Saturday 9th April 2011
We call this eggy bread or gypsy bread where I’m from and more often than not it’s eaten as a savoury with salt and tomato ketchup. But as this is a sweet dish and sprinkled with icing sugar I called it French toast.
Ironically, I’ve never seen this dish on any French menu that I’ve ever read. In fact, I’ve never had it outside of my home. Although, after a quick chat with my wife, we think we may well have had it at one of the many Denny’s restaurants that we frequented during our honeymoon. All those waffles, pancakes and possibly French toast breakfasts all roll into one after so long.
Everything is done at a snail’s pace on a Saturday morning in comparison to the week which can be a double-edged sword. Sometimes things can go so slowly that we don’t end up leaving the flat until gone 12 noon, having been up since 7.30am. Something as simple as just getting everyone to the breakfast table could easily take 10/15 minutes. My son tends to find something that he ‘really has to do right now’ before he come to the table.
Today was no exception.
So having made my French toast and gathered the adults to the table, surprise, surprise my son just had ‘to finish the really important penalty shot out game’ he was playing on the computer.
“Come on Zeph. You don’t wanna miss this.” I tantalised.
My encouragement went in one ear and out the other, but after a few minutes he reluctantly came to the table.
After he had devoured two slices he was back to the business of the day; more penalties.
As he ran off down the hall I called after him.
“What did you think Zeph? Did you like it?”
“Brilliant…I really liked it…You were right, I shouldn’t have missed it.”