Making scents of it all...

"The thing is... is that's what it smells like all the time. You can't smell it until there is moisture to carry the scent into your nose."

These are the thing my mom and I speak of when we start drinking tequila.

btw for all you Tucsonans out there, Blanco has Happy Hour from 4-6pm, and this is now on my list of positives for living in Burbank. Otherwise I would never make it home without having a blood orange margarita.

There is a smell that is somewhere between spraying water on dirt with a little bit of fresh cut grass thrown in here and there when it begins to rain in Tucson that is essentially akin to the Sonoran Desert making an "ahhh" sound after drinking a really nice beer after a really long day at work. Way different than Geoffrey Holder and a can o' 7-Up, but you're on the right track. The Sonoran Desert never seemed to have that deep of a voice, or laugh for that matter. Sigh yes, but laugh? No.

Then again, maybe 109 degrees in the shade is it's laughter?

Ha.

Ain't nothing funny about driving around the mall for an hour just so you can park in the shade of a mesquite tree which provides about as much shade as a sundial, yet somehow manages to move faster than one.

Smells transport us. Bean curd and diesel fumes scream Bangkok to me, roofing tar makes me think of my Tata, and just before the rain hits in Tucson--that smell takes me home.

Speaking of transporting smells, I wandered into the Spice Station this past weekend and fell in love. I happened across a new chile pepper while grabbing some Indian spices for a work project, and I paired it with Durango Hickory Smoked Salt, Olive Oil, Fresh Garlic, and Rosemary to make a wet rub for some bone-in rib eyes to throw on the grill for Father's Day.

Urfa Biber, I love you, you raisiny, tiny kick o'heat, sweet thang you! I'm not gonna lie to you. I even put a little bit of bacon drippings into this rub. It was an amazing way to add flavor and fat to an already flavorful and well marbled cut of beef.

Extreme behavior?

I remember a time when I was eating a bunch of Tangelos and drinking whiskey, and I just kept missing my Grandpa so much... and then it finally dawned on me that I was missing him so much because I smelled like him. Sometimes I'll scratch a Minneola Tangelo at the grocery store just to say hi.

I put it right back on the pile when I am done. Maybe it's kinda like setting a place for Elijah, or is it just a cup?

Happy Father's Day Grandpa.

Rites of Passage

from June 2009

Stay with me on this one:

"Thou art the sum of my heart in the morning; thou art the dawn of truth in my soul, thou art the dew of the rose's adorning, thou art the woven whole. Thine is the grace to be steadfast in danger; thine is the peace that none can destroy; thine is the face of the need-driven stranger; thine are the wings of joy. Thou art the deep to the deep in me calling; thou art a lamp where my feet shall tread; thy way is steep, past the peril of falling, thou art my daily bread. Thine be the praise of my spirit uplifted; thou art the sea to each flowing stream; thine be the days that are gathered and sifted; thou art the deathless dream."

My faith is at the center of my being, and that being so, I am very protective of it. I hold my faith to be mine and mine alone, as no one has seen or done or experienced events exactly as I have in those exact same moments. Our faiths may intertwine, or they may run parallel to one another, always within in reach but never quite able to meet in the middle without derailing all of humanity.

My religion is an amazing one for me, as one of the tenants we hold dear as congregants is the free and responsible search for truth and meaning in each of our lives. "I" "teach" a class to a group of 8th graders each year that explores the big questions in life: Is there a god? What happens after you die? Why do bad things happen to good people? What do you believe in? I use quotation marks because really there are four of us, and mostly we ask questions and then listen. We are the ones being taught. We are the ones having our faiths challenged.

It's just that simple.

At the end of the year, the youth put together their own service in which they lead the worship and throughout the service they answer these questions alone in front of the entire congregation. Twice.

This year was flat out AMAZING. They quoted Max Ehrmann, Dr. Howard Thurman, Abraham Lincoln, Gloria Steinem, Melissa Etheridge, and most importantly their grandmothers.

My Grandmother Margaret baked the best cookies, made the most amazing homemade strawberry preserves, and put together possibly the most horrendous dish I have ever laid on taste buds: Italian Enchilada Casserole.

My other grandma was my "Nana" Dora, who had the same 8" yellow skillet of refried beans on the stove for her entire life. Every time I'd visit, she'd heat up the beans, adding another spoonful of Snow Cap Lard to the pan. How this pan managed to stay at the same level over the years and still taste like refried beans escapes me to this very day...  Magic.

Both of these great women passed down a love of food to me, and they're with me every time I cook at some point in the process.  They may have felt completely differently about actually cooking and I'm pretty sure they looked at it as yet another chore, but in my minds eye it was always done with love.  Whether it was my Nana burning a hot dog over her gas stove until it charred, or my Grandma looking quite surprised when I drenched everything with her red wine Good Seasonings Italian salad dressing, it was always done with love.

While I may not sit down to a burnt hot dog and lard fried pinto beans drenched in Good Seasonings Italian salad dressing tonight, or ever really.  I will think of the way my Nana measured salt by how it felt between her fingers, and how my Grandma would pull the raisins out her Post Raisin Bran Cereal if she needed to.

And she did.

What about yours?

What's the matter pancake batter?

So there goes my one post a week goal. Right out the driver's side window on our way back to Tucson. Was it Socrates, Dante, or Nietzsche who asked his students, "How can one truly live if they spend all of their time blogging, and how can one truly blog if they spend all of their time living?"

Maybe I heard it on NPR?

Hmm.

I guess it's kinda like when William was born. He spent just under 6 weeks in the NICU before he was allowed to come home. Sara and I made a pledge to be there every day for touch times, but a month in or so, I had to fly back to Tucson for a funeral, and we came to the conclusion, that we couldn't always be the best Dad or Mom, but that if we worked together, we could be the best parents. I wasn't able to be there every day for my boy, but we always made sure that one of us was there to let him know he was loved and wanted.

So I can't always post every week. So May only has like, what, 3 posts? So I should just shut her down, because some of the blogs out there, there's like a post a day? Those people obviously have not found World of Warcraft, and I need to just let it go, and look at this as a way to get some "me" time in my life.

Alright, I'm all pepped up and ready to cheer for a Junior Varsity Volleyball squad. Just let me stretch for a year or two first.

Tucson was amazing, the boys love their grandparents and the grandparents love them. I ended up making tacos for the open house, by the way, no wings. Makes me a little sad, but maybe I'll do it for the NBA Finals Game 2. Maybe I should have a wing party? Invite guests to bring their favorite wings and beers to match?

This might just happen! Although housework will need to be done... which is okay, William loves to clean.

Ah, William...

So we (my family and my mother-in-law) were making pancakes for breakfast, and William asks his grandma what's in the pitcher.

"Batter."

"Batter?" William tilts his head.

"Yes, sweetie pie, pancake batter." She rubs the top of his head.

His eyes get big, eyebrows are raised in an inverted "V," and that bottom lip starts to protrude in heart broken protest.

"But Grandma, I don't like pancake batter!"

This is entirely my fault.

There are many dangers lurking in the nooks and crannies of my kitchen. Japanese knives, German knives, Mandoline Slicers, Cuisinart attachments... One must be careful when cooking with young ones in the kitchen, and then again, there are different types of scars.

We decided to make pancakes several months earlier for Sara one morning to celebrate the end of her morning sickness. William was so excited. I prepped everything for the dry ingredients, grabbed his stepping stool so that he could have his own station, and set upon the task of teaching my son how to cook.

We mixed the dry ingredients delighting in the plumes of flour "smoke" that wafted from the mixing bowl, managed to get all of the egg and none of the shell into the other bowl, and all of this with much laughter. I am such a good dad! I remember this thought so clearly as I was reaching up into the pantry for a little more sugar.

"I need a spoon daddy!" comes from over my left shoulder. I tell him to grab one from the drawer as I start searching for the vanilla bean paste. I hear the opening of the drawer, my hand closes around the bottle of paste, and as I'm pulling them down, I hear what can only be described as the sound one would make at the dentist's office if their mouth was propped open against their will with that nasty fluoride treatment.

I turn and there, in the middle of the kitchen, is my boy William with the dry ingredients bowl in one hand, a serving spoon the size of Texas in his other, his jaw nearly touching the floor, and his tongue following suit coated in raw flour. He's completely motionless. I guess it's kinda like stubbing your toe. You try not to move, because if you do that stabbing pain will leave your toe, shoot right up leg, and make you double over in a violent yet silent cussing fit. He would have been a statue but for his eyes. His eyes staring right at me welling with tears and wtf?

It was the best Tom Hanks eating caviar impression in "Big" I have ever seen.

"Oh mi hijo..." I say as I am biting my lips shut trying to stem the convulsions of silent laughter. Man, am I the worst friggin' dad, or what!?!

I wipe him clean, give him a hug, and then by the grace of God, a glass of water-- which, no doubt, made a very nice slurry in his stomach.

"I don't like it, Dad."

It was plain, simple, and cut like a knife. The truth shall set you free, and so it did for William, as he split and began playing with his trains...

"They taste better once their cooked!!!" My useless rebuttal fell on deaf ears, and I have since learned my lesson.

Banana Blender Pancake Batter, so as to avoid your toddler eating raw flour and ruining things. Forever.

Adapted from Julia and Jacques Cooking at Home:

1 cup flour
2 eggs
3/4 cup milk
2 tbsp vegetable oil
tiny pinch of salt
2 tbsp sugar
1 tsp vanilla bean paste
1 brown and very ugly banana
1/3 cup of water divided.

Start off with the flour, add the eggs, milk, oil, vanilla bean paste, sugar and salt, and blend that for 10-15 seconds. It'll look wrong, but that's okay. Scrape down the sides if needed, and then add the banana and one part of the water and blend until smooth, adding the additional water if needed in small batches.

Refrigerate for an hour.

Heat up that skillet or non-stick frying pan. Pick your poison butter or oil, and be prepared to burn your first two before the others come out just right.

Winging it.

This, will not last forever.

I know for sure that at some point, not only will William not want to kiss his 'little' brother, "Squeaky," he won't want to kiss me either. I'm fully prepared to drop him off a block away from school, but I don't think I'm ready to no longer hear "Daddy!" screamed at the top of his lungs when he hears me walk through our front gate.

Ever.

I can't believe that I'm about to quote an Oprah Show, this will no doubt please my wife and give my 'CFO' at work more fodder, but here it goes... I remember seeing one about your body language when you come home. What's the first thing your kids see when you walk through that door?

It just stuck with me.

I try to remember that when I'm pulling up to our home. It's even harder when it's that 30 minutes before the guests arrive and you're trying to check things off of your list and make sure that you still have 5 minutes, no 2 minutes to shower, and is your face too scratchy cause you might need to shave too, so make that 1 minute.

I'm getting all flustered just typing that! I always say that the secret to a great dinner party is to have the drinks ready to go before the guests arrive, and if they happen to enjoy one and a half or three before the first course rolls out, they're gonna L O V E everything you're servin' up!

We're heading back to Tucson in a week and a half and I'm cooking for an open house at my mother in law's and I was thinking Chicken Wings might be fun! I think that nothing beats the original Buffalo Wing, but you know me... you gotta try something different right?

Coat 3 lbs of chicken wings with a jar of Harissa. Bag 'em and throw it in your fridge overnight. The next day take 4 Shallots, a tsp of chinese 5 spice, a tbsp paprika, 2 tbsps olive oil, 1tsp fresh rosemary, 1 tsp sugar and 1tsp salt and blend it until smooth. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Remove the wings from your fridge, and add the paste to your bag. Smush it all up until the wings are well coated. I line a half sheet with tin foil and place an oiled rack on top of the foil and the wings on top of that, but you could just bake e in a brownie dish if you wanted to keep the fuss to a minium.

Bake those wings until they're done and you could make a peanut dipping sauce for 'em if you wanted to...

If anyone has a recipe for making those kisses last a little longer, I'm open to suggestions.

Do it for the Halibut.

Cinco De Mayo, sometimes mistakenly translated as "a fifth of Mayonnaise," is often more about the beer or margaritas than it is about the food. Which makes me sad.

On the inside.

On the outside I'm probably the one yelling, "We should totally go camping, like, right now, but only after we collect some firewood and kindling... To the trees!" Tequila does this to me. Tequila has also provided me with many many many stories, which I usually end up telling in lengthy detail when I'm drinking tequila. My Spanish also improves tenfold, but still, I try to avoid tequila when at all possible.

I managed to avoid it altogether this Cinco De Mayo, so you can close up this window if you're waiting to hear all about the room made up entirely of empty mountain dew cans, losing my keys camping, or how Sharpies and passing out don't mix--I guess now you'd call it posting videos up on Facebook? You could chronicle the night's events on your best friend's arms as you dragged him from bar to bar. My friends and I set our alarm for the next morning just so we could see his face when he saw his face after he woke-up.

Priceless and only semi-permanent. What's not to like?

SO this year, after securing the Patron and Sharpies and moving them to an undisclosed location, I set about the task of making some great food to celebrate the return of a good friend. The menu was pretty simple grilled fish tacos with mango salsa, and shredded cabbage:


Okay.

And beer too. It is extremely difficult to grill without a beer unless you have a thermometer. Not only does the beer help cleanse your palate of all the smoke, it also records the passage of time, all while tasting far better than any egg timer could possibly dream of. True, it significantly lacks the ability to "ding!", but that's what "Cheers!" is for.

Armed with my handy dandy grill timer in one hand and spatula in the other, I grilled this huge piece of Alaskan Halibut, and finished it with a cilantro-lime butter.
Flavored butters can be as easy as you want them to be, and also add a great amount flavor if you don't have the time or desire to do a rub, marinade, or sauce. Here, you simply add one cube frozen garlic, two cubes frozen cilantro, the juice of half a lime, some salt, pepper, and but of course, a half a stick of softened butter. I like to use unsalted.

Who knew I could be a control freak, right?

Right. Which is why I went ahead and busted out the higher end butter for our friend as pictured here to the right. "Same, Same, but Different" Cilantro Herb Butter:
Soften half a stick of unsalted butter, zest one lime, mince a handful of fresh cilantro, on that same zester goes a half a clove of garlic, a small pinch of cumin, a small squeeze of lime juice, salt and pepper to taste. You could double this recipe and have enough butter to finish steamed rice with the following night.

Once the Halibut was just about done, I removed it from the grill, topped it with a hefty amount of butter and tented it with foil,to allow the fish to finish cooking and absorb some of the yummy goodness.

Next came the Mango Salsa. It didn't taste nearly as washed out as it appears. You'll just have to trust me on that one.
The ingredients are all pretty much in the first picture of the post. I really can't think of anything I love making more than salsa. For me, they each have their own personality, and you never know when that jalapeno is going to be super angry, or just mildly put off. Which is why you have to take a bite of the jalapeno my friends. Sometimes you get burned, but it's a sure fire way to tell if the heat is right or not. Dice one Mango, a quarter red onion, one jalapeno, slice 4 scallions, mince a handful of cilantro, squeeze one lime, and add salt and pepper the salsa. That's if the Jalapeno was hot, if it's mild, taste the other one, and use two if need be.


William loved this salsa because he abscounded with the mango pit. The meal was great, the conversation was better, and the amount of wipes it took to clean the mango juice up and get it off of his trains was flat out criminal.

Go Go Gadget Gourmet

"I'd love to make this, but it seems way too complicated."

"I'm never going to buy those ingredients."

"I'll tell you what I like to do with lamb."

"Did you see the Celtics/Bulls game tonight?!?!?!!?"

Okay, so you got me, that last one is me. Seriously, how crazy has this series been? The NBA Finals are going to suck. (Please prove me wrong!!!)

In my never-ending aim to please, I take all of these comments to heart and wonder how I can tailor things to make GnC more accessible. So I stew on them for a bit and 'shocker,' I'm confused. I'm not sure which way to go with these comments.

I could post easy two ingredient recipes:

Bean Dip.

1 big ass can of Rosarita Beans
1 small jar of Medium Pace Picante Sauce

Open, open, mix, and serve.

My cousin kindly reminded me of this recipe not so long ago. Thanks a lot Mrs. bologna, salt, and lemon juice. I used to make this along with the first thing my wife taught me how to make, which subs cream cheese for refried beans.

Go figure, she's Jewish Bean Dip.

1 tub of Cream Cheese
1 small jar of Medium Pace Picante Sauce

Open, open, mix, microwave for a minute (Sara?) and serve.

I still have a couple inches around my waist to prove how tasty this dip really is.

Would I make this now? No, but you should.

Know where you're coming from. Where I'm coming from I'd buy some poblano peppers, roast them on the stove-top, bag 'em, peel 'em, and puree them. I'd zest a lime, finely chop some cilantro, caramelize a couple shallots, and add all of this and a little fresh garlic and salt to creme fraiche. Maybe throw it on top of some pasta and grilled shrimp or poached salmon?

That's what I'd make right now. Tomorrow, might be roasted bell peppers and goat cheese with fresh thyme, red pepper chili flakes and cracked black pepper.

My wife's biggest complaint is that I never make the same thing twice. This can only spell disaster if I open my little cafe.

btw Sandra Lee just popped up on my TV saying she's the "Colonel's Girl..." Does anyone else have a problem with KFC's new Grilled Chicken? Or do you just feel like Ms. Lee is Mrs. Robinson times 10.6875?

I'm back, sorry. As far as new ingredients go, think of it this way, you're not still breast fed are you?

Well, are you?

Gavin, put your hand down.

Coincidence.

I'm constantly calling my mom, asking her if my entries are too long, blah blah blah. Her response is always, it's your blog. If people wanna scan, they're gonna scan. If they wanna sit and read the whole thing they can sit and read your entire blog. She pauses here. I know that she has a list of grammar mistakes, she knows I'll throw "style" back at her, and I know she'll always wait for me to ask about 'em.

Then there's the comment of here's what you really should do.

To which I reply, POST THAT IN THE COMMENTS!!!!

Please.

It won't make me rethink this over and over and over on my drive in to work and overshoot my exit by two cities.

Then again...

You will find a little bit of everything in here. I promise to put in some simpler stuff that I love. My food won't always require a latest and greatest gadget or smoked, fair trade, and shade grown spices. Although I make no promises that I won't eventually write every recipe for my next drool toy the Thermomix TM31. Anyone have the winning Lottery numbers for this week's draw?

Please keep your suggestions coming. I love the idea of putting in the recipe as the title, but there goes my little piggie who stayed home to write. I really enjoy the writing part.

Wow.

I really enjoy the writing part.

I think I just made a little "Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail" face. You know the reaction shot: Tom Hanks writes something incredibly witty, and Meg Ryan makes that patented romantic comedy face.

I just made myself Meg Ryanesque... I should stop eating brittle and go to bed.

Or have referenced some Hugh Jackman film, that way I'd be, like, super tough.

This is what happens when my wife leaves town, a man is only as good as the direction given to him. I take back the KFC Grilled Chicken thing. I may never try it, but it's nice to see people branching out.

I'm gonna go see if William has moved from his "Woe is me" sleeping position and cut up some cantaloupe for his lunch tomorrow. Maybe I'll throw some in my lunch with prosciutto, arugula, a little olive oil, and lemon juice.

iHeart Mom Necklace

So it turns out that I have some younger readers who are interested in cooking. I have a couple of words of wisdom for you.

Fellas.

Fellas, fellas, fellas...

Mother's Day is fast approaching.

Now, the pre-holiday stress might not be bearing down on you like a 747 about to land at El Alto in La Paz, but just like those airliners it's coming in twice as fast.

If your giftometer is pinned at zero, have no fear. I have an old stand-by recipe that my 3 1/2 year old, William, helps me make for his mom. Even those with a fear of frying can do this with never using a skillet. Give it a try and I promise, the only thing you'll say it's missing is William gently slapping you on the face at 6am to tell you it's time to put the French Toast in the oven. At full volume.

So much for letting Sara sleep in on her birthday.

This year for Mother's Day, we'll pull out the old trusty French Toast recipe again. The recipe varies depending upon whether I have half and half, or whole milk, or heavy cream on hand but it usually goes something like this.

Hold up.

For those of you groaning "French Toast?!?" A)William can do this. I am sure that you gentlemen will be able handle this with the greatest of ease. After all, you don't need a step stool to reach the top of the counters now do you? B)You're telling me you have something better planned than French Toast? (hook me-up!) C)It's time to pull those big boy pants up over your boxers, wash your hands, and get down to repaying the hours of labor your mother put into bringing you forth into this world. Little did she know she'd be spending most of her time cleaning, swatting, and missing your cute little butt.

Here's my first piece of advice you might take with you. Ask questions. My second and frankly more important piece of advice: listen to what she says. The third is pretty simple, and it's usually where most of us men fall short because we were too busy congratulating ourselves for actually listening... REMEMBER WHAT SHE SAID.

Write it down, record a voice memo, or omg txt urself. I don't care how you do it. Update your Facebook Status with it for all I care. C'mon do it!

Does she like chocolate? Pumpkin? Oranges? Maple Syrup? Berries? (Ugh, you, my friend are outta luck if she doesn't eat wheat, dairy, or is vegan... Close this. Now! Run to the chopper! Go to JC Penny's and get the 'I love you mom' necklace. It's your only hope.)

Whatever her response, and she may say she likes anything you make, try to narrow her down to one choice. It'll sure make it easier on you... and her when she goes out to buy all of the things that you'll need. This will feed four nicely. (You might even have some leftovers for Todd.)

5 eggs (three if you don't plan on dropping any on the floor.)
1 loaf of unsliced Challah bread (Egg Bread)
pint of whipping cream
1 cup Whole milk
1/2 cup Granulated Sugar (Omit if your mom chose Maple Syrup)
1/2 cup of whatever ingredient she said she liked (1 cup if Berry)
Your phone to read what she told you.
1 1/2 tsp Cinnamon (Omit if Berry)
1/2 tsp Nutmeg (Omit if Berry)
Unsalted Butter
(Optional - Vanilla Bean Paste)

If you can use a bread knife, cut your loaf of Challah in half, set aside the other half for later use, and then into 1 1/2"-2" cubes. If it's pre-sliced bread, take out half of the bread and then maybe cut each slice into 6 pieces. If you are not allowed to use a knife, ask someone else to help you accomplish this task. William has been known to do this by hand. It's pretty funny to watch, but when I tried to cut some of the Titanic sized pieces down to SS Minnow size, he looked at me as if I was destroying his piece of art. It still baked up and tasted fine. It just looked like a pile or three of trains were hiding under the French Toast.

I wouldn't put him past it.

Set aside your works of Cubism, and grab a medium sized mixing bowl. Pour your sugar into said mixing bowl and crack the three eggs into it. Crack your knuckles or do a couple of baseball stretches before you grab your whisk. You are going to mix your sugar and eggs until either your arm falls off or they become light yellow in color. Ask your mom for some breathing exercises. If you're using Maple Syrup, just whisk the eggs alone.

Once you get to that light yellow color, add in your spices, and a tsp of Vanilla Bean Paste if you have it. Whisk that up for a minute. Breathe or switch arms, just don't let your older siblings see you sweat. Add in 1 cup of whole milk, one cup of heavy cream, and whisk until you cry or 30 seconds, whichever comes first.

Don't get all crazy and see how long you can whisk this (you know who you are) you might get sweet butter if you do this for, like, forever.

If you're using pumpkin puree or maple syrup, add this in now and whisk for another 30 seconds or so. If you're wiping "sweat" from your eyes, go wash your hands before you grab the bread. Add in the chocolate chips, or berries now. If you're getting crazy and going with Cocoa Puffs or Fruity Pebbles, hold off and put those in the following day.

(picture out of order, but
really, who will notice?)
Gently stir in the bread so that it has a chance to soak up all that yummy goodness. Cover it with plastic wrap or throw it all in a Gladware container put the lid on it, and refrigerate overnight. Clean up your mess. When your whisk (if it's stainless steel) and mixing bowl (stainless too?) are dry, put them in the freezer. Call it a 'science experiment' if your mom's not too sure about this.

More advice: This usually works for all matter of things that you feel might need to be put in the freezer or stored for a bit.

The next morning make sure your oven rack is in the middle and that there isn't another rack above it. Now, preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Grab that stick of butter peel down half of the cover and rub it all over a 9" x 13" baking pan. Think mom with a sunscreen stick (butter) and your face (the pan) at the beach (beach?) Can you tell that this is William's favorite part? Poor, poor butter! Now pour your bread and egg mix into it. When your oven is up to temp (ready) put your "French Toast" in the oven.

This will bake for 35-45 minutes. It will rise and poof up, your edges of the bread should turn a golden to dark brown. In the mean time, grab your frozen bowl and whisk, and pour in your remaining cup of heavy cream and a tsp of vanilla bean paste, if you have it. Whisk away young man until it makes a small peak or mountain when you pull out the whisk. Your hands will be nice and frozen. Obviously, you won't care one bit!















Let the French Toast cool for 10 minutes. Grab a CLEAN plate, scoop out a large serving of the French Toast and top with whipped cream. Sprinkle extra berries, chocolate chips, powdered sugar, or whatever crushed dried cereal you think goes best with your masterpiece to garnish.

Your mothers have my number if you need help. Call me, I'll hand the phone to William, and he'll help walk you through it tough guy.

EDIT: I did 1" cubes for this one because it was for a potluck. I didn't have very "thirsty" bread and ended up using 3/4 of a 1lb loaf of Challah, instead of the 1/2 as written above to soak up more of the custard mix. I also had some cream cheese that I put on top before baking (see what I mean about always doing things a little bit differently?) I don't like cooked strawberries so I used those for garnish. Here I used 1/2 cup blueberries, 1/2 cup raspberries, and 1/2 cup strawberries (which you could put in the toast. If you wanted to. Eww.)

Sara ran off with the dish, so I couldn't get a "Hero" shot of the final product. I'll post one up on Mother's Day. It'll be completely different, and just as yummy.