French Toast

While we're in bread mode (yes, I'm still thinking bread over here), I have a confession to make.

I love French toast.

I mean really really really love it.

But not just any French toast will do. It has to be homemade with French bread (or Italian or whatever other kind of loaf I pick up from the grocery store bakery). Because for some reason, if it's made with regular bread, French toast isn't all that interesting to me. A bit too soggy and a bit too boring, I guess.

It's only on my to-eat list when it looks like this. (These are baby French toasts. But I'm an equal opportunity eater so I adore the big pieces too.)

And when it looks like this, I'll eat a lot of it. A lot. When I was younger and My Mom would make French toast occasionally on the weekends, I'd eat nearly a whole loaf worth of it myself. (Fortunately, no one else in my family loves French toast quite as much as me, so they didn't protest too loudly when I ate more than my fair share.)

Now, from time to time I make it for myself. (French toast with a side of fresh fruit is pretty much the best weekend breakfast ever, in my world anyway.)

And, perhaps best of all, making French toast is about as easy can be. Get a pan nice and warm. Whisk an egg or two and some milk together. Dip each side of the sliced bread in the egg mixture and plop it in the pan until it's golden-brown; then flip the bread over to cook the other side. See? Easy. No need to get all fancy.

Once the French toast is done there are only two things separating me from devouring it: butter and powdered sugar. Go ahead, spread a generous layer of butter over each piece and watch it melt into the bread. Then hurry and sprinkle powdered sugar on each slice. Don't be stingy. Add a bit more. It won't kill you—it'll just make you happier.

That's it. Then it's time to eat. Yes, you heard that (or, rather, didn't hear that) right: I don't eat syrup on my French toast.

It's My Mom's fault. This is how she ate her toast when I was younger and now it's how I eat mine too. Like mother, like daughter (in so many things besides French toast eating, but we'll get into that later).

I won't hold it against you if you go to town with the syrup on yours. I promise. But try one—just once, just for me—with just butter and powdered sugar.


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