Thanks, France

National French Toast Day. The history of French toast goes back to the 15th century English court of Henry V, when a version of French toast was the culinary rage. It was originally called “pain perdu” which means “lost bread” because the recipe called for soaking hard or stale or “lost” bread in a mixture of milk and egg, then frying.

I remember French toast as a child. I do not remember the specifics of making it. I only knew that egg and bread and syrup were involved. What’s not to love?

My husband is definitely not a cook. However, there are a couple of things that he “claims”. One of them is French toast. When we were newly married, I made us French toast one morning for breakfast. He (lovingly, because that is how you say things when you are newlyweds) said that the French toast was a bit too “eggy”. So, like a good, young married woman would say, I (lovingly, of course) told him that he could make it next time (smiling the entire time, at least on the outside.)

So he did. And it was better than mine (crap!) He made the egg mixture, but added additional milk. He also added a half cup of sugar and some vanilla. He cooked it a bit longer than I would have and it was golden brown and crispy. Dare I say, perfect? Nah. He slid that lovely toast onto a plate and slathered it with real butter, powdered sugar and WARM syrup. Okay, maybe it was perfect.

I have since made my French toast exactly that way. It is a Hendrixson house favorite. Occasionally he will step in and slip on the chef’s hat. And when he does, he calls it French toast “Dad’s style”. I allow him to revel in his moment of glory. And I just smile (on the outside and inside) as I sink my teeth into truly glorious French toast.

The next time he makes French toast I will simply say “merci mille fois”, which means “a thousand thanks”. If he starts answering me in French, I am going to be really mad.