Rebuild kicks off

Dear Friends,

I am excited to announce that our project to resurrect Texas French Bread's home and workspace on 29th St. is finally launching. Construction is now underway. If all goes according to plan, we will reopen for business in a brand new building in early 2026.

In the three years since the fire we’ve done our best to make lemonade from lemons - and that lemonade has proved more sustaining than I could ever have hoped. Sales at the Airstream have been surprisingly robust thanks to all of you. Our wholesale business has picked up steam over the past year and we now have more accounts than ever. Perhaps most importantly, we are once again earning modest but regular profits despite lacking indoor dining.

So for all this and more I am grateful. That we pulled back from the brink at all, much less made it this far feels like a miracle - a miracle made of equal parts stubbornness (that would be me), hard work and diligence (that would be our team), sheer dumb luck, and no small measure of crazy unexpected grace that I wish I could bottle up and save for the next time I could use a little extra.

The past couple of years have been good to us by almost any measure, despite the fire and the many challenges it brought. But if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t realize heading into this period how much I would miss working the dining room in a real live (indoor) restaurant.

To my point, the other day I found myself thinking wistfully about brunch - BRUNCH! Look - I’m going to level with y’all. Brunch is not the most cherished assignment in restaurant world. To be fair, brunch shifts can be totally brutal rather long and intense. But from the day we got our beer and wine license, expanded our weekend offerings, and began running a focused “Brunch” menu rather than our weekday breakfast and lunch, brunch has been extraordinarily good to us at Texas French Bread. It was very well attended.

I liked to slip in through the double doors from the kitchen and survey the kingdom from behind the old Marzocco GB5 on Sunday mornings. It gave me a great view of our baristas pulling silky threads of espresso in slow curlicues from steaming portafilters. The rich mocha aroma filled the room and the energetic force of the packed house would roll over me. The sound of milk texturing in steam pitchers would blend with the cacophony of 60 plus guests throwing back mimosas and digging into stacks of banana walnut pancakes or breakfast tostadas as new arrivals pushed their way toward the counter, clamoring for the host’s attention. By 10am the restaurant would be firing on all cylinders - the line at the door would start to turn over, replenishing itself repeatedly through the morning until things would finally begin to settle in the early afternoon and exhausted staff could begin taking their breaks.

Brunch is a kind of elemental restaurant chaos - our version of a live fire combat exercise with munitions exploding randomly all around. It’s not always pretty, but I thought we made a good job of it at TFB.

By way of contrast, the golden child in our industry will always be dinner service. Performed well, it can be elegant and supple - a choreographed exhibition of a restaurant’s skill set. And I loved working dinner shifts at TFB - greeting guests at the door, juggling reservations as some arrived unexpectedly early (before their table was ready) while others strolled in a half hour late, expecting nonetheless to be seated straight away.

It didn’t matter. I loved every part of it. But I especially loved that time honored ritual of restaurateurs the world over - roaming the floor during service and talking to guests on a busy evening. Whether I was stopping by a table of regulars to catch up on gossip, talking up the tomato, peach, and prosciutto salad, or making the case for the 2016 Domaine Hauvette as being worth the splurge because it’s totally singing right now and it’s going to kill with the bolognese - it was easily the most rewarding part of my work week.

So I will confess that despite our many blessings over the past couple of years, and despite how lovely the TFB Garden can be (especially this time of year), there has been an empty space in my work life that has been tough to fill. I miss being on the floor in the restaurant - my restaurant.

Texas French Bread, as the name suggests, began life as a bakery. It was a family creation birthed from my mother’s love of baking and by any measure, it was a wonder. Those early days were nothing short of heady, and I harbor fond memories of rolling through the door at 4am, pouring myself a sleepy cup of joe, tying on an apron, and starting on the day’s croissant production.

But it was Texas French Bread the restaurant that would become my north star and the great work of my life, reflecting my deepest values and highest aspirations. And the creative tip of that restaurant’s spear was our farm-influenced dinner service that brother Ben and I rolled out in 2008. From its humble beginnings serving three nights each week and not really knowing what we were doing at all, dinner at TFB improved steadily over the years.

From the beginning, we were committed to serving delicious meals that were also sustaining and nutritious, using impeccably sourced ingredients and preparing them with a minimum of fussy technique - squash blossoms stuffed with chèvre and sauteed in olive oil, or a simple piece of black drum served with whatever was in season at Boggy. But we improved over time, becoming increasingly consistent in the kitchen and elevating our service standards in the dining room.

Likewise our wine list developed depth and personality over the years. By the time of the fire, it was populated with a plethora of wonderful wines - many made by real people who farmed their own grapes, plowed their rows with horses, and eschewed the easy path, and abstaining from chemical and pesticide use.

But mostly I miss getting ready for service - stepping into the bakery in the late afternoon and baking off the evening’s pain de campagne, checking reservations one last time, maybe pulling together a last minute batch of butterscotch budinos…

Texas French Bread has been my life’s work. But it was Texas French Bread, the restaurant that transformed me, allowing me to feel like the valuable person I had always aspired to be but perhaps never quite felt I was. It gave me a pride of accomplishment that I had not experienced previously. And it was, all in all, a pretty good little restaurant. It was honest and soulful, and even when it wasn’t perfect it had a big heart. I look forward to the day when I can invite all of you back inside to raise a glass with us and celebrate our grand reopening.

Please stay tuned here for regular updates on the rebuild.

bon appétit,
murph

PS - if you would like to support our efforts and the rebuilding of our flagship building at 29th St. and Rio Grande, below are a few ways you can help:

We’d love it if you would sign up for our weekly subscription service. We offer a large or small box of fresh baked goods depending on the size of your household. We often include delicious treats that have not yet made it onto the menu and it’s a great way to keep staple bread and pastries available at your home. Your commitment to purchasing a membership is of enormous value to us in keeping the bakery busy while we wait for completion of the building. We even offer delivery service if desired.

Or, purchase one of our new throwback T-shirts - we just printed a new batch inspired by our original hand drawn logo from 1981. Printed on 100% cotton grown in the US, these are high quality shirts.

And do come visit us in the TFB Garden. We’re open daily for breakfast and lunch and offer a delightful assortment of espresso drinks and fresh baked goods until we run out. It's beautiful this time of year under the oak tree and we'd love to see you.

You order lunch for your office - we've got great box lunch options.

And finally, please check our website for more ways to support Texas French Bread.