Monday, February 24, 2014
The moment I saw this recipe I knew I needed it in my life. I mean, it's eggy fried herb-bread. I love all of those things. It has all things that are good!
And then I decided that I wanted to add cheese, because...well, because cheese. It kind of speaks for itself.
For me, French toast has generally meant kind-of-soggy egg bread that's been drowned in syrup and, generally speaking, totally underwhelming. I will eat it, but never in my life has it been a favoured or even sought-after breakfast food. Except for this one time I had baked French toast that tasted like custardy bread pudding with a hint of cinnamon and divinity, the dish has never done anything for me.
But this...this toast. Oh my god. Hearty, whole-grain bread dipped in egg and grated cheese (EGG AND CHEESE, PEOPLE, THIS PAIRING IS GOD'S FAVOURITE COUPLE) with a bit of fresh parsley, then fried in butter (because this is what you do when you love yourself), and finally dipped in Sriracha (and we all know that I have FEELINGS about Sriracha). It is glorious. Like cheesy eggs on toast only the two have fused to become one - a glorious fusion that is at once salty, crispy, eggy, and has BITS OF CRISPY FRIED CHEESE ON IT that is cut perfectly by the parsley and YOU'RE WELCOME.
Savoury French toast. Fry it in butter. Grate extra cheese on it. Embrace it.
Friday, February 7, 2014
I've had a very intense affair with peanut butter over the years. It began in earnest when I was in university, during my first year out of residence, living in a house and buying my own groceries (LIKE AN ADULT). It felt so glorious for all of the first few hours of my independence, until I found myself standing outside a Sobeys holding eighty pounds of groceries (WHY DID I BUY A CARTON OF MILK. THESE YAMS ARE SO HEAVY OH GOD.) and a thirty minute walk away from my house. Motherfucker. Independence, it turned out, was no longer having access to my parents' car and realizing the joys of cab fare in a town with no transit or of sucking it up and trudging home like the most miserable of the seven dwarves.
But wait, I was talking about my intense love affair with peanut butter. It all started so innocently - just a little spoonful straight from the jar, just a little something in times of snacking. But it tasted so good. I'd stand there in the middle of the kitchen eating peanut butter straight from the jar thinking, "Who needs toast? Peanut butter doesn't need toast - fuck toast. This is stand-alone deliciousness. I'll just have one more spoonful - nope, screw spoons, I'll just use my finger like an adult, no, a sexy adult - no, that would be messy. ...Why is so much of my peanut butter gone?"
It got so bad that I actually started to ration my peanut butter purchasing. It was not always successful. I would go through peanut butter fasts and they were UNPLEASANT. My peanut butter addiction was so bad in my last years of university that I would sometimes go through one jar in a week.
In the end, I didn't go through rehab, my desire to constantly consume peanut butter just waned. It no longer burns with the fire of a thousand suns. My love of peanut butter is like the slow burn of warm embers. If stoked, it will light a fire.
But then there is this breakfast crisp, which came about because my brain had the thought: "What if I made a fruit crisp that was fruit topped with PEANUT BUTTER COOKIE DOUGH."
Sometimes I'm a god damn genius. This breakfast crisp is a layer of jammy, naturally sweet, slightly tart raspberries topped with crunchy, peanut-buttery crispness that TASTES LIKE COOKIE. It's like a peanut butter cookie jam thumbprint but GIANT and the jam filling is a pound of raspberries cooked until they become gooey and jam and practically like jam but with all the awesomeness of fruit, real fruit, so you can feel good about eating what tastes like a jam explosion beneath a layer of peanut butter cookie but with fibre.
Damn, I'm good.