Skip to main content

Heartbreak French Toast

As a Taurus, I believe that good food is essential, no matter what you’re going through. Good food brings comfort, and I'm all about comfort. The recipes I'll share, including this one, aren't entirely my own creations, but I've adopted and tweaked them over time. I first started making this French toast when I was severely heartbroken, and it quickly became my go-to Sunday morning breakfast—a little treat for making it through the week. Just a heads up, I have a serious sweet tooth, so proceed with caution!

Feel free to adjust the ingredients and quantities to your liking—I usually let my instincts (and perhaps a little ancestral guidance) tell me when enough is enough.

All the love, N.


Ingredients:

- 2-4 slices of stale bread

- 1/2 cup of milk

- 2 eggs

- Cinnamon (to taste)

- 1 tablespoon of sugar

- 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract (optional)

- Butter (as needed)


Toppings:

- Fruit of your choice (I recommend berries and bananas)

- A sprinkle of powdered sugar (optional)

- Syrup (if you’re out, you can make a simple syrup by cooking equal parts sugar and water)

- A sprinkle of cinnamon

- Ice cream


Instructions:

1. In a bowl, combine the eggs, milk, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla extract if you're using it. Mix well.

2. Dip the stale bread into the egg mixture. (I’m not sure of the science behind it, but stale bread works wonders for French toast.)

3. Set your stove to medium heat. We don’t want to burn anything, right? I personally like a bit of char on mine, but to each their own. Add butter—and a bit of oil if you’re like me—to your pan, then fry the soaked bread until it's golden brown on each side. The sugar should create a nice, caramelized crust with that slight char I love.

4. If your pan is large enough, you can cook two slices at a time, but make sure not to overcrowd the pan. Even heat distribution is key to avoiding undercooked spots.

5. Once you're done cooking and ready to plate, add your toppings—don't forget the syrup!


With a sweet tooth like mine, balance is crucial. I usually pair my French toast, or any sweet treat really, with unsweetened coffee. It lets you savor the rich coffee flavor while enjoying your dessert without the risk of a toothache. This can be enjoyed with the coffee alone, but my breastfeeding hunger forces me to add more to my plate so a side of bacon/ sausage or whatever fills you up will do, depending on your preferences. 


I hope you like it! 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Prayer Is Not a Policy

Earlier this week, the Ministry of Youth and Gender Affairs launched what it called a “groundbreaking initiative”. The National Week of Prayer Against Gender-Based Violence under the theme  “United in Prayer, Solidarity Against GBV.”   I know right? And look, we’ll get to women in positions of power upholding misogynistic and patriarchal values another day. Or maybe later today.  One crisis at a time, neh?  So here’s the thing. Botswana is facing a relentless and escalating epidemic of GBV. From child rape to domestic homicide, survivors are left with shattered lives, limited access to justice, and an insufficient social support system. With churches, religious groups, and communities being called to unite in spiritual solidarity against a national crisis, this initiative was painted as a hopeful, healing intervention. But let’s be brutally honest: this is  not   what change looks like. A man was able to walk into a university and take a woman’s life as she...

Bloom Again

I hope this is the last time I’ll be this candid. I tell myself that each time — that I’ll keep my thoughts locked in a private journal. But this isn’t that. This is for the moments when silence feels heavier than the truth, and when the truth is met with the world’s strange discomfort with the word  victim. I put the word in quotes because somewhere along the way, society decided it’s unseemly for us to claim it.  Survivor  is the softer, braver term. It’s supposed to shake off the pity in people’s eyes, to make us sound like we’ve climbed out of the wreckage and dusted ourselves off. I understand why some prefer it. But maybe it’s the literalist in me — I don’t understand why naming what happened to me is considered self-pity. I was wronged. I was harmed. I am the victim of a crime. That acknowledgment doesn’t mean I carry it as a badge or romanticize it. It’s just the truth. After putting my thoughts on trial I realized that it’s easier for me to think of things that h...

A Young Woman in a Man’s World

Trigger warning SA/H I'm not a stranger to the advances of men. I was sexually assaulted at the age of 7 or 8, in a knee-length skirt made of shades of blue and a bright green Hannah Montana T-shirt. I was leered at by the angry man's cousin when I wore a ruffled pink skirt my school had asked parents to buy for a concert. He didn't touch me, but his eyes undressed me as I played on the trampoline. I learned to cover up. I also learned that wearing boy clothes, being a gothy tomboy, or avoiding clothes that actually fit me wouldn’t stop a man from aggressively reaching between my legs in broad daylight. Staying away from boys, and being scared of men, was never going to make them  not  notice me. Like something that goes bump in the night, the scent of fear only seemed to get them going. I’m 25 now, and as I’ve said, I’m not new to this. But for the first time, I’m surrounded by grown men. I can’t escape them—I bump into them at every turn. I’ve never had to deal with them ...