Strawberry Stuffed French Toast

Pain perdu.

"Lost bread."

That's what the French call this familiar breakfast dish.

Essentially, "lost" or stale bread is softened in an egg/milk/sugar mixture and then fried for a sweet, delectable, edible breakfast sensation.

That's not being lost. That's redemption.

Get ready. Hallmark-ish interlude in 5... 4... 3... 2...

Marriage, inasmuch as one person sacrificially serves the other, is extraordinarily redemptive. Perhaps that's why Lynn chose pain perdu for her wedding reception.

More than likely not.

But I'll link the two together for posting's sake.

As I mentioned in the last post, ten weddings popped up in my planner this year. 10+ friends whom I love and anticipate celebrating their day of matrimony.

A note for you:

Paje, Marybeth, Laura, Kristen, Lynn,
Emily, Tiffany, Courtney, Rachel, and Alexis:

Your wedding day will, of course, be an extraordinary day. But on that day, you cannot imagine the beautiful, life-altering, soul-shaping things ahead of you. This is just the beginning. I know you believe that you could not possibly love him more than you do right now. I understand that. I felt that. I was wrong. I'm not an expert on anything, and certainly not on marriage, but I'm here to tell you that what you feel on your wedding day is like dipping your toe in an ocean, and with every passing year, you swim farther and farther from the shore, unable, at a certain point, to see anything but water. This is just the beginning, and you can't imagine the love that will bloom between you over time.

You will cry together, laugh together, pray and dance and move furniture together. You will learn and unlearn things, make a home together, hurt each other's feelings without meaning to, and sometimes very much on purpose. You will learn over time that the heart of marriage is forgiveness. You will learn in the first six months how much forgiveness he requires, and then you will realize, in the six months after that, just how much forgiveness you yourself need.

Today is about the promise of the future and all the great moments of the past and, indeed, this beautiful present where you stand together, surrounded by people who love you and who are praying that your marriage is one of the great ones. It could be, you know, if you work hard and forgive often, and get over yourself and your selfishness over and over again. It could be one of the stories people tell, when they want to believe in love's power and life's richness. It could be one that your children and grandchildren tell each other, praying that someday they'll have a love like yours.

-Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet

So here's to french toast and redemption.

 

Strawberry Stuffed French Toast

Food creds: The Girl Who Ate Everything

Ingredients:

         Filling:

            2 T unsalted butter, softened

            4 oz cream cheese, softened

            1 1/2 T strawberry preserves or jam

            1 cup diced strawberries

            4 thick slices challah, French, or Italian bread

         Egg Batter:

            6 extra-large eggs

            1 T cinnamon

            1/4 tsp nutmeg

            2 T sugar

            1 tsp vanilla

            1 cup milk

         Breading: (optional)

            1 1/2 cups crushed cornflakes

            1 cup sliced almonds

Directions:

         1. Combine butter and cream cheese in a medium-sized bowl until creamy.

         2. Add strawberry preserves until thoroughly mixed. Fold in diced strawberries.

         3. Cut bread into 4 thick slices. Make an incision in the top about 3/4 of the way through the bread. You've now made a cavity for filling the bread with the cream cheese mixture.

         4. Gently spoon into the cavity 1/4 of the mixture. Keep the stuffed bread refridgerated while preparing the batter and breading.

         5. In a bowl, beat eggs, cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar, vanilla, and milk until well combined. Set aside.

         6. If using the breading, combine then spread cornflakes and almonds on a baking sheet.

         7. Dip slices of bread in batter (20 seconds each side). Then dip into breading.

         8. Add a few tablespoons of butter to a medium-high heated skillet. Once the butter has melted, place the bread slices into the pan and brown on both sides.

Plate it. Syrup it. Dust some powdered sugar on it

And let the love of lost things be made new. Inside.your.mouth.

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Baked Blueberry French Toast

People keep getting married.

Last year's record was six weddings. April through October. Wedding season now extends half the year. Six months of "I do's" and gift registries and bouquet tosses and ring bearers being coaxed to make it down the aisle by Aunt Trudy in the front row.

But still, I love weddings. So I don't complain too much about my fridge door looking like a Papryus store display board.

I love the variety. I've attended ceremonies ranging from traditional to modern; upscale to shabby chic. Weddings held in a church, a barn, a country club, by a pool, an estate lawn, the beach, and a field. Catholic, Baptist, Methodist, and Pentecostal. Military. Greek. Justice of the Peace. Age-old recited vows and hand-written. Receptions with DJs, live bands, iPod playlists hooked up to speakers, and some with no dancing at all. Princess gowns to hand-me-downs with a few modern tweaks.

No matter the details, the mishaps, the crazy grandmas or slightly creepy third-cousin of the groom's uncle's half-sister who keeps eyeing you at the punch table, every wedding ends the same: two people become one. And that is beautiful.

And so this year I've outdone myself. Ten weddings. TEN. Like, I need to use every single finger on both hands to count the number of dresses and pairs of shoes I'm gonna have to buy in order to attend these marital celebrations. I even pulled a 27 Dresses-moment and went to three weddings in one weekend. I suppose I just love mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam.

So when my friend and housemate, Lynn, asked if I could make a few of the dishes for her breakfast-themed reception, I was all like hand me a spatula and some cooking spray!

French toast. x2.

First up:



Baked Blueberry French Toast

Food creds: Tasty Kitchen



Ingredients:

         1 loaf challah, Italian, or French bread

         8 eggs

         2 cups milk

         2 tsp. vanilla

         1/2 cup brown sugar (divided)

         1/2 tsp. nutmeg

         1 tsp. cinnamon

         1/4 tsp. salt

         4 T. butter

         1 cup chopped pecans (optional)

         2 cups blueberries (fresh or frozen)

Directions:

         1. Preheat oven to 375°. Grease a baking dish (I used 9x13). 

         2. Cut bread loaf into cubes and place in baking dish.

         3. Beat together eggs, milk, vanilla, 1/4 cup brown sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and salt. 

         4. Pour egg batter over bread cubes and press bread down gently to absorb most of the mixture.

         5. Melt butter with remaining 1/4 cup of brown sugar. Mix well and then drizzle over bread.  

         6. If using pecans, sprinkle over top. Finally, top with blueberries just before putting in the oven.

         7. Bake for 45 minutes. Serve with syrup.

You're turning violet, Violet!
a.k.a. blueberry sweat

Stay tuned for french toast #2...

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Coconut Mango Quinoa

I get obsessive sometimes.

Hi.


Does that make you nervous?

You totally don't need to worry. It's mostly about things, not people.

Not that you aren't awesome enough to obsess over. ... But, yeah.


I have compulsions to love a thing into a state of unfashionableness.

Justin Bieber's acoustic album has been my office jam for an unhealthy length of time. I bob my head to it. My shoulders sway a little. It helps me type. Do people look quizzically at me? Not sure. I'm in my zone. It's a Biebs thing.

Confession: last summer I listened to Fergie's "Big Girls Don't Cry" (the extended version) for a solid week while writing my first grad paper. No joke. Repeat. Over and over again. Contradiction and a half: I totally cried. Maybe big girls don't need to cry, but grad students sure do.

I could watch You've Got Mail every night of the week and function just like any other normal variety-movie-watching person. My mother coined the term "feel good movie" when I watched Baby Boom with her for the zillionth time. For her, it's Diane Keaton all the way. As for me, a lover of books, coffee, and NYC, it will always be Joe Fox (F-O-X) and Kathleen Kelly.

And don't get me started on the bean burgers I made all.summer.long. Soooo good. Though, tasty as they are, no one should really have an obsession with anything containing beans as the main ingredient. Just sayin.

I don't ever remember eating slash seeing slash knowing what a mango was when I lived in PA. Ever.

What?! I dunno. It just doesn't exist in my food memory. 

My fruit world was rocked about two summers ago when my friend Kim introduced me to my new food obsession. Mangos. Mangooooos.

Their technicolor skin and invisible seed are both intimidating and enticing. I really have yet to conquer the "hey, I'm ripe!" stage of a mango. What is that? When does that happen? Though I've nailed the "do that pineapple thang on my hidden stone seed" maneuver. Oh, mango, you enthrall me.

Coconut cousins | shredded & milk

Coconut Mango Quinoa

Adapted from: Epicurious

Ingredients:
         1. 1 cup uncooked quinoa
         2. 1 can coconut milk
         3. 1/4 cup Stevia OR 3/4 cup brown sugar
         4. 1 tsp. salt
         5. 4 ripe mangos
         6. shredded coconut for topping
         7. green onions, chopped, for garnish

Directions:
         1. Cook quinoa according to package directions. Set aside.
         2. In a medium saucepan, heat coconut milk over medium heat until
             hot but not boiling. Add sugar and salt and stir until dissolved.
             Remove from heat.
         3. Add 1 cup of coconut milk mixture to quinoa. Stir and let sit for 20 minutes
             so the quinoa can absorb the flavor.
         4. Meanwhile cut mangos into small pieces. (If you're unsure how this
             is done, check out this short video).
         5. Serve quinoa in individual bowls. Add mango pieces and drizzle more
             of the warm coconut milk mixture on top. Finish with some shredded
             coconut and chopped green onions.



Maybe these constant repetitions simply mean recognizing a good thing when you've come across it.

Maybe perpetuating goodness breeds familiarity.

I like familiarity.

And I certainly like a good mango.

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