French Toast – A Fleeting Reminiscence

Even today, almost two decades after his passing, it is still unclear to me if my father ever regarded himself as a simple, straightforward man with few affectations and a minimum of fuss. He certainly never gave any indications that he knew himself to be a very complicated and finicky person. I suspect he never thought about it; as that kind of self reflection was not important to him. Nor were his and our emotions, apparently.

Life with Dad was sweet as long as you rigorously abided by his rules without question or doubt. The rub laid in discovering what these rules were. Ironically he was very good at communicating on the issues that were important to him: the needs of his farm, the demands of his patriotism and the requirements of his Church and the congregation that he and we were members off. But on the touchy-feely and deep inside stuff? Well ...

Dad was also a proud man. Not prideful, arrogant or vain, but proud in an honest, down to earth manner that set him well apart from his contemporaries. For example: his pride demanded that effort and labour be put into the selection and preparation of the ingredients went into our food. He preferred his food honest and true to the nature of the ingredients – no embellishments or any “funny business”. Consequently we generally ate plainly, but we always ate well as Mom was an excellent and generous cook that took time (when it was available) over her preparations. Later on time always seemed in short supply; eaten up by the incessant demands of the farm and even later, devoured by constant worry over the farm and her family’s future.

Growing up in his house, we siblings were not used to French toast. In Dad's eyes it was peasant food and he was not a peasant. Yet I suspect Mom loved French toast and we had it for Saturday breakfast every once in a while as a small rebellion when Dad became too much. Of course there would still be the obligatory boerewors, brown gravy and stywe mieliepap (stiff maize porridge) for everyone, but to one side would be her elegant stainless steel serving platter with a stack of crunchy, well browned French toast. On these mornings, breakfast conversion would be muted as Dad did not hold with peasant food nor "foreign affectations", the unrepentant patriot that he was. Still, after breakfast, I would clearly notice the self satisfied and quiet air in the scullery as we assisted Mom with the dishes.

Mom did not serve her French toast with bacon or fried ham and syrup. She liked hers plain and rustic, maybe with some tomato sauce (ketchup for you Americans) or even fruity Mrs Balls' chutney. Anyway, Dad would've had something to say about fried bread, bacon and syrup. This you tried to avoid because his words would've had sharp teeth.

Mom’s French toast was invariably thinnish and crunchy outside, fried fairly quickly in her large AMC Classic steak pan over high heat. The thick bottomed pan induced a well browned, crisp exterior but an inevitably dry interior that demanded hefty doses ketchup or oodles of brown gravy. The best part of Mom's French toast was the blackened crunchy bits (BCB’s) that remained behind in the pan when she was finished – shockingly unhealthy, but oh so delectable. Even that renowned connoisseur of BCB’s, His Grace, The Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, would’ve approved enthusiastically.

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Xanadu Residence, I-Flat, 1989

The dining hall at Varsity residence introduced me to the worst of what French toast can be in the hands of incompetent or spiteful cooks. Every second Sunday breakfast was French toast day, Res style. And it was a trial to be avoided at all costs if you had celebrated hard the previous night, were desperately home sick or had any respect whatsoever left over for yourself.

Today I understand that Sunday meals at the Res were more than likely a weekly trial for the dining hall kitchen managers, having to feed several hundred perpetually hungry students and simultaneously working with a reduced staff compliment who was themselves none too pleased at being on weekend shift. In my virginal innocence the first time was quite a shock on my fragile psyche still very much at unease with the vagaries of Res life, the demeaning absurdities of Induction and the unsavoury behaviour of your fellow first year students suddenly released from the bonds of paternal discipline. It took several unbelieving Sundays those first weeks at Res to realise that dining hall style French toast was the deplorable norm and there was truly no hope nor salvation.

Today I wish I could go back in time and confront the catering company's dietitian who was tasked with setting up the fortnightly menus. I want to ask one simple question: "In the name of all that you hold dear and holy: WHY choose dear, dear FRENCH TOAST of all things?!" The answer would quite probably be that French toast was considered a simple and profit inflating breakfast option given the reduced and generally recalcitrant weekend kitchen staff they had to work with; and the lower than normal number of students staying in Res over weekends.

The dining hall kitchen perversely favoured dragging slices of thin, pre-cut commercial bread through an egg mixture that was more milk than beaten egg. These miserable things were then slapped in swathes onto too hot flattop grillers, already doused with too much oil, and fried until some colour just appeared before being stacked into bain-marie inserts and kept warm over hot water. At the serving stations, these rubbery, greasy atrocities were soggily plonked two at a time onto your cold, heavy duty plate and topped off at the next server with what I'm sure the kitchen manager fervently believed to be poached eggs, contrary to all physical evidence. In the dining hall, at your allotted table, you were confronted with crunchy peanut butter and an enviable choice between vinegary ketchup and or runny, commercial grade golden syrup. Unsurprisingly, attendance at French toast Sundays was always dismal and only the still near terminally inebriated, the truly and deeply desperate or those who fervently hated themselves, attended.

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For the receptive cook, being introduced to cooking on a gas stove or hob can be a life changing event on par with Saul’s Divine Epiphany on the ancient Damascus Road. Excellent French toast is simply so much easier – and considerably faster – to achieve on gas than electrical stoves. Then again, what constitutes excellent French toast is a set of personal values deep-seated in the soul and eyes of the beholder.

I am not ashamed to admit that I have many kitchen and food affectations and often make a great deal of fuss over the seemingly inconsequential. After all, I am the sum of both my parents’ worst and best qualities. However, I am proud to report that I am significantly less fussy about other important aspects of my life than Dad ever was. Possibly this count as a measure of generational improvement?

My demands for excellent French toast are:

Preferably two day old whole loaf white bread, hand sliced to at least thumb thickness. Even thicker if the loaf is very fresh.
One extra large egg per slice, well beaten, with one tablespoon each of milk and water per egg.
Viciously attacking each slice of bread with a long tined fork, perforating it thoroughly all over to ensure maximum absorption and penetration of egg mixture into the interior of each slice.
Thoroughly soaking the bread over several languid turns in the beaten egg mixture until all the liquid has been absorbed. This operation may take a while depending on how fresh the eggs are. Very fresh eggs have viscous whites and the egg mixture takes longer to be absorbed. For older, runnier eggs this process may be surprisingly fast, leaving the inattentive cook with one ‘well egged’ side and the other only sparingly covered. This is to be avoided as it will upset the rhythms of your process.
Leisurely frying the egged slices no more than two at a time in a covered, well seasoned blue steel crepe or omelette pan over a medium-low flame. Use a rectangular grill plate for larger quantities. Cover the frying slices with a suitably sized aluminium take away dish.
Frying with the minimum quantity of an equal mixture of butter and sunflower oil. Finding what the minimum quantity for your specific pan is will require some trial and error. C'est la vie.
Serving the French toast (and its accompaniments) on a thoroughly warmed plate winter or summer. This is non-negotiable!

: French Toast Frying On Griddle Plate, Landscape Orientation

In my experience the trick to preparing excellent French toast comes in the ability to fry those thick, egg soaked slices slowly enough to develop a well browned, slightly crunchy surface on both sides yet achieving a soft, marshmallow-like interior and where the very centre of each slice has an almost pillowy texture of just set savoury egg custard. Too tall an order? Not really, it merely takes some patient practice, the near instantaneous variability of a gas flame and almost constant attention. As with all truly simple things, excellence and affectations require endeavour and hard work.

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What to put on top of, and serve with, your French toast is naturally a deeply subjective and personal matter. A tangy, good quality sweet chilli sauce on top and well-fried slices of tomato (as green as possible) on the side are my favourite accompaniments. In a pinch, a mild, Portuguese style peri-peri sauce redolent of red wine vinegar, bay leaf and lemon juice will also do. Good quality tinned baked beans, with a dash of balsamic vinegar added, is also a favoured side for those mornings where extra substance is on the Agenda.

A few remarks on fried tomato slices: Dad also had an inordinate love of fried tomatoes. He preferred his very ripe yet still firm (preferably freshly picked), sliced fairly thin and fried until mushy. I – a slave to my predilections – prefer mine as green as possible and thick sliced, fried slowly on a bare minimum of sunflower oil until they start to caramelise and colour on the surface. The pan should be covered initially until the jelly surrounding the pips start to bubble. Possession of a sturdy glass lid in your collection is essential for this step. Thereafter the tomatoes can carry on uncovered. Also, don't turn the tomato slices too often or they will go mushy and messy. Don't crowd the pan either, or the slices will boil initially instead of frying from the start. The slices will be ready when the tomato skin starts pulling away from the cut edges and rolling in on itself. And finally, to reiterate: use firm tomatoes as green as you can find. They yield a tangy, sweetish savoury product with some mild texture and bite resistance that makes a world of difference to the taste and flavour of French toast.

See? I told you I am fussy about certain things.

To conclude this travail of self inflicted punctiliousness: Show yourself and your dining companion/s some sincere respect by serving French toast on pre-warmed plates? There are no truer signs of high civilization than hot & milky sweet tea; dainty ice cubes and pre-warmed porcelain dinner plates. I have a decrepit old aluminium milk pan that always lives in close proximity to my gas hob, almost like an ancient and anxious remora fish perpetually scrambling to keep up. Its sole reason for being? To boil water for steaming my plate prior to dishing up. Multiple plates, you savage you, go into a low oven until needed.

Then, when all is present; ready and correct, dive in and luxuriate in the ballet of contrasts in tastes and textures in your mouth. And afterwards? Sit back and realise Life may indeed be very, very good.

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FRENCH TOAST

– PRINT RECIPE –

Recipe yields:

1 Portion

Preparation time:

± 5 Minutes

Cooking time:

± 10 Minutes

Difficulty level:

Very easy

Special Equipment Required:

1 x 25cm Blue steel crepe pan or skillet, well seasoned.

1 x Domed lid for the above pan.

1 x Old style long tined fork.

Ingredients:

Fresh white bread slices, cut thumb thickness	2

Full cream milk	30ml
Water	30ml
BBQ Spice	2.5ml
Garlic powder	2.5ml
Pink Himalayan salt	± 2ml
Fine black pepper	1ml
Eggs, extra large	2

Butter	5ml
Sunflower oil	5ml

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Method:

Use the fork to thoroughly pierce each slice all over on both sides to allow maximum uptake of the egg liquid.
Combine the milk, water, garlic powder, salt and pepper in a suitable bowl. Whisk thoroughly to combine.
Add the eggs and whisk vigorously to combine all the ingredients.
Pour the egg mixture into a rectangular tray large enough to simultaneously hold the two slices of bread comfortably.
Add the bread slices and frequently lift the short edges of each slice alternately to allow egg liquid to run in underneath each slice and soak in. Turn the slices when approximately half of the egg liquid is absorbed. Repeat the lifting and soaking procedure for the other side.
Add the butter and oil to the pan over medium heat and swirl to cover the pan’s bottom. Add the egg soaked slices when the butter mixture is hot and starts foaming. Pour any remaining egg liquid evenly over the top of each slice. Put the lid on and fry.
Fry approximately 2 – 3 minutes per side, covered, until well browned and each slice is puffed up in the middle. If unsure about doneness, cut into the center of each slice and check for liquid egg. Fry another minute or two, if necessary, turning frequently.
Serve immediately on hot, pre-warmed plates.

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Comments:

The thicker the slices the more liquid will be absorbed. Reduce the heat to medium low for very thick slices and fry longer until done. Check frequently to prevent excessive surface browning before the insides are done.
Don’t add the milk and water first to the eggs, beating it together, and then the spices. The viscosity of the egg mixture will be too great, causing the spices to clump and disperse unevenly.

– RECIPE INDEX PAGE –

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