Notes on a Gamble

So I made the French Toast Bake Sunday, before Carolyn left.

Well, to be precise, I made it Saturday afternoon, in the style of all great breakfast/brunch casseroles. Because, as I said in a previous post, no one wants to get up and create Glop in a Pot after you've drunk a jug of Listerine the night before.

I was a little worried about this casserole. After reading all of the reviews, I imagined creating diabetic-coma-inducing egg soup with blueberry floaters.

But I culled the best advice out of the recipe (tear up the bread--don't leave it whole) and went from there.

I mixed everything up together and let it all sit overnight.

The next morning, remembering the issues mentioned in the reviews (too soupy, too wet, etc.), I pulled the casserole out of the refrigerator, fully expecting an egg-batter swamp. I tilted it carefully, waiting to see the puddle of egg goo gather . . . and nothing. It seemed to have set. We'll see.

I finished the recipe, shaking chopped pecans over it. The recipe called for a cup, but I only used a half a cup, and even then I thought, after about a quarter of a cup, I thought, "Shit. That's a lot of pecans."

I also did not bake it at 400 for 25, then 10 minutes. Per the advice, I did 350 for 35 minutes, then 10 minutes. But I would maybe, in the future, do it for 30 minutes, then 15 for the blueberries, to make them pop and ooze.

We didn't have any syrup, but I'm split on the syrup issue. I think the syrup would have been delicious on it, but there was a cup of brown sugar in the recipe (much to my hummingbird husband's delight), and I think the syrup would have given us all the diabeetus, and then we'd be doing commercials with Wilford Brimley and Bret Michaels. And then my friend DJD's aunt would have urged us all to take Tylenoid.

Curtis and Carolyn seemed to really enjoy it. I was nervous about getting Carolyn to Dulles, so I couldn't really eat. But they each had seconds, so that's a good sign.

Casserollin' with the Homies

So my girl Carolyn is coming to town this weekend, and the plan for this Sunday is to wake up and eat some breakfast casserole before we take her to Dulles and dump her on the curb.*

I asked Carolyn which brunch casserole she wants; I gave her about 6 choices.

We're going with the French Toast Bake, which I found on AllRecipes.com. AllRecipes is not Epicurious.com. It's not even FoodNetwork.com. It has some craptastic recipes on it, because people can just post some crazy shit.

But it is a veritable repository for comfort food and casseroles.

Like the French Toast Bake.

This recipe sounds freaking awesome, but there are some issues.

For example, the first ingredient: "12 day-old French bread."

Does this mean 12 slices of French bread?

Or an indeterminate amount of French bread that has been aged for 12 days?

Also: we will have to have a side of meat. Because this recipe contains no meat, and Curtis's gout could start to clear up if he doesn't get some meat. The protein in the pecans or eggs won't help, because neither pecans nor eggs are made of meat.

But I'm being a nitpicky baby, as this recipe sounds good and I'm excited about it. I'm making this. Also some sort of meat.


* No, seriously, we are so sad that she's leaving. She doesn't know it, but we're going to handcuff her to some permanent household fixture around 11:59 a.m. Sunday morning.

It's not quite breakfast, it's not quite lunch, but it comes with a slice of cantaloupe at the end.

Let me just take a moment to talk about how much I love brunch.

It's the best meal in the entire world.

You get to sleep in, then you get up and eat steak & eggs, or huevos rancheros, or a Belgian waffle, or bagels & lox, or a Breakfast Plate (3 eggs, bacon and/or sausage, some sort of bread item, and some sort of potato item).

You are also allowed--nay, EXPECTED--to drink a Mimosa, or a Bellini, or a Bloody Mary, or 5, as early as 11:00 in the morning.

How can you go wrong with this?

This is such a fantastic idea that I have mastered the Bloody Mary. My Bloody Mary has a name: the I Can See Through Time Bloody Mary.

This is such a fantastic idea that I have thrown whole parties around it; Lunkfest, for example. Or my 35th birthday, which was spent in pajamas, watching Intervention with my friends.

And you know the best thing to have at brunch?

The brunch/breakfast casserole.

No matter how you feel about the casserole, you have to admire the brunch/breakfast casserole. You're the hero with the brunch/breakfast casserole.

You wake up on a Sunday morning, stagger to the kitchen, try to remember where that bruise came from, attempt to make coffee, remember that 10 of your friends are coming over at 12:30, and then realize 12:30 starts in 5 minutes . . .

You run around the house for a few seconds, trying to dress yourself, wondering what on earth you're going to serve these people . . .

And then it hits you: you made that breakfast casserole yesterday.

It's sitting there in the refrigerator, a cool 9x13 rectangle of bread, eggs, meat, and cheese. You just have to turn the oven on to 350.

When your friends arrive in 35 minutes (because you know those bitches can't get ANYWHERE on time), they all have champagne and orange juice in hand.

And you take the bubbling brunch casserole out of the oven, to your friends' delight, as they're hung over too, and they are looking forward to a plate of meat and cheese and bread.

They toast to you, celebrating how awesome you are.

And then you all watch a Law & Order marathon.

Seriously, if you can come up with anything better, then you must live in Tahiti.