No. I’m not going to presume to teach you to make French toast. But I do want to show you a way to gild the lily.
Figs are involved.
Weekend. Just the very word bespeaks time. Time spent differently than on any other morning. Time for an extra cup of coffee. Time to sit in bed with it and read a book. Time to stay in pajamas until noon. Or later.
Time to make breakfast. Make. Breakfast. Every other day of the week it’s pretty perfunctory: throw some yogurt and fruit in the blender, gulp it down, hit the road. A weekend calls for indulgence.
Inspiration struck in the form of my sweet friend, Suzanne, who writes the blog A Pug in the Kitchen in homage to the two pugs in her life. She recently wrote a post about David Lebovitz’s Roasted Figs which she served over Whipped Goat Cheese and Mascarpone. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.
I had the remains of a loaf of ciabatta. It doesn’t have a long shelf, so to speak, life, and it’s wonderful for French toast.
All its nooks and crannies soak up eggs to the point that it turns custardy on the inside as its outsides fry to a golden brown. Suddenly I had a landing spot for Suzanne’s creation. While I found myself out of mascarpone, I always have goat cheese on hand. So I simply skipped the mascarpone part of her recipe and proceeded with the rest.
Except I also skipped the mixer part and after I’d poured the figgy syrup out of a container of the beauties, just worked it into about a one-inch piece of goat cheese with a fork.
When my French toast was golden brown, I slid it onto a plate and in lieu of butter (because I’ve broken up with butter
until the August heat abates until approximately October), spread the slices with the tender, sweetened goat cheese.
Then I broke up the figs and draped them over the top.
I may never be able to go back to maple syrup.