Snow Day Bread

My grandmother baked bread whenever the snow got serious.

She said it warmed the house better than complaining, and she was right. Her kitchen in Burlington had fogged windows, flour on the counter, and a chair by the stove where my cousins fought to sit. She never measured anything. She just used the same chipped bowl and said the dough would “tell you.”

After she died, my aunt tried to write the recipe down. It still never tastes the same.

This is for her kitchen, her bread, and the way winter felt less sharp when she was there.