mother’s sunday breakfast

Every now and again, my parents like to tell me the story of how annoyed my mother was that I denied her a Mother’s Day in 1986. Sure I was born early, but apparently not early enough. Incidentally, that was probably the last time I was early to anything.

This Sunday being Mother’s Day, a different type of breakfast was in the works.

One of my dad’s most common refrains to any of my culinary handiwork is, You know what would make this even better? Raisins. I certainly didn’t make this challah (one day), but when given the option to go with whole wheat or raisin, well – guess what I went with.

You know what is luxurious? Indonesian vanilla beans. We put half a bean in the French toast egg bath, along with a few other goodies. Vanilla bean versus vanillin can really make all the difference in the world.

I have very little regard for the temperature in the house. I turn on my ceiling fan in the winter. I’ll wear shorts, a t-shirt and Uggs around the house year-round. Okay, I’m giving away all my secrets. The point is, I have no problem turning on the oven during 80F weather, but my father is another story. It’s a point of contention, a race to see if I can sneak things into a heated oven before notices. I rarely win, as was the case with this morning’s bacon. In the battle of oven versus grill, the grill won and the bacon suffered a slight casualty due to lack of proximity.

Also, there may have been some, eh, hunger casualties.

One of my greatest weaknesses in the kitchen – aside from snacking on the job, but come on, who doesn’t? – is timing. Especially during Sunday breakfasts. I get caught up in the spirit! Unfortunately, this didn’t bode well with the lady of the hour, and so, she prepared herself a little snack to tide her over.

Breakfast toast is obviously a family talent.

Because honestly, what’s a Sunday breakfast without eggs? No need for butter, that’s what all that leftover bacon fat is for! C’mon, you were thinking it too.

So what did I eat? Well there’s the piece of olive bread with St. Andre triple-cream cheese that never stood a chance at being photographed. There were the bacon casualties.  There was a cappuccino from a moka pot I seem to finally be connecting with. And there was this –

French toast, maple syrup, freshly whipped heavy cream (I added the other half of the vanilla bean) and some strawberries.

To all the mamas (especially to mine, who is probably wondering how much longer I’ll drag out the start of diner prep), baby mamas, aunties, godmothers, grandmothers and all varieties therein – Happy Mother’s Day.

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