
Pack in the cheese. Combine the cheddar and mozzarella in a bowl and tuck the cheese generously into every cut, pressing it down so it nestles in rather than sitting on top.
Wrap and bake. Bring the foil up around the loaf and seal it loosely. Bake for 15 minutes until the cheese begins to melt through.
Unwrap and finish. Open the foil fully and bake for an additional 8–10 minutes until the cheese is bubbling and the top edges of the bread are golden and slightly crisp.
Serve immediately. Transfer to a board or serve directly on the foil. Let people pull it apart at the table — that is the whole point.

Nutrition (per serving)

Hawaiian Cheese Bread — The Chain Does Not Break