I love summer. Like, LOVE it. Give me the long days, the barefoot mornings in the garden, and the smell of freshly mowed grass. But also… let’s be honest. Summer is hot. And apparently, my internal motivation melts faster than a popsicle on the driveway because lately? I’ve been full-on flopping around the house like a heat-sapped Victorian fainting lady. Lunch? Dinner? Sounds like a lot of steps. Can I just eat popsicles and ice cream?  That counts, right?

But eventually, I have to put my big girl sundress on and actually make a meal.  So I rallied, sort of, and landed on a classic: grilled cheese and tomato soup. Comfort food for the win. Easy. Beloved. Requires minimal brain activity. But this time, I fancied it up just enough to feel like I’m still functioning as an adult who occasionally owns herbs.

Friends, let me introduce you to the sandwich that made me feel like a summer lunch wizard:
White Cheddar Grilled Cheese with Thyme and Honey

I took her inspo and ran with it, because when you’re operating at summer sloth level, you still need something that tastes like a hug. This sandwich is a little crispy, a little gooey, a little sweet, a little herby. It’s also stupidly easy. I’m talking five ingredients, ten minutes, no oven, and very little cleanup. I mean, that’s basically a midsummer miracle.

White Cheddar Grilled Cheese with Thyme and Honey

Ingredients (for 2 sandwiches):

• 4 slices of crusty sourdough bread (the more rugged, the better)

• 4 oz sharp white cheddar, sliced or shredded (don’t skimp, this is your moment)

• 2–3 tsp honey, plus extra for drizzling

• A few sprigs of fresh thyme, leaves only

• Softened butter, for spreading (Team Butter 4 Life)

Optional but encouraged:

• Tomato soup on the side, because we’re classy and nostalgic

Instructions:

1. Heat your skillet.
   Get a nonstick skillet or cast-iron pan going over medium heat. We want golden, not charred.

2. Assemble your cheesy masterpiece.
   Lay out your sourdough slices. Spread a thin layer of butter on one side of each slice—these are your “outside” sides.

3. Layer the goodness.
   On the non-buttered side of two slices, pile on the white cheddar. Sprinkle with fresh thyme leaves (don’t be shy—they add this woodsy little kick). Drizzle a teaspoon or so of honey over the cheese. Top with the remaining bread slices, buttered side out.

4. Grill to perfection.
   Place your sandwiches in the pan and cook until the bottoms are golden and the cheese is starting to melt, about 3–4 minutes. Flip carefully, press gently with your spatula (not like a Hulk smash, just a friendly squish), and cook the other side until golden brown and melty.

5. Drizzle and serve.
   When you plate these babies, give them just a little extra drizzle of honey over the top. Trust me. The sweet hit with the melty cheese and the crispy bread is chef’s kiss.

6. Optional tomato soup moment.
   Heat up some tomato soup (I won’t tell if it’s from a can). Dunk away and live your best lazy summer day life.

This sandwich is basically the reward you get for surviving an afternoon of doing absolutely nothing. Or, if you want to feel productive, you can tell people you made “an herbaceous take on a classic grilled cheese with local honey and sharp cheddar on artisan sourdough.” (Boom. Culinary goddess. No one has to know you were watching reruns of "The Price Is Right" from 1985 in pajama shorts ten minutes ago.)

So the next time the heat has you considering whether string cheese counts as a balanced meal, remember this: grilled cheese doesn’t have to be basic. A little thyme, a little honey, and a little bit of the good cheddar, and you’ve got yourself a summer lunch that tastes like you still care—even if the only thing you actually want to do is sit in front of a fan and scroll Instagram.

Happy lazy lunching, friends. Stay cool. Stay cheesy.

PS: If someone tries to come at you with mayo instead of butter for grilled cheese, you tell them this: "In this house, we butter."

Okay, so let’s just start with a deep, heartfelt facepalm.

You guys. You guys.

I've told you all about my sourdough journey—every bubbly starter update, every dramatic discard experiment and every wild thing I've tried to sneak starter into. I even gave you the recipe for those sourdough discard muffins that miss Ivy loves.

But, and this is a big BUT (cue Sir Mix-a-Lot in the distance)—I somehow forgot the actual, foundational, bread-and-butter (literally) recipe.

THE SOURDOUGH BREAD ITSELF.

I forgot to give you my no knead sourdough bread recipe.

What kind of monster does that??

Honestly, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m like someone who invites you to a birthday party, serves only forks, and completely forgets the cake.

So, let's right this wrong. Right here. Right now. Today we’re making the easiest, no-fuss, “I literally did nothing but wait” sourdough bread you’ve ever met.

All you need is:

• Some active sourdough starter (the bubbly, happy kind, not the neglected jar in the back of the fridge with abandonment issues)
• A cast iron Dutch oven (it makes you feel like a pioneer and that’s important)
• And time. Time is the magic ingredient here. If you're impatient… I don't know, maybe make toast and come back?

Alrighty, let's bake some bread!

✨ No-Knead Sourdough Bread Recipe (AKA: The Lazy Baker's Loaf)

Ingredients:

• 50g active sourdough starter (fed and bubbly)
• 375g warm water (a little warmer than room temp, not hot tub level)
• 500g bread flour (or all-purpose in a pinch—this is a judgment-free zone)
• 10g salt (about 1 ½ tsp if you’re a rebel and hate weighing things)

🥖 Instructions:

1. Mix It, Don’t Knead It

In a large bowl, stir together the starter and warm water until it’s sort of cloudy and mixed. Add the flour and salt. Stir with a wooden spoon or your hand until it looks like a shaggy, sticky mess. If it looks like a small child tried to make playdough, you’re doing it right.

Cover it with a damp towel or plastic wrap and let it rest at room temp for 30 minutes. Go reward yourself with a snack for all your hard work.

2. Stretch & Fold (Just a Little Bit)

After the dough has rested, give it a few gentle stretch-and-folds. Imagine you’re tucking in a sleepy dough baby. Pull one side of the dough up and fold it over. Rotate the bowl and do this about 4 times. That’s it! You’ve officially exercised today.

Do this two more times over the next hour, every 30 minutes. You can skip this if you're truly embracing the lazy lifestyle, but it helps build structure.

3. Bulk Fermentation AKA The Waiting Game

Now cover your dough and let it sit at room temp for 8-12 hours. Overnight is perfect. Go to bed and let the sourdough gnomes do their magic. When you wake up, the dough should be puffed up, jiggly, and slightly domed. Like it had a really good nap.

4. Shape & Chill

Flour your countertop like you’re about to perform a sacred ritual. Gently coax the dough out onto it. Fold it into a ball (there are no grades here, just try your best) and let it rest for 20 minutes.

Then shape it into a round loaf. Place it in a floured proofing basket or a bowl lined with a floured kitchen towel. Cover it and stick it in the fridge for 1–4 hours, or up to 24. The longer it chills, the better the flavor. Kind of like soup or revenge.

5. Let’s Get Bakin’

Preheat your oven to 500°F with your Dutch oven inside. Yes, the whole Dutch oven. You want it blazing hot like a dragon’s lair.

Once your oven is ready, gently flip your dough onto parchment paper. Score the top with a razor blade or sharp knife—this is your bread's moment to shine, so give it a cool design. Or just do one big slash and call it rustic.

Carefully place the dough (on the parchment) into your Dutch oven. Cover with the lid and bake for 20 minutes. Then remove the lid, reduce the heat to 450°F and bake for another 25–30 minutes until it's golden brown and making your kitchen smell like a bakery run by angels.

Let it cool completely before slicing. I know, I know. But if you cut it too early it gets gummy. Be strong.

🧠 A Few Extra (Unsolicited) Thoughts:

• If your starter is feeling sluggish, give it a couple good feedings before using it for this recipe. You want it active and bubbly, not sleepy and moody like me before coffee.
• This bread freezes great. I slice it first, freeze the slices, and toast them straight from frozen like some kind of bread wizard.
• Want to get fancy? Add herbs, roasted garlic, cheese, olives—go nuts. It’s your bread now.

Final Thoughts From the Bread-Zoned

I honestly can’t believe I forgot to give you this recipe until now. Like… I gave you sourdough cake before I gave you actual bread. I am clearly unwell.

But hey, better late than never, right? This is your sign to finally make that loaf you’ve been threatening to try since 2020. It's chill, it’s delicious, and you don’t even have to knead anything. Honestly, it’s less of a recipe and more of a vibe.

If you make it, tag me, email me, send a carrier pigeon—I wanna see your beautiful crusty creations. And if it turns out weird? Blame the moon phase or your oven. Never yourself. That’s the sourdough way.

Now go forth and bake, my carb-loving friends.

Ok, we all know the place. The one that plops down those beautiful little brown carb bombs with a dish of honey butter before you even order. And suddenly, you’re not even thinking about your steak anymore—you’re calculating how many of those mini loaves you can stuff in your face before the server starts side-eyeing you.

Yeah, I love those things. Like, really love them. And when I figured out I could make them at home and have Ivy’s dad sing my praises for days, it was a moment to be remembered. The man does not throw out casual compliments, so when he took one bite and looked at me like I’d just performed a minor miracle? Oh, you know I started making these on the regular.

And now, dear reader, I want you to experience the same love, admiration, and sheer joy that comes with making this bread. You must make this. Like…NOW.

Honey Wheat Steakhouse Bread

(Makes about 8 mini loaves, or 2 larger loaves, but let’s be honest—you’ll want the minis. They’re cute.)

Ingredients:

• 1 ¼ cups warm water (about 110°F, or the temp of a cozy bath—not lava)

• 2 ¼ teaspoons (1 packet) active dry yeast

• ¼ cup honey (or molasses, but honey gives it that chef’s kiss flavor)

• 1 ½ cups bread flour

• 1 ½ cups whole wheat flour

• 2 tablespoons cocoa powder (yes, really, trust the process)

• 1 teaspoon instant coffee or espresso powder (optional, but adds depth)

• 1 teaspoon salt

• 2 tablespoons softened butter

• 2 tablespoons brown sugar

• Cornmeal, for dusting (because we’re fancy like that)

Instructions:

1. Activate that yeast! In a bowl, combine warm water, yeast, and honey. Stir it up and let it sit for about 5–10 minutes until it’s foamy and smells like happiness. If nothing happens, your yeast is probably dead (RIP)—start over with fresh yeast.

2. In a large mixing bowl (or stand mixer if you want to feel like a pro), combine bread flour, whole wheat flour, cocoa powder, espresso powder (if using), salt, butter, and brown sugar. Pour in the yeast mixture and mix until it all comes together in a shaggy dough.

3. Knead that dough like it just insulted your grandma. You want a smooth, elastic dough—about 8 minutes by hand or 5 minutes with a dough hook. If it’s too sticky, add a tiny bit more flour; if it’s too dry, add a splash of water.

4. Place your dough baby in a greased bowl, cover it with a kitchen towel, and let it rise for about an hour or until doubled in size.

5. Punch it down (gently, we’re not mad at it), then divide into 8 mini loaves or 2 larger ones. Shape them into little logs and place them on a parchment-lined baking sheet.

6. Sprinkle with cornmeal (for that restaurant-style vibe) and cover with a towel. Let them rise again for about 30–45 minutes.

7. Bake at 350°F for 20–25 minutes, until they sound hollow when tapped. Try to let them cool before inhaling, but I won’t judge if you don’t.

Serving Suggestion (aka the ONLY way to eat these):

Slather warm slices with honey butter. To make it: Mix ½ cup softened butter with 2 tablespoons honey and a pinch of salt. Try not to just eat it with a spoon. Or do—I won’t tell.

Congratulations, you just made the most addictive bread ever. Get ready for people to worship your baking skills. If Ivy’s dad is any indication, you might get days of praise. Or at the very least, an appreciative grunt between bites. Either way, worth it.

Let’s talk about bread.

In my house, bread isn’t just food—it’s a lifestyle. It’s a love language. It’s practically a member of the family. When I first moved in with Ivy’s dad, one of the first things he said to me (and I swear I am not making this up) was, “Don’t forget to make bread. Bread is the priority!” Imagine being a young, fresh-faced person, full of hope, moving in with the love of your life, and realizing that, actually, the most important thing about your presence is the bread you bring to the table. Literally.

Lucky for him, I already loved baking bread. It’s meditative for me—one of the few things that truly forces me to slow down, be present, and let go of the idea that I have control over everything. Bread dough has a mind of its own. You can mix it, shape it, and set it up for success, but in the end, fermentation is its own kind of magic. You just have to trust the process.

My No-Knead Awakening

For years, I was out here like some kind of medieval peasant, kneading my dough by hand, sweating over it like a baker in a Dickens novel. And then—I discovered Jim Lahey’s no-knead bread formula. It was like being handed the keys to a kingdom where bread practically makes itself.

This technique is brilliant because it relies on time and fermentation instead of muscle. With enough planning ahead, I can have beautiful, bakery-worthy loaves without kneading a thing. The dough sits around, minding its own business, developing deep, complex flavors while I go about my life. I can sleep! I can parent! I can pretend to be productive! And when the time comes, I just pop it into the oven, and boom—gorgeous, golden-crusted bread.

This recipe, my friends, is my favorite way to make baguettes. If you’ve ever dreamed of pulling crusty, airy, golden baguettes out of your own oven, you really should try this. You’ll thank me. I promise.

No-Knead Baguettes (a.k.a. Bread Without Tears)

Ingredients:

• 3 ¼ cups (415g) all-purpose or bread flour
• 1 ¼ teaspoons salt
• ¼ teaspoon instant yeast
• 1 ½ cups (340g) water, room temperature

Instructions:

1. Mix the dough: In a large bowl, stir together the flour, salt, and yeast. Add the water and mix until you have a shaggy, sticky dough. No kneading! Just mix until everything is combined. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap or a damp towel and let it sit at room temperature for 12-18 hours (overnight is perfect).

2. The dough will look weird, but trust the process. It will be loose, bubbly, and kind of messy. This is normal!

3. Shape the baguettes: Generously flour your counter and gently turn the dough onto it. Cut it into two or three pieces (depending on how long you want your baguettes). Handle the dough gently—this is what gives you those beautiful air pockets. Shape each piece into a rough log and let them rest for 10 minutes.

4. Final shaping: Gently stretch each piece into a baguette shape, about 12-14 inches long. Place them on a floured towel or a parchment-lined baking sheet. Cover with a towel and let them rise for 1 hour.

5. Preheat the oven to 475°F (245°C). If you have a baking stone, put it in the oven to heat up. Place a metal pan on the bottom rack (this will be for steam).

6. Create steam (this is the secret to a crispy crust!): Right before baking, place a cup of hot water in the metal pan in the oven. The steam will make your crust crispier and more beautiful.

7. Bake: Transfer the baguettes onto the hot stone or baking sheet. Bake for 20-25 minutes until deep golden brown. Cool on a wire rack before slicing (if you can wait that long).

Life-Changing Bread with Minimal Effort

This bread is crispy, airy, chewy, and ridiculously good. The best part? You barely have to do anything. Most of the time is just waiting while the dough transforms itself into something magical.

And if you’re wondering if my partner still considers bread the priority? Oh, absolutely. Except now, instead of reminders, I get knowing nods of approval when fresh loaves appear on the counter. Domestic harmony, sponsored by carbs.

Try this recipe. Your future self (and everyone you feed) will thank you.

Okay, so I should probably stop watching the news because it stresses me out and when I’m stressed, I bake. But then again, maybe I shouldn’t stop watching because it gives me so much content. Who knew that the latest headlines could lead to recipe inspiration, right? (Though I’m pretty sure the world doesn’t need more stress-baking recipes, but who’s asking for permission here?) Anyway, I’ve made a decision: I’m not quitting the news, because apparently, it’s the source of all my comfort food creativity. That, and I’d have to wrestle the remote away from Ivy’s dad who loves him some MSNBC and we all know I wouldn’t win that fight.

And you know what comfort food is? Biscuits and gravy. Flaky, buttery biscuits swimming in creamy sausage gravy. Like a warm, savory hug for your soul. I mean, come on – if that doesn’t scream “I need therapy, but I’ll settle for biscuits,” then I don’t know what does.

So whether you're feeling stressed, hungry, or just in need of some good ol' fashioned comfort (maybe all of the above), here’s the deal: you need to make this. Seriously, you won’t regret it. These biscuits are worth the time and calories. (And I know, I know, the time commitment… but trust me, if you're gonna invest in anything today, it should be this.)

Biscuits and Gravy Recipe (aka Soul Soother Extraordinaire)

Ingredients:

For the Biscuits:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour (plus a little extra for dusting)
• 2 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp salt
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 cup cold unsalted butter (cut into cubes)
• 1 cup buttermilk (you can sub regular milk if you're feeling wild, but it's worth it to go full buttermilk)

For the Gravy:

• 1 pound breakfast sausage (I like the spicy kind because why not kick it up a notch?)
• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 3 cups whole milk (or 2 cups milk + 1 cup heavy cream, if you’re in a treat yourself mood)
• Salt and pepper to taste (I go heavy on both because, well, I’m me)
• 1 tbsp chopped fresh sage (optional-so good though!)
• A dash of cayenne (optional but highly recommended if you're feeling a little rebellious)

Instructions:

1. Preheat that oven! Preheat your oven to 450°F (230°C). Your future biscuits are counting on you.
2. Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and baking soda. Just pretend you’re making the world’s fluffiest cloud, but in biscuit form.
3. Cut in the butter. This is where you get to embrace your inner pastry chef (or just pretend you know what you’re doing). Add the cold butter to the dry ingredients and use a pastry cutter (or your hands, if you’re feeling rustic) to cut the butter into the flour until it looks like little pea-sized crumbs. It’s okay if it’s not perfect – we’re not making croissants here, people.
4. Add the buttermilk. Pour in the buttermilk and stir gently until it just comes together. Don’t over-mix. Think of it like a Tinder date – you just want to get to know each other a little bit, not rush into things.
5. Shape the dough. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface. Pat it into a rough rectangle (about 1-inch thick) and fold it over onto itself three times. This is how you get those layers of flaky goodness, so don’t skip this step, even if you're tired from watching the news.
6. Cut out the biscuits. Use a biscuit cutter (or a glass, if you're feeling resourceful) to cut out your biscuits. Pop them onto a baking sheet, making sure they’re close together. They’re friends, they’ll rise better that way.
7. Bake! Stick those babies in the oven and bake for 10-12 minutes, or until golden brown. You want that perfect balance of crunchy edges and soft, pillowy centers.
8. Make the gravy. While the biscuits are baking, get to work on the gravy. In a large skillet, cook your sausage over medium heat until browned and crispy. Don’t rush this part; you want those crispy bits for flavor! Once the sausage is cooked, sprinkle the flour over the sausage and stir for about a minute. This creates the base for your gravy.
9. Add the milk. Slowly pour in the milk, stirring constantly to avoid lumps. Keep stirring until the gravy thickens to your desired consistency. Add a dash of cayenne if you’re feeling spicy, and don’t forget to season with salt and pepper.  Add the fresh sage last.
10. Assemble! Once your biscuits are golden and your gravy is bubbling and beautiful, split the biscuits in half, ladle on the gravy, and prepare to be amazed.

Optional: You could also sprinkle some chives or parsley on top to make it look fancy for Instagram, but we all know you're eating this for the soul, not the aesthetics.

And there you have it – the ultimate comfort food.

Maybe this isn't a life-changing meal (okay, who am I kidding, it's totally life-changing), but I promise, it’ll make you feel better. If you’re feeling stressed, just imagine a world where biscuits and gravy are a daily requirement. That’s the world we all deserve, right? And hey, if you’re not stressed now, you will be after you finish your second plate. So, really, it's a win-win.

Happy baking, and remember: when life gives you lemons, make biscuits and gravy. You deserve it.

You know that saying, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade?” Well, I’m going to go ahead and tweak it a little bit: When life gives you tiny challah loaves, make Cinnamon Crunch French Toast Casserole. It’s catchy, right? And totally appropriate because that's exactly what happened to me. The tiny challahs are here, and guess what? They’ve become the star of the most glorious breakfast casserole you’ll ever meet.

Now, before we get into the delicious details of this Cinnamon Crunch French Toast Casserole, let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we? Remember when I got wildly enthusiastic about baking challah? Like, a lot of challah. I had a whole moment there, and my kitchen smelled like a bakery that was obsessed with eggy, fluffy, doughy bread. I made more challah loaves than I could reasonably consume in a week (spoiler alert: I did not stop at just one). There were full-on batches of this stuff—so much bread, I didn’t know what to do with it all.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Who has that many challahs? Well, apparently, I do. Because the loaves fell short of the perfect loaf and I had to do something with them…am I right? And guess what? I promised you a French Toast Casserole made with the little challahs. And I always keep my promises. (Okay, fine, not always. But I do my best. Especially when it's something this tasty.)

So, here it is, the Cinnamon Crunch French Toast Casserole that was made with my lovely, slightly-too-small-for-sandwiches-but-perfect-for-casseroles itty bitty challahs. And let me tell you, this casserole will change your life. Or at least it’ll make your morning a whole lot better. Let’s dive in.

Cinnamon Crunch French Toast Casserole: The Ultimate Use of Leftover Challah (or Tiny Challahs, to be more specific)

Inspired by Half Baked Harvest Cinnamon Toast Crunch French Toast Casserole.  Here’s what you’re going to need:

Ingredients:

• 2 small challah loaves (we’re not feeding an army here…if you haven’t baked challah like a crazy person, you can actually go to the store and buy some)
• 3 large eggs
• 1 cups whole milk (full-fat, because we're living large today)
• 1/4 cup heavy cream (see above re: living large)
• 3 tbsp brown sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla extract (trust me on this one, use the good stuff)
• 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
• pinch salt
• 1/4 cup butter (melted, because butter makes everything better)
• 1/2 cup packed light brown sugar (yes, this is also part of the filling—your taste buds will thank you)
• 4 oz cream cheese (softened to room temperature, so it's easy to spread and dreamy when baked)
• 2 tbsp cup powdered sugar (for some extra sweetness inside that creamy filling)
• 1/4 tsp vanilla extract (because it’s still part of the filling, and why not make it extra vanilla-y?)
• A pinch of cinnamon (because, well, we're doing cinnamon everywhere)

Topping:

• 1/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 2 tbsp flour
• 2 tbsp butter

Instructions:

Step 1: Preheat and Prep

Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Get yourself a 8x8 baking dish. If you’re like me and you have 17 different sizes of baking dishes that all look the same but somehow aren’t, pick the one that will comfortably hold all of the casserole. Butter the dish generously. You don’t want any sticky situations. It’s important.

Step 2: Cut the Challah

If you’re using those tiny little challah loaves, I think they’re prettiest cut into slices and they look different than your average french toast casserole—about 1-inch size. Don’t worry about it being perfect. It’s the end result that counts, and that perfect slice of French toast casserole will not judge you if your bread is slightly uneven. I promise.

Step 3: Make the French Toast Batter

In a large bowl, crack those eggs and whisk them together with the milk, heavy cream, brown sugar, cinnamon, vanilla extract, and salt. Whisk it well so everything is blended beautifully. It should smell delicious. (Side note: If it doesn’t smell delicious at this point, you may want to rethink some of your ingredients. Just saying.)

Step 4: Build the Casserole Layers

Now, take your cut challah and arrange it in your dish and leave a little space to add your cream cheese. Or, if you’re feeling fancy, cut a little gap in each piece and stuff it with cream cheese yumminess. Once you’ve got a nice base of bread, you’re going to make the cream cheese filling. Mix the softened cream cheese, powdered sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon in a small bowl until smooth and creamy. It’s like dessert filling, but it’s going in your breakfast casserole—because why not?

Take spoonfuls of the cream cheese mixture and dollop it between your slices of challah. Then, gently spread it out so that each bread chunk gets a little taste of heaven. Once that’s done, pour the egg mixture evenly over everything. Don’t skimp. Make sure every piece of bread is soaked. You can put this in the fridge overnight if you’ve planned ahead and let it take a delicious eggy bath. If not, still let it sit in the fridge for at least an hour.

Step 5: Add the Crunchy Topping

Here’s the fun part! Mix all your dry ingredients for the topping together and then rub the butter in with your fingers for a struesselly bowl of cinnamon goodness. Sprinkle it all over your casserole when you’ve taken it out of the fridge.

Step 6: Bake It (and Try Not to Sneak a Bite)

Pop the casserole in the oven and bake for 30 minutes covered in foil, then uncover for 10 to 15 minutes ( total 40-45 minutes), or until it’s golden brown and the center is set. You should be able to stick a knife in the center and have it come out clean. If it comes out messy, give it a little more time. But don’t walk away for too long—you will want to hover over it, inhaling that irresistible smell. Trust me, it’s going to be hard not to sneak bites.

Step 7: Serve and Enjoy

Once the casserole is done, take it out and let it cool for a few minutes (unless you’re really impatient, in which case, dive in!). If you’ve got any cream cheese left, dollop it on top. Serve it warm with a dusting of powdered sugar, fresh berries, or a drizzle of syrup—because you deserve all the decadence.

Why this recipe works:

This Cinnamon Crunch French Toast Casserole is the perfect balance of everything you love about French toast and everything you love about casseroles. The cream cheese filling is rich and tangy, while the cinnamon and brown sugar take it to that sweet, comforting place. The granola topping is the perfect textural contrast, giving you that crunch that every good breakfast casserole deserves. And if you happen to have some itty bitty challahs lying around (or, you know, just happen to bake 13 of them for no reason), this recipe is the ultimate way to show them off.

So, next time life gives you tiny challah loaves, don’t stress. Make Cinnamon Crunch French Toast Casserole, and you can thank me later.

Ok, my friends. Don’t judge me, but I made challah bread three different times this week. Why? Because I had a grand, cinematic vision of making the most beautiful, golden, glossy loaf that would, in turn, become the most perfect, decadent French toast the world has ever seen.

Did it go exactly as planned? Oh, absolutely not.

Much like that one overly ambitious king in Monty Python and the Holy Grail who kept building castles that sank into the swamp, my first two attempts at challah were… let’s call them “learning experiences.” The first one was a sourdough version that refused to rise at all, like a stubborn teenager refusing to get out of bed. The second batch turned out adorably tiny—great for snacking, but laughably inadequate for French toast. (I did turn those into a delicious French toast casserole, which I’ll share with you later. Because when life gives you tiny loaves, you pivot.)

But then, friends, on the third attempt, I triumphed. The bread was stunning, golden, and shiny like it had been blessed by the carb gods themselves. And now, because I’ve been through the trials and tribulations of this bread-baking journey, I am here to share my wisdom with you.

Baking bread can feel intimidating, but trust me—it’s not as scary as it looks. And besides, you have me as your fearless guide, who has made all the mistakes for you.

So grab your ingredients, say a little prayer to the yeast spirits, and let’s bake some challah.

Perfect Homemade Challah

Makes 1 glorious loaf, perfect for eating straight from the counter or transforming into epic French toast

Ingredients:

• 4 cups (500g) all-purpose flour (plus more for dusting your counter when you inevitably make a mess)

• 2 ¼ tsp (1 packet) active dry yeast

• ¼ cup (50g) granulated sugar

• 1 tsp salt

• ¾ cup (180ml) warm water (think warm bath, not molten lava)

• ¼ cup (60ml) vegetable oil (or melted butter if you want to get fancy)

• 2 eggs + 1 egg yolk (reserve the extra white for the egg wash)

• 1 tbsp honey (because a little sweetness makes everything better)

For the Shiny Egg Wash:

• 1 egg white

• 1 tbsp water

• A pinch of salt

How to Make It:

Step 1: Wake Up the Yeast

If your yeast has been sitting in your cabinet for an unknown amount of time, this is the moment of truth. In a bowl, mix the warm water, sugar, and yeast. Let it sit for about 5–10 minutes until it gets foamy and bubbly. If nothing happens, your yeast is either dead or ghosting you—start over with a fresh packet.

Step 2: Make the Dough

In a large mixing bowl (or the bowl of your stand mixer if you’re fancy and like to let robots do the work), whisk together the flour and salt. In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, egg yolk, oil, and honey.

Once your yeast mixture is foamy and full of life, pour it into the flour, followed by the egg mixture. Stir it all together until a shaggy dough forms.

Step 3: Knead Like You Mean It

If using a stand mixer with a dough hook, knead for about 8 minutes. If you’re doing this by hand, prepare for an arm workout—knead for 10–12 minutes until the dough is smooth, elastic, and slightly tacky but not sticky. If it’s sticking to your hands like an overenthusiastic toddler, sprinkle in a little more flour.

Step 4: Let It Rise (And Pray It Does)

Place the dough in a greased bowl, cover it with a clean kitchen towel, and let it rise in a warm, draft-free spot for about 1.5–2 hours. It should double in size. If it doesn’t, either your yeast wasn’t feeling the vibes, or your kitchen is too cold—find a warmer spot and give it more time.

Step 5: The Braiding Situation

Now comes the fun part! Punch down the dough (gently, but with conviction), then divide it into six equal pieces. Roll each piece into a rope about 12 inches long. If you’ve never braided a 6-strand loaf before, I highly recommend watching a YouTube tutorial unless you enjoy chaos.

Alternatively, you can do a simple 3-strand braid, or if you just cannot be bothered, shape it into a traditional loaf. No judgment here.

Step 6: Second Rise and Egg Wash

Place your beautifully (or not-so-beautifully) braided loaf on a lined baking sheet. Cover it loosely and let it rise for another 45 minutes.

Right before baking, mix the egg white with water and salt, then brush it generously over the loaf. This is what gives it that gorgeous, shiny crust.

Step 7: Bake to Golden Perfection

Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Bake for 25–30 minutes, until the challah is deep golden brown and sounds hollow when tapped on the bottom. If it starts browning too quickly, loosely tent it with foil.

Step 8: Admire Your Work and Let It Rest

Let it cool for an hour before slicing, unless you have zero self-control (I don’t). Then, enjoy it as is, slathered with butter, or save it for French toast—because let’s be honest, that was the whole point of this adventure.

Final Thoughts on the Bread Saga

Look, I won’t lie to you. This bread takes some effort. It will leave flour on your counters, possibly in your hair, and if you have children, they will 100% stick their fingers in the dough at the worst possible moment.

But when you pull that golden, glossy loaf out of the oven, all the minor frustrations will melt away. You’ll feel like some kind of domestic wizard who can bend flour and yeast to your will. And when you turn this into the most perfect, custardy, dreamlike French toast? Ohhh, my friends. That is a moment of true culinary glory.

So go forth, brave knights. Bake your bread. Fight your yeast battles. And know that even if your first loaf sinks into the swamp, you’re in good company.