French Toast or Skillet Toast?

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. 

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.