By November. The five-year month. Five years since September 2016, when the doctor said "Stage II" and my life broke in half. But the half healed. The half became whole again — a different whole, a rebuilt whole, a whole that includes scars and implants and curly hair and a man named Tom and two children who are growing up and a kitchen that held everything. The whole is better than the half. The whole is better than before.
I don't have a screening this month — my next is in April 2021. But the five-year anniversary of the diagnosis is mine to mark however I choose. I chose to mark it with a cinnamon roll. One roll. One ramekin. The ritual that began when I finished chemo and has continued every milestone since. But this time, I wasn't alone. Tom was there. I said, "This is my five-year cinnamon roll," and he said, "Five years?" and I said, "Five years cancer-free. The magic number." He was quiet. Then he said, "Can I have one too?" and I said, "Yes," and I made two cinnamon rolls in two ramekins and we ate them at the kitchen table at 7 AM on a Tuesday in November, and the cinnamon was sweet and the butter was warm and the five years were behind me and the forever was ahead, and the man across the table was eating a cinnamon roll because he wanted to share the milestone, not observe it, and the sharing is what love is.
I called Mom. I said, "Five years, Mom." She said nothing for a long time. Then she said, "Five years," and then she hung up. She called back in six minutes (a new record — she's getting faster at crying and composing). She said, "I'm making you cinnamon rolls." I said, "I already made them." She said, "I'm making you more." They arrived by FedEx on Thursday.
I told the kids. I said, "It's been five years since Mama was sick, and the doctors say that five years means I'm really, truly better." Mason said, "I know. I counted." He counted. My nine-year-old has been counting the years, quietly, in his own way, keeping his own calendar of his mother's survival. Lily said, "Five is a lot." I said, "It is." She said, "That's more than horses I have ribbons." The scale of measurement is horse ribbons. In Lily's world, everything is measured against horses. I wouldn't have it any other way.
The ramekin cinnamon rolls are mine — mine alone, the ritual I won’t share the recipe for because some things belong only to the moment that made them. But Tom is here now, and the kids are here, and five years asks for something that stretches a little wider than one ramekin. This Slow-Cooked Apple Cinnamon French Toast is the version of that same warmth that feeds a table — the cinnamon still sweet, the butter still warm, the morning still ours, just bigger now, because we are bigger now.
Slow-Cooked Apple Cinnamon French Toast
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 3 hrs | Total Time: 3 hrs 15 min | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 1 loaf (1 lb) cinnamon-raisin bread, cubed
- 3 medium apples, peeled and chopped
- 8 large eggs
- 2 cups 2% milk
- 1/4 cup packed brown sugar
- 1/4 cup butter, melted
- 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
- 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- Maple syrup and powdered sugar, for serving (optional)
Instructions
- Prepare the slow cooker. Grease a 5- or 6-quart slow cooker with cooking spray. Add cubed bread and chopped apples; toss gently to combine and spread in an even layer.
- Make the custard. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, brown sugar, melted butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla, and salt until well blended.
- Combine. Pour the egg mixture evenly over the bread and apples, pressing down lightly with a spatula so all the bread absorbs the custard.
- Slow cook. Cover and cook on low for 3 to 3 1/2 hours, until the custard is set and the edges are lightly golden. Avoid lifting the lid during cooking.
- Serve. Scoop into bowls or onto plates. Dust with powdered sugar and drizzle with maple syrup if desired. Serve warm.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 318 | Protein: 12g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 320mg