Ever since I can remember my dad worked the night shift.
His arrival home announced by the car’s headlights illuminating the long, dark driveway, a view that I could see from my window. And I would sit, listening, as the garage door would open, interrupting the household silence.
After he finally made it through the door, his ever-growing bundle of keys would clank as they hit the counter.
If I managed to stay awake this late, I would sleepily make my way to the kitchen.
Because one of the best times to hang out with dad was when he got home from work. 🙂
It meant I got to tell him about my new best friend at school, or the picture I proudly drew, or how my bike chain fell off when the neighborhood boys raced me, without my siblings competing for his attention.
As I got older, the feat of staying awake until he arrived became much simpler, and it wasn’t as strange for me to be up when he came home.
My stories altered with my age. I would confess that I was working on a research paper due the next day, or that I wanted to show him my ceramics masterpiece, or that I simply couldn’t sleep.
Either way, my dad happily greeted me, and listened to whatever I decided to tell him about my day, even though he had just finished a long day at work. He seemed to truly enjoy coming home to his chatterbox of a daughter, not minding that I would talk forever.
And if I had a rough day, maybe mounds of homework that weren’t close to being finished, maybe I was in a fight with my friends, maybe I was just plain lucky…
I would get French Toast.
We aren’t just talking any old French Toast. We are talking about my Dad’s French Toast.
A highly sought after item in my childhood home.
A breakfast delicacy that was only served during the wee hours of the morning.
A plate of freshly made toast that seemed to solve life’s problems.
There was a time that I attempted to make a book of all my family’s recipes. It must’ve been before I went to college because the list of recipes has been long lost. I still remember eagerly asking my dad for his recipe, and my disappointment in realizing there wasn’t one.
Obviously that information wasn’t going to work. I needed measurements. I needed numbers. I needed EXACT. After a little bit of pestering and a strong dose of determination, I was able to acquire a basic idea of what went into my beloved breakfast dish.
Although it’s just a list of ingredients, it was enough to serve me after a hard day this week. I came home run down, and after opening the fridge, I was reassured when I realized I could make myself French Toast.
It’s nothing like my dad’s, his is a classic. And it would’ve tasted better in the middle of the night while I told him about how my day went haywire.
But, I’m pretty proud of what I came up with, and even more excited to share this post with all of you and good ole’ dad.
Without further a do, I present my masterpiece:
Apple Crunch French Toast
This dish is absolutely glorious, perhaps almost sinful. A serving that could easily be shared with a friend, but I’m not saying they need to be. I ate every bite myself.
Splash of Almond Milk
1 teaspoon of Vanilla
Dash of Cinnamon
4 slices of Udi’s Whole Wheat Bread (Gluten Free)
1 Honey Crisp apple thinly sliced
Handful of Cinnamon Granola
Handful of Cranberries
Pure Maple Syrup
- Turn stove on medium heat and let the skillet warm up.
- Toast your bread in the toaster (keeps the french toast from getting soggy).
- In a small bowl whisk together the eggs, almond milk, vanilla, and cinnamon.
- Dip bread slices into mixture, making sure each side gets completely soaked.
- Place bread on skillet. Cook on both sides until the egg mixture is cooked and slightly brown.
- Layer the apples, cinnamon granola, and cranberries between the bread slices.
- Top with cinnamon and maple syrup.
This could be a great weekend brunch option, or for all those fellow “breakfast-for-dinner” readers, you could make this for dinner tonight!
Happy Assembling! Enjoy 🙂