The Lost Bread

Stale bread sucks, but French toast is delicious. The other day I made use of an on-the-verge-of-stale baguette by whipping up some delicious French toast. It's such a simple and delicious way to start the day, even if it is almost lunch time. Also, it has lots of wiggle room for creativity; it can be sweet or savoury, you can use any type of bread, you can stuff the bread, you can top the finished product, or just keep things classically simple.

This reminded me though of a message Dave had sent to Daniel and I in the pre-blog days when we just waxed the poetic about food amongst each other. So I did some digging through my inbox and came across this little piece of writing:

Inspired by the latest GQ "what the fuck is wrong with men in America" - style editorial, I've decided to opine on some food verbiage. Equally inspired by my late grandmother, who was as hardcore of a 20th century middle-class francophone woman could be, this literary piece discusses the improper use of the word "french" in recipes.

I was having a lazy Sunday today, a rare occasion as of late. Given a semi-fresh baguette, my first inclination was to make some so-called "french toast". I recall the inspiring woman, in her late eighties, telling one of those stories in which the end moral was how hard life was (without the least hint of bitterness). The example she used that particular day was how she did not comprehend the common "french toast" nomenclature, and had rather been accustomed to calling it "pain perdu" (lost bread).

Lost bread simply implied that what we today call "french toast" was a means of turning not-so-fresh bread into something delicious. 

My first question is how the hell did she ever need to put this recipe to use? In a house with 9 kids, I can't see much ever going bad.

Second, how did the "french" term slip itself into today's (english) wording? Is it an implication that fracophones are more ghetto? creative? or dedicated to deliciousness? Either way, I'll accept the answer to that question as a compliment.

Just a few years ago, our neighbors from the South tranformed the wording for what had been coined "french fries" to freedom fries in an attempt to ban all things french, following France's reluctance to enter the War. Well we all saw how that turned out. Good move, take a potato dunked in liquid heart attack formula and put it as the poster boy for your country's (failed) attempt to control the world's oil supply (pun intended?). 

Thus, I digress. "French toast" is an excellent example of transforming something deemed as lost to the uncreative mind into a staple passed around a family table of eleven and ultimately influencing me, one of the 44 direct offspring of this wonderful hardcore lady. 

I personally keep my "french toast" fairly simple. Aside from eggs and milk, I slip in some cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla. I make plenty of mix and turn the remaining unabsorbed deliciousness into some scrambled eggs. And finally, drench that shit in some maple sizzurp. Not to have at least 2 cans of that maple goodness on hand at all times is pretty much the equivalent to beating up a priest in Quebec.

Feel free to swap french toast recipes boys.

Rock on grand-maman,

David Alexandre Dalbec Marr, CHP

Some valuable insight into the meaning of French toast, no doubt. Dave has a great formula for a simple and delicious "Pain Perdu", and it is usually how I rock my French toast, too. I could go on about how to make French toast filled with cream cheese and jam, or nutella, or whatever, but lets stick to the basics.

You Will Need:

- Loaf of Not-so-fresh bread, cut into slices

- Couple of eggs

- Splash of milk

- A few pinches of cinnamon and nutmeg

- Splash of pure vanilla extract

- Butter

- Maple Syrup, 100% pure and fuckin' Canadian, eh!

In a shallow bowl or dish, crack in the eggs, add a splash of milk, vanilla and a sprinkle of nutmeg and cinnamon. Get the breakfast party started by beating everything together into a golden hued bath of goodness.

Get some butter melting in a pan over medium heat, and start dipping your bread slices into the egg bath. Flip them over and make sure the bread is well soaked in the egg. Sprinkle a little bit of cinnamon and nutmeg on the soaked bread for extra flavour and then fry the bread in the butter until one side is golden brown, then flip.

Once all your French toast is cooked, pile it up on a plate real sexy-like. While the pan is still hot toss in a pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg and let that enjoy the heat for a few seconds. Pour the maple syrup directly into the pan and swirl it around to incorporate all the spices while it bubbles away profusely. Then drizzle that warm, fragrant, sweet sweet tree nectar of the gods on top of that golden stack of rejuvenated bread.

Enjoy with a hot cup of coffee and relish in the delicious simplicity. 

NOTE:

Daniel offered up a great suggestion with his version of French Toast, by incorporating some orange juice instead of milk and some zest from the rind. "The bitter/sour combination really sets it off and provides a delicate balance that makes you want to take more bites."

Short and Slow: It's Not The Size That Matters, As Long As You Take The Time

Last night the temperature dropped below zero and the smell of wood smoke from chimneys filled the air which means only one thing. Summer is officially gone. After a year of an endless summer, my tan has faded and I'm having to accept the fact that fall has arrived. As much as I try to remain in denial of this conclusion, I have begun to look forward to the many things I missed out on over the last year. With the absence of autumn and winter, I didn't get to enjoy the foods that come along with the seasons. I had been void of good cooking and quality food all together, so I've been heavily indulging in the freshness and abundance that the Byward Market has been offering lately. I found amongst the local vendors some colourful heirloom carrots, tiny brussel sprouts, fragrant leeks, and new potatoes that would be perfect for a seasonally inspired meal. The butcher in the market had some incredibly marbled beef short ribs that I couldn't say no to, so I picked up two gorgeous slabs that would be the center of the meal.

Nothing about the meal that resulted was difficult. In fact, it is unbelievably simple, yet yields such an impressive and delicious result. Short ribs are a well marbled and particularly tough cut of beef (not very expensive either), so it definitely wants to be slowly cooked so the fat melts away and the meat becomes tender and rich. The beer braised short ribs and the roasted vegetables took minimal effort, while the accompanying mashed brown butter mashed potatoes are unlike any potato I've ever eaten, but also extremely unpretentious. I found the recipe for the potatoes in Michael Smith's cook book, Chef at Home, and I am glad I did.

I broke this into a few different parts for organization, but you will need:


Meat:
- Nicely marbled beef short ribs, enough to feed however many people you wanna feed... (usually a butcher will trim them into 4 rib sections, which will feed two ladies or one hungry man)
- Case of dark ale, or stout
- Sea Salt and Pepper
- Couple tablespoons of butter/olive oil
- Couple tablespoons of flour
Veggie:
- Bunch of heirloom carrots, sliced in half lengthwise
- Handful or two of leeks, sliced
- Handful or two of brussel sprouts
- Bunch of fresh herbs like thyme or rosemary
- A couple cloves of garlic, smashed with the side of a knife, skins removed
Potatoes:
- A pound of potatoes
- Stick of butter
- 1/2 cup milk
- Nutmeg (ground or whole seeds)
- Sea Salt and Black Pepper

To get the beef prepared poke little holes in both sides with the tip of your knife. Pour the ale or stout over the short ribs, massaging it into the meat. Grind or sprinkle salt generously over the meat, and keep massaging the beer into the meat so it gets a good coating of beer. Crack some pepper all over the short ribs then place all the short ribs in dish or wrap them in foil, give them a very generous splash of beer, and tightly wrap the top of the dish with foil/ wrap the top of the meat up and place on a baking sheet. 

Let the ribs mellow for a bit in their beer bath, while you preheat the oven to 375 degrees, and get your veggies ready to party. Take all your leeks, carrots and sprouts, and pile them on a large section of foil. Throw the garlic and herbs on top, give it a good drizzle of olive oil, wrap the foil into a packet so the top and ends are folded over a couple times. When the oven is preheated, place both the meat and the veggie packet in the preheated oven for 20 minutes, then decrease the temperature to 275 and let them do their thang for 3 hours. After the 3 hours are done, remove the foil from the meat, reserve the juices, and open up the veggie foil packet, return to the oven, and crank the heat to 400 degrees. Let the meat and veggies roast under high heat for 20 more minutes.

When the meat and veggies have about 10 minutes left of its 3 hours, boil the potatoes in salted water until fork tender. Drain the water and set the potatoes aside. Then over medium/medium-low heat, melt the stick of butter. Keep a close eye on the butter as it begins to foam. You are trying to caramelize the milk solids in the butter, so you need to watch for the butter to physically start to brown. As it browns the scent wafting up towards you will be slightly nutty and fragrant. When the butter browns, immediately add the milk to cool the butter down as you definitely don't want to burn it. Reduce the heat, simmer the milk for a couple minutes, then add the potatoes, skins and all, and give them a good mash. Season with salt and a few good pinches nutmeg (if you've got big nutmeg seeds, use a microplane to grate it right into the potatoes) and mash a little more to distribute.

I thought this meal could really use a nice rich sauce slathered over top, so I whipped up a drool worth gravy. In a saucepan over medium heat, melt about 2 tablespoons of butter, or add good sized splash of olive oil. When the butter is melted, sprinkle in some flour and stir with a spoon. Keep adding a little more flour until it is a thick and smooth paste. Again, we are making a roux, which I talked about in the mac and cheese recipe. Toast the roux up in the pan a bit, then slow start adding the reserved juices from the meat, stirring ferociously to incorporate the roux, or bust out a whisk to make life easier. You should have a nice thick sauce now. Add a good splash of the beer you used on the meat, throw in some of the herbs you used for the vegetables, and a couple hits of nutmeg, and simmer till the gravy thickens back up a bit. Season with some cracked black pepper, and sea salt if necessary.

Throw some mash in the middle of a plate, scatter about with veggies, stick a two-rib portion of meat on the potatoes, and pour that gravy over top, then devour. Then tell me that WASN'T the tastiest yet simplest piece of beef you've ever cooked and eaten.

I ended up making more food that Mallory and I could gluttonously feast upon, so the next morning I cut the left over short ribs into individual rib sections, threw them in a cast iron frying pan, and fried them back up. In the same pan I threw in some leftover mashed potatoes that I formed into a patty and crisped up each side in the beef fat. In a non-stick I fried up some eggs and served it all with some savoury toasted potato sage bread from Wild Oat on Bank St and the leftover gravy. Legit.