My challah begins its first rise.
Baking bread is a labor of love. It takes hours to make, and you can go to any store and buy decent bread, especially here in the Bay Area. But nothing is as good as homebaked bread, I think, in part, because so much love has to go into it. So much time, care, and thoughtful attention.
This is challah, and not for my family. Someone I know has cancer, and this is one of my days to bring dinner for their family. This person is someone I have known a very long time. We knew each other when we were young and foolish and had no idea what we were doing apart from dreaming big. We watched each other grow up and influence our industry in different ways. I don’t see this person often. But, for two decades now, every single time I reached out my hand for them, they reached back. Not every answer can be yes– you don’t have every resource or solution every time– but every time there was an answer. Every time, there was “I see you. I hear you. I’m here.” I have tried to pay that forward over the years and I hope I have succeeded. Now this person is fighting a battle no one should have to fight. The family reached out a hand and I reached back with what little I have to give. I can’t cure cancer and I can’t make the pain go away. But there will be bread. I see you. I hear you. I’m here.
Sending love and challah.
Fuck cancer.