X French Toast
Good french toast… like really good french toast… is about 25% quality of your bread (brioche, please, mmm) and 75% technique. The technique isn’t difficult but it is a bit time consuming. And it is best executed alongside bacon (let’s be honest, what isn’t at its best with bacon?). This french toast came to me by way of a circuitous route, but it is here to stay (story below). It is thick-cut, only mildly sweet, and pairs well with deep maple and salty bacon.
what you need
1 loaf challah bread (or bread of choice, but I strongly recommend challah)
5 eggs
1 1/2 cups whole milk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
2 tablespoons raw granulated sugar
the zest of 1 lemon
2 teaspoons freshly grated nutmeg
1 package bacon (if desired) OR 3 tablespoons salted butter
**cooking note: while this recipe calls for bacon and brioche, I recently made this more quickly with some leftover sliced baguette from a party. The lemon and nutmeg really elevate the flavor even if you don’t go all in on the bacon-and-brioche method. The result is in the title image.
how to make it
About half an hour before you’re ready to cook, beat eggs, milk, cinnamon, sugar, and vanilla together. Slice the middle of the challah loaf into four thick pieces (about 1 inch wide). Arrange the slices in a deep dish pan and pour the egg mixture over the slices, careful to coat each. Let stand for 15 minutes. Flip each slice and let stand for another 15 minutes. In this interim time, cook up your bacon in a large pan stovetop and set aside.
Pour bacon grease into a cup for disposal but leave the grease residue in the bottom of the pan (if not using bacon, melt the salted butter in the pan over low/medium heat). Sprinkle half the lemon zest and nutmeg into the butter as it melts. Place all four slices of bread in the pan once completely heated and do not move them (you are looking to get a solid sear/char on the bread as you would a piece of meat). Sprinkle remaining lemon zest and nutmeg over top. Cook on lowest possible heat setting for 12 minutes. Your goal here is SLOW and LOW. Low heat; slow cook time.
If the pan looks a bit dry, add a small pat of butter to the center before flipping the slices. Flip each slice and, again, do not move the slices around. Cook on the second side for 12 minutes. At this time, flip each slice and press down on each slice firmly. Cook for an additional 5-8 minutes, until both sides are brown.
Serve with warm maple syrup, a dollop of plain (unsweetened) Greek yogurt, and the side of bacon.
Backstory
We’ve all got one (or several). Well, most of us do. An ex. My exes have left breadcrumbs along the trail of my life – songs that represented our partnership, local hangouts to which I was hesitant to return after our parting, favorite t-shirts I no longer wanted to wear. But none so powerful, so moving, so unforgettable as this. french. toast.
So, (as all good stories are wont to begin), there was this guy…
He was a great guy, a smart guy, a guy who was additive in many ways to my already busy and complicated life. He did many things that were helpful like hang pictures straight (for the chick with ZERO spatial reasoning) and advise on car specifications and scotch selection. He did many things that were sweet, like clean my house and make me jewelry. But at the end of one particularly cold February day, we left our sushi nights behind and went our separate ways – such is life – both all the more wiser. When someone exits your life, by choice or by instruction, a hole remains that is difficult to fill until a new routine is formed – new music played in the car, new Tuesday night haunts, and, in this case, new mid-morning brunches. Because this man made me french toast. all. the. time. He made homemade, from scratch, brioche french toast with bacon, and cleaned my kitchen when he was finished.
After we parted ways, I found myself craving the ex-boyfriend french toast. The puffiest, crispiest, briochiest french toast drowned in legitimate maple syrup, the batter for which was not imposingly sweet, that kept me full for 8 hours given the equal balance of carbohydrates and protein (5 eggs, milk, yogurt, and bacon all to balance out that bread/syrup combo). So, naturally, I started ordering from the local diners. “One order of french toast, please. Hold the syrup (I’ll use my own).” Nothing compared. So I started trying to make the french toast myself, re-creating the method I had watched him execute in my kitchen over the course of months. The result was disastrous. Soggy french toast. Burnt french toast (but somehow still soggy). Overly sweet french toast. Bland french toast.
It took months of practice – of perfecting, re-creating, re-perfecting, and experimentation to nail it. It has two secrets: 1) low and slow, and 2) cook it in bacon grease. And now, I proudly present to the world, my mastered, ‘moved-on,’ ex-boyfriend French Toast. I hope it brings you all the Sunday morning joy without the heartache of a broken relationship. Next up, queue the Jack Johnson for high school Banana Chocolate Chip Pancakes…
