sarahcentric

Remember when Andrew thought he could step up on my turf directly and bring that “Wicked” mess all up in here?! Pffffff, wh’ever. We’re obviously going to have to agree to disagree. But since this is NOT “Andrew-centric”", I get the last word. And that last word isn’t “wicked”, it’s rad. Andrew, if I have to stomach “Wicked”, you have to bear with “Rad”. I think the incorporation of Rad into my speak requires some new outfits to match the word’s coolness, don’t you think? Nothing over the top…just a headband, some super tight jeans, and a fitted t-shirt with “RAD!” written out in a font that looks like lightning bolts. Just you wait and see how I leave you in the dust at that imaginary party of yours, Andrew! S–t’s going to be like “Boogie Nights”, (but not the sad 80’s section of the movie.)

Now, back to an Empty Calorie Christmas!

Ever since this nonsense at the company holiday party, (that’s me in the middle of the fake snow in a blue dress), my blood sugar levels have been at a festively dangerous high. There have been so many truffles, chocolate covered pretzels, Nyon-Nyom ‘rifics, spiked apple ciders, cupcakes and sugar packets for my coffee that I have come to think of regular food as dessert! My lovely Singapore Veggie Noodle Bowl yesterday felts like a decadent treat. “Nuh-uh, Missy! No lunch for you until you eat that toffee and truffle in the office pantry!”

I am looking forward to this sugar gorge-fest ending. But before it’s all over, I want to give you guys the ultimate rich and sweet breakfast recipe. The Jackson classic…Puffy French Toast.

I don’t know where this recipe came from; perhaps an article my Mom found in Good Housekeeping years ago? Maybe she went ahead and ordered the transcripts from a “Donahue” episode? All I know is it was written on a yellowed index card and taped to the inside of the cabinet where I always got my mugs for water or Ecto-Cooler. Not a glass, a mug. For some reason we had at least 10,000 mugs and maybe three glasses. To this day I still go for a mug first. my friends never fail to point out how weird that makes me.

Puffy French Toast differs from a traditional recipe in that you don’t soak the bread in an eggy, milky wash. Instead, you mix a batter that you coat the bread in and then fry the hell out of. Basically, it’s bread enrobed in a donut. This was one of our absolute favorites, and I love my Mom for cooking like we lived in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book; no regard for how much sugar and fat was in this dish. But she might have warned us in all those years, “Kids, listen. Other families don’t have french toast like this.” Because now each one of us has a nightmare story of the first time we tried “real” french toast and almost spit out that eggy, thin awfulness, “Ughhh, WHAT IS THIS?!”

When we all grew up and realized how nutritionally evil this dish was, it became a very special occasion dish. Fried for emergencies only. I made two pieces of these sweet fried bricks to counter my Holiday party hangover. When all you want is to be in that Maximum Comfort zone, but you don’t have the time to wait for it to naturally occur with the right clothes, good vibe and excellent TV…just take a hit of the Puffy French Toast and you’ll be rolling hard in no time. But be warned, it will hit you fast and hard. You will not be a productive human being until you come down from the PFT. In fact, you may not want to roll with Puffy French Toast alone. Find a friend so they can answer the phone for you, change the channel and get you another glass of milk to finish the dish. Recipe with notes below…

The Jacksons Puffy French Toast
(Do not prepare unless you are at peace with the direction of your life, and would be ok with meeting your maker in the event of a PFT induced heart attack.)

1 cup flour
1.5 teaspoon sugar
1.5 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon cloves (everytime my brother or sister gives me this recipe they always say skip the clove. Therefore, I don’t know if anyone has ever used clove in here. Maybe it’s just tradition to say it then skip it.)
1 cup milk
1 beaten egg

Bread (Just get white. Don’t be an idiot like me last week and go for whole wheat in some effort to make this healthy. It’s even heavier than the original version, and that’s not Maximum Comfort. That’s just dangerous.)
Crisco…”tons”, as my brother would say, or a “Glunk” my mom’s scientific measurement.
(I will say that I used butter my last go around and it wasn’t bad. Not as evil-ly good, but not bad. Mind you, I had to use half a stick for two slices)

Combine all of the wet and dry ingredients listed in the top section to make the batter. As you mix you’ll start thinking something like, “wait, am I making Fried Dough?!” Yes. Keep Mixing.

Once everything’s combined, place the batter in a shallow dish or plate. Coat your bread on both sides with the good stuff.

Heat your griddle up and melt the ton of Crisco or the half stick of butter. Call your parents and tell them that you always loved them.

Fry the hell out of the bread until it’s golden and nyom-nyoms on both sides.

Once you have smoked out your house with the burning vegetable shortening, plate your Puffy French Toast. Coat it with the most delicious maple syrup you can find. I would say a pat of butter as well, but I don’t think an amateur like yourself is ready for that level of Maximum Comfort.

Make sure you have your comfiest, roomiest clothes on. Break out some trippy music like Jefferson Airplane’s “Don’t You Want Somebody to Love”.

Now you’re ready to roll…Puffy French Toast style.