French Toast

I am a firm believer that if a person does not love breakfast they do not love life. Maybe those people who do agree are morning people. The morning is a magical time of the day. There is stillness, a peacefulness that captivates the dwelling. As I walk across the house, room to room, hoping not to wake anyone else, I make my way directly to the kitchen. I automatically make coffee because my very happiness and sanity depends on it. And then, robe and slippers and coffee and all, I look outside and thank God for the day. After a few moments, I slide back into the kitchen and with as little noise as possible make a beautiful breakfast. One of my favorites is French toast. I remember watching my Paw-Paw make French toast. He made his with a copious amount of sugar, which satisfies any Southerners sweet tooth. The smell of cinnamon and butter cooking together brings me back to the mornings with Grannie and Paw-Paw. They made breakfast a special time. It was in that one moment that we spent time together before the chaos of the day began. So as I stand there, spatula in one hand and coffee in the other, I am reminded of home and thankful for the privilege of passing down this tradition of family.

 

 

Recipe: Serves 6

 12 slices of bread

6 eggs

1 cup of milk

½ cup of white sugar

¼ cup of brown sugar

1 teaspoon of vanilla

2 teaspoons of cinnamon

2 tablespoons of butter

Whisk eggs, milk, sugars, vanilla, and cinnamon together. Heat a nonstick skillet on medium heat and add just a little of the butter. Soak the pieces of bread in the egg mixture, just two at a time. Cook the bread in the skillet just until the bread is crispy on the outsides. Serve immediately.

* I usually make a tester piece of bread, just in case I feel a little more sweet, vanilla-y or cinnamon-y that particular day! It has to meet my standards.

 

 

Pancakes

 

If you were to walk into my grandmother’s kitchen, open the white cabinet door closest to the oven, you would find a pancake recipe scotched taped to the inside of the door. This very loved piece of paper symbolizes my Saturday mornings. My sister, Hope, and I spent every Friday night at our grandparent’s house. We would wake up bright and early on Saturday morning. There were two rules: we could never change out of our pajamas until after breakfast, there could never be too much syrup or butter applied to our pancakes.  Grandma used a green bowl to mix the batter in and a ¼ measuring cup to pour the thick batter into the hot pan. Grandma was a magician with pancakes. Before I knew it, there was a stack as tall as my face waiting at the bar for us. It probably seemed like magic because my sister and me were too busy making the syrup bottle talk. It was always a hyper fellow because it had too much sugar in its belly.

My grandmother is one of the happiest people that I know. She seemed especially happy at breakfast making these pancakes. I remember her waving around the spatula in the air while saying, “Praise the Lord!”. So here’s to grandma, here’s to Saturday mornings, and here’s to bisquick: just like grandma. Praise the Lord!

 

Recipe: Serves 6

2 cups of bisquick (don’t judge me)

½ cup sugar

2 tsp. baking powder

2 eggs

1 cup of milk

2 Tbs. butter, melted

1 tsp. vanilla

 

Combine the bisquick, sugar and baking powder in a bowl. Add the eggs, milk, butter and vanilla to the mix. Put a non-stick pan over medium low heat. Use a gravy ladle to pour the batter into the hot pan. No butter needed because it is in the batter. Once bubbles have formed all over the pancake, gently flip. Repeat with the rest of the batter.