This morning, I was served up some fantastic homemade French toast.
There’s a lot to be said for the perfect breakfast, and in particular, the perfect Saturday morning breakfast. I’m decidedly biased in favor of the way I was raised, but with that disclaimer: I feel like it’s an indicator of a good family when there’s a dad in the household who has a strong command of breakfast-making.
My dad will enthusiastically “fry you an egg” (he can’t help it, it’s hereditary) or make a stack of pancakes. Likewise, Mr. Stephens often executes a fantastic breakfast spread. I’m particularly fond of his fried eggs, but today I was impressed with his mad French toast-making skills.
On Thursday, we stopped at Serenity Farm Bread in Leslie, Arkansas (a subject for a separate article) on the way home from an Independence Day visit to see friends at the Ozark Folk Center in Mountain View.
I was enthusiastic about the stop, and we picked up sourdough cookies (the chocolate chip walnut was great, the oatmeal raisin less so), small pizzas and loaves of bread. The brick oven did not disappoint, but the visit was a bit less idyllic than I’d hoped. Chalk it up to day-after-the-holiday-and-I’m-at-work blues, but I had hoped for a little more enthusiasm from the baker and ambiance overall.
Anyway: we enjoyed the bread with cheese & farmers’ market tomatoes for dinner, and it was resurrected into French toast this morning. Served up with our typical summer iced coffees in mason jars next to a newspaper on the front porch before the heat grew stifling, it started my morning perfectly.
Here’s to the leisurely mornings with good food, drink and company.