I tried French Toast for the very first time last
weekend. I thought that it sounded like
the perfect breakfast on an early Saturday morning and a nice way to reward
myself for getting up early and going to the eye doctor. (Who knew that eye doctors were open early on
a Saturday!) My favorite breakfast place, Weck’s, is in the same shopping
center as the eye doctor so it worked out perfectly.
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| French Toast and bacon at Weck's |
Everyone probably knows that French Toast is basically bread
dipped in egg batter and then cooked
in a skillet. It was served with powdered sugar sprinkled
on the top and little container of butter on the side.
I was surprised that the waitress also put a small container of maple
syrup next to the plate and even asked if I wanted more syrup. I didn’t realize that the dish was supposed
to be so sweet.
I was a little disappointed that the French Toast was so bland on its own. I really did need the maple syrup and even
the butter to give it some life, some taste.
Because it was basically fried
bread, I expected it to be crispy on the outside instead of so
soft. Once the syrup was added to it,
the whole plate became a mushy maybe even gushy mess. I love the taste of maple and who doesn’t
love syrup, so this isn’t really a complaint, just an observation.
I’ve never had French Toast before, so I don’t have a point
of reference, but it did remind me of something my mom used to make for me and
my sister. We called it Skillet
Toast. Keep in my mind that I was
allergic to eggs and milk growing up, so my mom had to get creative with
feeding us breakfast. She took a piece
of bread (probably Roman Meal) slathered
in dairy free margarine (probably Country Crock) and put it butter side down in
a hot skillet. She would let it sizzle
until it was a golden brown and crispy, sometimes even hard. She usually put a jar of strawberry jelly on
the table, but it was needed.
The crispy Skillet Toast was perfect all on its own. It took on the flavor of the margarine,
somehow sweet and salty all at the same time.
Mom usually made this when we went to our cabin in the mountains. We had an interesting toaster that sat on the
range of the stove, not an electric toaster like we have now. The contraption worked really well, but dried
out the bread into crackers instead of toast.
The Skillet Toast was a much more appreciated alternative. (Of course, if I were to make this today, I would have to use different bread and butter to accommodate the unwelcome soy allergy.)
Skillet Toast somehow tasted even better in the mountains. The cold, crisp morning air, the brighter than bright blue sky, a sun filled grassy yard, and the slight smell
of damp pine needles brought a natural promise to the day ahead. The warmth emanating from the skillet and the sweet
smell of frying bread brought smiles to our faces and accentuated that promise. I don’t think
that French Toast had a chance at competing with that vivid memory.
