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.