Weekly Dish

Did you have black-eyed peas and cabbage for your New Year’s meal? We did — twice, in fact; once, prepared by some friends who invited us over on the actual first, and Thursday too, because I had already bought the fixings for the traditional peas, cabbage, and cornbread.

This might sound strange to those who know me well, as I have never been a lover of either peas or cabbage. I have learned to fix them to my liking, though, mostly because my husband loves them so — the cabbage, I braise with a green apple and red onion, while the peas get a more Tex-Mex treatment: garlic, jalapeno, cumin, and chile powder. Perhaps not as traditional as it could be, but a definite improvement for me and my finicky relationship with both legumes and cruciferous vegetables.

Even if I have learned to like them this way, the whole time I was braising the cabbage and stirring the peas this year, I couldn’t stop thinking about salad. Oh, yes, it was in the twenties outside, frigid for this part of the world, even in January. And I enjoyed my hot meal of cabbage, peas, and cornbread, which we topped with poached eggs, just fine. After it was over, though, I was still thinking about what those ingredients would taste like in salad form, despite the chill in the air.

So salad it was, for dinner last night, a panzanella of sorts, modified with southern ingredients, particularly those considered lucky to eat on the first of the year. The pepper jelly vinaigrette softened the cornbread croutons and jazzed up the cabbage, while the goat cheese melted into the creamy peas in a way I wouldn’t have expected (I’m imagining the peas in dip form, blended with goat cheese…) to make a salad that was surprisingly tasty. In case you have some of these spare parts rumbling around in your fridge, post-New Year’s, here’s a delicious way to use them up. And it just might make you doubly lucky to boot.

New Year’s Cornbread Panzanella with Hot Pepper Jelly Vinaigrette

These proportions will make two dinner-sized salad. If you have a heartier eater on your hands, I think bacon or ham would work well to up the caloric anty; a poached or fried egg would also sit nicely atop this meal.

2 cups cornbread, cut into cubes
Olive oil
1 cup black-eyed peas*, cooked and cooled
1 T. red onion, finely chopped
2 cups green cabbage, sliced into ribbons
1 ounce goat cheese
Hot Pepper Jelly Vinaigrette (recipe follows)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Toss the cornbread cubes with olive oil and toast them in the hot oven for about 20 minutes (or as long as it takes to chop everything else and mix up the dressing).

To assemble: lay the cabbage ribbons in a single layer on two plates. Top each pile of cabbage with cornbread croutons, peas, and red onion. Divide the goat cheese into two equal portions, and crumble it on top of each salad. Drizzle with dressing.

*I used frozen peas that had been cooked in water for about 25 minutes, but I think leftover peas, cooked as you like them, would work too.

Hot Pepper Jelly Vinaigrette

1 clove garlic, minced
3 T. hot pepper jelly
1/4 cup cider vinegar
Squeeze of lemon
1/4 cup olive oil
Salt, to taste

Whisk together the garlic, pepper jelly, vinegar, and lemon. Pour in the oil in a slow steady stream, whisking vigorously until well-incorporated. Salt to your liking.

Last fall, David and I bought an orange tree to plant in our yard, next to the Meyer lemon tree he bought for the first birthday I celebrated in Baton Rouge, right under our bedroom windows. We’d just found out that I was pregnant with Josie, and the tree planting felt symbolic somehow, a visible reminder of the life I was busy growing inside of me. Oh, I know, I’m such an English teacher — my students would tell you that I find everything symbolic. Still, the orange tree meant something. Something important, even if just to me.

When we bought it, the man at the nursery told us that citrus trees are generally safe to plant here because it only freezes in southern Louisiana about once every ten years. Citrus trees don’t like to be frozen.

The winter after we bought our orange tree (and many other non-freeze-tolerating plants), only the second winter we’d lived here, it froze. Twice. The hibiscus leaves shriveled, the elephant ears bowed their heads to the ground, and the basil finally kicked the bucket. But the citrus trees, especially the orange tree, I was determined to protect. During the week of the freeze, David would scamper outside before we went to bed, and stake up bedsheets to cover the little still-green shrubs. Every morning, I’d wake up and look out the windows to see if I could tell if they were still alive. And every morning, they were.

So, when they blossomed in the spring, basking our backyard in a sweet, flowery aroma, just weeks before my due date, my attachment grew stronger. I photographed them and talked to them and breathed in their heady scent with a sentimentality that is probably particular to women in the third trimester of pregnancy.

And, as the rules of nature dictate, the flowers eventually gave way to tiny round green globes, and Josie made her way from inside my belly out into the big bright world.

Once the oranges were there, hanging from the branches, they didn’t do much deserving of notice. They were growing, to be sure, and every so often, I’d glance out the window and think, “Wow, those are really getting bigger.” Unlike the care they required to keep them alive during the freeze, or the showy way their flowers demanded attention with their unmistakable scent, the little green oranges grew inconspicuously, day by day, drinking up the sunlight and water they needed to ripen.

Until, one day a few weeks ago, they seemed ready to be picked. I took my basket outside, gathered the small, orange orbs, and brought them into my kitchen. I ate a couple of them just as they were, but they don’t have the most exciting flavor. They are sweet, but subtly so, and not very acidic. The scent of the zest, however, is overpoweringly orange-y, so I grated it all, and started trying to decide what to do with it.

David went through a scone phase over the summer — he tends to bake in frenzied sprees: first, there were muffins, then cookies and biscuits and bread, and, for a while, scones. I remembered that he made the orange chocolate chip ones from Once Upon a Tart…, and they were good, but we agreed that the chocolate overwhelmed the delicate orange flavor, and made them quite rich for breakfast.

So, with the zest and juice from our newly harvested oranges, we made scones, buttery, soft scones with a lovely whisper of orange in every bite. As we sat on our deck this past Saturday, nibbling scones made from our first oranges and watching our giggly baby, now almost seven months old, I was reminded that the emergence of life is at once the most ordinary and the most remarkable event, no matter how expected or natural or commonplace.

And so it is with food, it seems, as our daily existence requires that we fuel our bodies with what the earth produces, or some variant of it, but that act, the act of feeding ourselves and each other, however everyday and routine, can possess great magic. Perhaps I am imbuing a simple scone with more meaning that it deserves, but I have to tell you, as I sat with people I love, eating food that my hands had made from ingredients our little patch of earth had grown, I felt a sense of connectedness and joy that I don’t find in many other areas of life. As the busy, harried holiday season is gaining speed, I hope that you will find a way to share a little food magic with people you love. And, if you happen to want that magic to come in the form of a scone, I highly recommend this one.

It is, after all, the season for both citrus and sharing. Happy magic-making to all!

Orange Scones

4 cups all-purpose flour
4 t. baking powder
1 t. salt
1 cup sugar
1/4 t. freshly grated nutmeg
3 sticks butter, diced
4 large eggs
1 t. vanilla extract
1/2 t. almond extract
1/2 cup freshly squeezed orange juice*
1/4 cup orange zest (loosely packed strips)*
2 T. orange marmalade (optional)**

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, and nutmeg until well-mixed. Add the butter and work it into the dry ingredients with a pastry blender. Be careful not to over-mix; you just want to blend until there aren’t visible traces of the butter and the mixture looks like little round crumbs. (Jerome and Frank say to do this in a food processor, but we don’t have one big enough.)

Toss the orange zest with the flour and butter (I use my hands; you just want the zest to get evenly distributed).

In a small bowl, whisk the eggs, and then stir in the vanillla, almond extract, orange juice, and the marmalade, if using. Pour this mixture on top of the buttery crumbs, and fold, just until the dough sticks together and the flour has disappeared. (Jerome and Frank recommend a wooden spoon for this job; I like to use a sturdy spatula). Watch carefully to prevent over-mixing. As my friend Tee will tell you, over-mixing makes for a tough baked good. (And just in case you’re put in charge of mixing in his kitchen, be very careful! He hates to see anything over-mixed, much to the amusement of his wife, Kathryn, who probably over-mixes just to annoy him.)

Spoon the dough onto the parchment-lined baking sheets in scant 1/2-cup rounds (about a palmful of dough from my hands). Make sure to leave space between the scones, as they will spread as they bake. You may have to bake in batches, depending on the size of your baking sheets. Bake for 18-24 minutes, or until the tops are golden and the edges are beginning to brown. Serve immediately. Baked scones are only good for the next couple of days, but the batter will keep in the fridge for at least a week. We usually bake 4 at a time until the batter is gone. It will make about 12 scones.

*You’ll need about 3 medium-sized oranges or 2 large ones for the zest and juice; I use the long strips of zest you get from using a claw zester.

**We’ve made the scones with the marmalade and without (it’s not something I keep in my fridge), and I can’t really tell a difference, so I’ll leave it out from now on.

–Adapted from Once Upon a Tart… by Frank Mentesana and Jerome Audureau

Clearly, I have been cooking a lot of sweet potatoes lately. My love for the orange tubers has never been a secret on this site, but lately, it has gotten ridiculous. We tend to eat a lot of them anyway, but since Josie has started her first solid food in the last few weeks, it seems like there is always mashed sweet potato in the fridge.

Inspired by these pumpkin waffles and these whole wheat pumpkin pancakes, I made use of a leftover sweet potato in these whole wheat waffles last weekend. Coincidentally, it happened to be the day after I made the holiday cranberries, so that’s what went on top. With a side of sausage, it made a fabulous fall breakfast. So good, in fact, that I mixed up a batch of waffle batter to take with us on the road. If there happens to be leftover cranberry sauce, it will make a perfect post-Thanksgiving brunch, but if not, these are good with maple syrup too.

I hope your Thanksgiving is filled with the blessings of good food and folks you love. That’s how we’re planning to spend ours, and I can’t wait. I’ll be back after the holiday!

Whole Wheat Sweet Potato Waffles

1 - 1 1/2 cups cooked, mashed sweet potato
1 cup buttermilk
3 eggs
1/2 t. vanilla
4 T. butter, melted
1 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 T. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
1 T. orange zest
1/2 t. grated nutmeg
2 T. brown sugar

Mix the mashed sweet potato, buttermilk, eggs, vanilla, and melted butter together in a small bowl. Sift together the dry ingredients in a separate bowl. Dump the wet ingredients into the center of the dry ones all at once and fold until just incorporated. Cook according to your waffle iron instructions and serve immediately. Makes 8-10 standard-sized waffles.

Dressing (not stuffing) is a staple at my family’s holiday events. My grandmother makes it every year, and every year, the aunts sit around and talk about how somebody needs to learn how to make it like she does (much like all of the other family recipes, there are no official written instructions).

So last Christmas, my sister and I followed Grandmother around the kitchen, snapping photos and scribbling down notes about what she was doing. This year, David’s brother and his wife are sharing Thanksgiving dinner with us, so Hannah and I are attempting to replicate the famous dressing.

I should say a word about southern cornbread dressing: it is not very similar to stuffings of other kinds. It’s more kin to a savory bread pudding, moistened by eggs and stock until it can be pressed into a dish, baked, and cut into squares. The oven browns the top into a lovely crunch, which gives way to a soft cloud of egg-enriched cornbread, flecked with celery, onion, and scallions.

I’m recording Grandmother’s instructions here, as Elizabeth and I observed, but after Hannah and I have attempted to follow them, I promise to update with more specifics. Grandmother’s been doing this so long, she can almost move around the kitchen combining ingredients blindfolded, so quantifying what she was doing was quite a challenge.

Grandmother’s Cornbread Dressing

1 batch cornbread (she makes it with buttermilk, but I don’t have the exact recipe. I’ll post the one Hannah and I use later, but Grandmother says the Jiffy mix works in a pinch)
Half of a bunch of celery
2 yellow onions
Olive oil and butter
Half a bunch of scallions or green onions
6 eggs
1 bag Pepperidge Farm stuffing
A handful of Saltine crackers, crackers
2 1/2 - 3 cups chicken or turkey stock (we roasted a chicken earlier in the week, so we would have homemade)
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Heat the oil and butter (enough to properly sweat the vegetables) in a skillet. Dice the celery and yellow onion, and slice the green onion, white and green parts. Saute the celery and onion in the oil and butter over medium-high heat until translucent. Add the green onions and cook for another minute or two.

In a large bowl, crumble up the cornbread. Beat the eggs and mix them in. Dump in the soft veggies, the stuffing mix, and the crushed crackers. Stir with a long-handled wooden spoon until well-combined.

Here comes the tricky part. You have to pour in the stock until the dressing reaches the “right” consistency. This is what it should look like (only half that quantity):

You can pour more stock on top of the dressing as it cooks if it looks like it’s getting to be too dry, but you want to be able to easily mold the mixture into a casserole dish. It should stick together without a problem, but you don’t want it to be soupy.

Press into a casserole, and bake for 45 minutes, or until it browns around the edges.

Recipe courtesy of the cutest, sweetest Grandmother I know (and my cute, sweet sister, Elizabeth, who helped record it):

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I made these yummy muffins for some new neighbors who moved in across the street a few weeks ago, and I’d been waiting for the right time to post about them. As soon as I heard Alanna’s idea for this month’s Sugar High Friday — Surprise Inside — I knew this recipe would do the trick.

The cake part of these muffins is buttery and dense, almost shortbread-esque, with a hint of almond. Once you take a bite, though, you get a burst of orange. A dollop of marmalade makes its way into the center of the muffin as you’re filling the muffin cups, but you’d never know it to look at these muffins from the outside once they’re baked. Which is one of the things I love about making them for other people — a real surprise!

The bittersweet tang of the marmalade plays perfectly against the buttery almond flavor of the muffins, and while these probably don’t serve as a particularly balanced nutritional breakfast, they make a delightful afternoon snack, especially with a warm cup of tea.

The best part about making them on the spur of the moment is that I usually have all of the ingredients already on hand — no trip to the store is necessary. The new neighbors must have liked them — they invited us over for drinks the next week!

Marmalade Muffins

2 1/2 cups unbleached flour
2/3 cup sugar
2 t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
1/2 stick butter, melted
2 large eggs
1/2 t. almond extract
1/2 cup sliced almonds
About a half cup orange marmalade

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Sift the dry ingredients together in a medium-sized bowl. In another bowl, whisk together the buttermilk and melted butter. Whisk in the eggs, and then stir in the almond extract. Add the dry ingredients to the wet all at once, folding until well-combined, but being careful not to overmix.

Grease a 12-cup muffin tin. Fill the cups half-full with the batter. Top the batter with about a teaspoonful of marmalade. Fill the cups the rest of the way full and sprinkle with the sliced almonds.

Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the tops are slightly brown. Cool before serving; the marmalade inside will be very hot!

–adapted from Muffins A-Z by Marie Simmons

Every cook has her own version of this Italian bread and tomato salad, I’m sure, but I’ve made this one so many times this summer, I had to share. I’m not a big fan of soggy bread, so I like to get my bread cubes nice and toasty, almost like croutons, and with the help of olive oil and some fresh garlic, the bread also packs quite a punch of flavor. Add some vegetables and a quick dressing, and you’ve got yourself a light summer supper.

One trick I’ve used in carting this salad to picnics or other events is to mix the dressing in the bottom of the bowl before you add everything else. That way, you can toss the salad whenever you get ready, and not worry about everything turning to mush.

Panzanella

1 small loaf French bread, or half of a long one, cubed
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/3 cup olive oil
1/2 t. + 1/2 t. Kosher or sea salt
1 yellow bell pepper, julienned
1 cucumber, seeded and sliced into half moons
1 large tomato, seeded and cubed
1 avocado, diced
Juice of half a lemon
Coarsely ground black pepper
1/4 cup champagne vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
1 T. dijon mustard

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with foil. Coat the bread cubes with olive oil, and spread in a single layer on the baking sheet. Sprinkle with 3 cloves of the minced garlic and the Kosher salt. Toast for about 15 minutes, stirring once during toasting, about half-way through.

In the bottom of a large salad bowl, whisk together the vinegar, mustard, and the remaining clove of garlic. Slowly whisk in the olive oil, stirring constantly to emulsify. Add the tomato, bell pepper, and cucumber pieces to the bowl. Sprinkle the avocado slices with lemon juice, and add them too. Salt the vegetables with the remaining half teaspoon of salt, and with coarse black pepper, if you like. If serving immediately, you can go ahead and toss the veggies with the dressing. If you plan to wait, then don’t toss it just yet.

Add the toasted bread crumbs last, tossing to coat with the dressing just before serving.

This recipe makes enough to serve 4 for a light supper, or 6-8 as a side. Either way, just eat it all; the salad will definitely be mushy by the next day.

Muffins are a wonderful lazy morning food, I think. You can throw them together without too much effort or thought, enjoy a nice cup of coffee while they bake, and then leisurely nibble one or two or three as the morning turns to noon, drinking more coffee all the while. And once you’ve made a dozen, then you have a quick on-the-go breakfast for those not-so-lazy mornings that unfortunately have become more the norm around here.

Heavy with carrot, coconut, and chunks of apples, these muffins are packed with more nutrients than most, making them fair game for ARF/5-a-Day Tuesdays over at Sweetnicks. They are dense, moist, and laced with the spicy kick of cinnamon. Grating the carrots takes some time by hand, but a whirl in the food processor will also do the trick. Other than that step, they come together pretty quickly, leaving plenty of time for you to enjoy your morning.

Carrot, Coconut, and Apple Muffins

2 cups flour
1 1/4 cups sugar plus extra for sprinkling
2 t. baking soda
1/2 T. ground cinnamon
1/2 t. salt
2 cups carrots, peeled and grated (about 4 large carrots)
1 apple, small-diced
1/3 cup sweetened flaked coconut
1/2 cup melted butter
1/2 cup vegetable or canola oil
3 large eggs
1 T. vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Grease a muffin tin and set aside.

In a large bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, soda, cinnamon, and salt. Add the grated carrots, diced apples, and the coconut; stir to blend.

In a smaller bowl, whisk together the butter, oil, and eggs. Stir in the vanilla, and then add the wet ingredients to the dry all at once. Fold until just combined.

Spoon the batter evenly among the muffin cups. Sprinkle the tops with sugar, and bake for about 20 minutes, or until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean.

Note to faithful readers: Sorry for the sporadic posting; I had such grand illusions about my month-long break from school and how much fabulous food I would make and post about. There has certainly been no shortage of food creation, but I’ve been so busy enjoying sharing it with friends and family that I’ve neglected the documentation part of the process. Now that I’m back in a regular routine–summer school started today–I hope to post more regularly as well.

Another sort of technical note: Alanna brought it to my attention that my RSS feed has been acting up. Apparently, there are two Weekly Dish feeds, pre- and post-Wordpress. If you are a subscriber to the feed and your reader hasn’t updated in quite some time, would you be so kind as to drop a comment and let me know? I’d be oh so grateful.

Fortunately, Thursday night’s dinner turned out much better than Wednesday’s last week. At least I was able to eat it!

We are not big breakfast people–usually, a bowl or cereal and a banana and a cup of coffee are all either of us eat before noon. But we love breakfast food, so I often plan to make dishes usually served before noon at night. I have fond memories of my mom doing the same–she especially loved to make omelets for supper.

Me, well, I’m a waffle girl. I don’t know if it’s the crisp texture, the pretty shape, or just because I’m a fan of all bread products, but I love waffles of all kinds.

These turned out pretty well–I like the way the strawberries lightly flavored the batter, but I think I should have chopped them into smaller pieces; the slices made holes in the batter, and the part of the berry directly exposed to the waffle iron browned a little too much for my liking. Small-diced strawberries would probably solve that problem.

I topped the waffles with a smattering of sliced strawberries, a dollop of sour cream, and a drizzle of locally made cane syrup. Served with a side of bacon, this meal made us very happy breakfast-for-dinner diners.

Strawberry Waffles
based on the Basic Waffle recipe in The Joy of Cooking

1 3/4 cups flour
1 T. baking powder
2 T. sugar
1/2 t. salt
3 eggs, beaten
1 stick butter, melted
1 1/2 cups milk
1/2 t. vanilla extract
1/2 cup small-diced strawberries

Preheat the waffle iron. Combine the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. In a smaller bowl, whisk together the eggs, melted butter, milk, and vanilla. Dump the wet ingredients into the dry all at once, folding together gently until they are well-incorporated. The batter should be a bit lumpy, like muffin batter. Fold in the strawberries.

Prepare the waffles, according to the specifications for your waffle iron. (Mine has a little light on it that goes off when the waffles are done, so I never time them.) To serve, stack two waffles on a plate, top with a dollop of sour cream or butter, a handful of sliced strawberries, and a drizzle of cane or maple syrup. Bacon makes an excellent side.
For those of you keeping up with my attempts to eat local, here’s a list of this week’s market purchases and my menu plan:

• Bought: corn, broccoli, carrots, green tomatoes, mixed salad greens, and shrimp
• Monday: Shrimp Scampi and green salad
• Tuesday: Vegetable plate–Hannah’s broccoli, corn on the cob, oven-roasted carrots, salad
• Wednesday: Shrimp and corn soup, green salad, and bread
• Thursday: Fried green tomato BLTs with Vidalia onion rings

I’ll continue to post recipes and reports for the dinners we actually end up having!

When I moved into my first apartment, my Aunt Jennifer brought me a basket with a loaf of French bread, a container of homemade mayonnaise, and several Vidalia onions, the ingredients for my very favorite treatment of the sweetest onion of all–the Vidalia.

Aunt Jen has been making what she calls San Francisco bread for as long as I can remember, and I am now carrying on the family tradition. I love to serve this bread to guests because they can never guess just what exactly is on it. I know it might sound strange, but I urge you to try it anyway, especially if you find yourself in possession of a sweet, sweet onion. I’ve not had one unsuccessful attempt to convert doubtful guests.

A few caveats: you must, MUST only attempt this recipe with homemade mayonnaise. I try hard not to be authoritarian about much in my cooking instructions, but for the good of the onion, please do not contaminate its sweet spring freshness with storebought mayo. The results will not be the same. And, I know there are risks for consuming raw eggs. All I can say about that is that my family has lived on homemade mayonnaise for generations, and we’ve all survived. Do with that information what you will.

I served this bread with our paneed catfish (a dusting of Tony Chachere’s cajun seasoning and a few minutes in a inch of olive oil–nothing too complicated about that) and Ivonne’s lemony potatoes (with rosemary instead of oregano and red new potatoes instead of Yukon golds) last night to our dear friend Casey. Everything was yummy, but I love this bread best. Maybe it just reminds me of home.

Aunt Jennifer’s San Francisco Bread
One half of a loaf of French bread

1/2 cup minced Vidalia onion

Homemade mayonnaise (recipe follows)

Kosher salt

Cracked black pepper

Preheat the broiler. Cut the bread in half lengthwise. Spread each half with a thick layer of mayonnaise. Cover with onions; season well with salt and pepper. Broil for a few minutes, until the bread is brown and crusty and the onions are soft. Slice and serve. Serves 4-6.

Homemade Mayonnaise
1 egg

1 T. cider vinegar

Juice of 1 lemon

1/2 t. Kosher salt

1/2 t. paprika

1/4 t. cayenne pepper

3/4 cup salad oil (canola or vegetable or a combination), divided

Place all ingredients in the blender, but start with only 1/4 cup of the oil. After the ingredients are blended, with the motor running, add the remaining oil in a very slow, steady stream. The mayonnaise should emulsify, creating a very thick consistency. The blender should start to spurt and sputter. It will keep in the refrigerator for about a week.

I guess technically, the Sugar High Friday event is supposed to be dedicated to dessert. But, Lick The Spoon’s theme for this month, “Candy is Dandy, but Liquor is Quicker,” just happened to be the perfect fit for my most recent favorite Saturday breakfast concoction, replete with liquor and plenty of sugar.

I loved French toast as a little girl; my favorite way for my mom to fix it was drenched in egg, fried, and then coated in cinnamon and sugar. Yum! But standing over the stove flipping batches of toast is just not my idea of a relaxing Saturday morning. Plus, the first batch is always a little too lukewarm by the time I finish with the second batch, and the process makes a big mess. So, this recipe is the perfect solution. You assemble everything the night before, and the only thing you have to do in the morning is mix up the syrup in a baking dish, place the soaked bread slices on top, and slide the dish in the oven. Slice a few strawberries while you enjoy your coffee, and you have yourself a pretty perfect way to start the weekend.

I love the flavor of almond and honey, so the syrup for this French toast, baked right in with the bread, is made of honey, almonds, and Amaretto. Decadent, I know–I don’t eat it for breakfast every day–but, oh my, it’s good. The bread puffs up with the egg mixture, and the result is a gooey, sticky mess of almond-soaked goodness. Tart strawberries are a particularly nice complement to the super sweetness of the syrup.

Overnight Honey-Almond French Toast

4 slices bread of your choice (I used sourdough that was approaching staleness–if you’re bread is really soft, you might want to toast it for a few minutes before proceeding with the recipe)
4 beaten eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 T. + 1/4 cup brown sugar
1 t. + 1 T. Amaretto
1/2 stick butter, melted
1/2 cup honey
1/4 cup sliced almonds

The night before: In a square baking dish, whisk together the eggs, milk, tablespoon of brown sugar, and teaspoon of Amaretto. Arrange the bread in the egg mixture by first dipping one side, and then flipping, making sure that each slice is adequately soaked with the liquid. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

The next morning: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Remove the bread from the baking dish to a plate. In the same dish, combine the melted butter, 1/4 cup brown sugar, honey, almonds, and tablespoon of Amaretto. Lay the bread slices back in the dish on top of the honey mixture. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the bread slices are puffed and golden brown. To serve, turn toast out onto plate upside down; top with sliced strawberries and drizzle with any extra syrup. Serves 2 or 4, depending on how much you eat for breakfast. We usually can only eat one slice each (so we eat the rest on Sunday morning!)