French Toast Tested

whip it, whip it good

We ate breakfast the other morning at a sweet little spot at the Phoenix/Scottsdale boundary. It was a little coffee house that seems to have grown into a breakfast and lunch place. It's staffed with the requisite super tall skinny baristo and the shorter skinny cute register hostess, features the blackboards with multicolored chalk specials, regular items in white, and the mismatched china for service.

As we waited to order at the counter I asked the attractive blonde Arizona type white middle class anglo-saxon protestant woman if she had eaten here before. She hadn't but her tall blonde Arizona type……..woman friend had. She was so effusive with the praise I tried to convince the skinny chick at the resister to give the lady 10% off.

I am old enough to remember the late 60's and early 70's when the Bohemian cafes and restaurants came on the scene. They were counter culture hippie commune politic meets Julia Childs with a bit of the Paula Dean down home excess thrown in for good measure. While the rest of the US was settling into plain vanilla Denny's, these places were serving up mountains of french toast, pancakes loaded with real blueberries, and farm fresh 3 egg omelettes with homemade biscuits to die for. Think best ever home-cooking served up with Earth Shoes and tie-dye.

I'm fairly sure that formula still works some places but in many it does not. Hoping for the best and throwing caution to the wind, I ordered the croissant french toast, served with powdered sugar and real maple syrup. I'm old fashioned enough to think french toast should have nothing to do with a croissant but, what the hell, the tall blonde…….

Long story short: The breakfast was okay and I liked the little place and its sunny patio well enough to return. But here's the deal: First, when the chalkboard says powdered sugar and you don't get any you know someone is either out of practice or not paying attention. Second, when the french toast shows up with those globs of metallic tasting egg-white fried to the surface you know the cook doesn't care. To my palate no amount of Bohemian cool can overcome my disdain for french toast with globs of metallic tasting egg-white fried to the surface. Third, tempting as it may be, trust your instincts, not some tall blonde Arizona type.... Finally, french toast from croissants? No way. Croissants just can't properly absorb the batter. Next time I'll try the granola.