How to make perfect french toast

Powered by Guardian.co.uk This article titled “How to make perfect french toast” was written by Felicity Cloake, for The Guardian on Wednesday 23rd October 2013 12.28 UTC

French toast, despite the saucy-sounding name, is an eminently practical dish, designed to transform an elderly loaf into a delicious dessert; hence the French – and for many centuries, English – term pain perdu.

As well as the rather more homely “eggy bread”, it is also known in English as “poor knights of Windsor”: similar names in Danish, Swedish and German have been explained by the fact that, back when sweet foods were a sign of wealth, this thrifty pudding saved the bacon of many an impoverished crusader.

Whether or not this lovely vignette is true, the idea certainly predates the knights: Apicius, a cookery book from the last days of the Roman empire, has a familiar recipe for fine white bread soaked in milk, fried and coated with honey, which just goes to show that good things never date – although fashions change, and french toast is now more commonly eaten at breakfast. But, whenever you eat it, what is the best recipe?

Bread

Of paramount importance. From Apicius onwards, french toast recipes have made clear that the bread should be fine (ie soft) and white; medieval recipes tend to call for manchet – the paler, lighter loaf that was a great status symbol at a time when the common herd subsisted on bread coarse enough to break a tooth on.

As a substitute when trying Gervase Markham’s recipe from his 1615 book, The English Hus-Wife, I use a good-quality, yeast-raised white loaf. Ambrose Heath calls for a sliced French roll in his 1937 book Good Sweets, Martha Stewart suggests brioche, and my trusty Cook’s Illustrated New Best Recipe book, which has tested the matter with characteristic thoroughness, strongly recommends using challah (a braided Jewish bread made with eggs) for “flavour and richness”, as well as the fact it stays “generally crisp outside and somewhat moist inside”.

The French roll, despite soaking, stays too chewy for my liking. Brioche and challah both have some degree of historical authenticity, given that the finest manchets would have been made with an enriched dough. The soft texture responds well to soaking, with the interior dissolving into a rich gooeyness, but, frankly, I don’t think either bread needs any more in the way of egg, milk or butter, and I prefer the plainer, more savoury flavour of the simple white bread, which provides a pleasant contrast to the sweet crust. It must be good quality, and somewhat stale, however, or it will fall apart in the pan. Chunky slices of just under an inch will ensure a satisfying contrast between inside and outside.

Mixture

Because the bread is stale, it requires soaking to make it palatable. Markham and Heath keep things simple with a straightforward egg coating – yolks alone for Heath, who soaks his bread in sherry before cooking. The other recipes all use a more complicated mixture: cream and eggs for the Joy of Cooking; milk, eggs and orange juice for Stewart; and milk, eggs, flour and melted butter for Cook’s Illustrated, which is curiously keen to prevent the dish from being “too eggy”. The flour is apparently deployed to maximise the exterior crispness, while butter softens this batter-like coating.

I’m sensing a transatlantic divide here: those of us who also know it as eggy bread like to taste a bit of egg (though Heath’s version reminds me of a sherry trifle), while American recipes seem keen to bury it in other ingredients. Personally, the custardy aspect so beloved of the Cooks Illustrated editors doesn’t appeal to me at this time of day, though their recipe is well worth a look if you have a sweet tooth in the mornings. I do like the crispness the flour gives the outside, however, so although I won’t be adding milk or cream, I will be stirring in butter and flour to help it form a crust.

Soaking

Soaking times range from none at all – from Markham, who pours his egg mixture on the bread while it’s in the frying pan – to an overnight soak from the Joy of Cooking, via a minute for Cook’s Illustrated, and 20 in Martha Stewart’s recipe, which leaves my brioche almost disintegrating under the spatula. By the time I get the Joy of Cooking slices out of the fridge, it’s all I can do to reshape them into bread form.

I’m a fan of the shorter soak; the mixture should penetrate the interior of the bread, but there shouldn’t be enough time for it to begin dissolving it into a mush. Thirty seconds feels about right, though times will vary according to your particular loaf and its degree of staleness: the crumb should be soft, but still with structural integrity.

Flavourings

Vanilla essence is a popular addition, especially in the American recipes, but I prefer the fierier sweet spices used by Markham, finding mace, nutmeg and cloves a more interesting complement to the ubiquitous ground cinnamon. Although I’m not sure Stewart’s fresh orange juice comes through in the finished dish, I also quite like her lemon zest, though if you don’t happen to have one in need of using up, it’s no disaster.

Salt, however, is mandatory: as Cook’s Illustrated observes, it gives the flavour “a big boost”. Sugar, which Heath only adds in the form of a sherry butter sauce after cooking, is another must in the soaking liquid, although I haven’t gone overboard with it, because I love the crunch of the granulated sugar Markham finishes off his dish with. The Joy of Cooking and Stewart go for maple syrup, which is nice for a north American flavour, but results in a less interesting texture.

Stewart uses cognac in her soaking liquid: as with Heath’s sherry, it’s not a bad combination, smacking slightly of a festive eggnog. If I were cooking french toast for a special occasion, I might indulge in a drop of sweet sherry too – the brandy itself is overpowering.

Cooking

The Joy of Cooking suggests baking the french toast, which leaves it a bit dry. Frying is the only way to do it – but not in ordinary butter, which has an annoying tendency to burn before the second side is toasted. Stewart recommends a mixture of vegetable oil and butter, but this doesn’t solve the problem: butter still burns, whatever it’s mixed with. The problem is resolved by Jane Grigson, who handily points out in English Food that clarified butter is the secret to pain perdu perfection. It’s easy to make yourself, but, as a curry fanatic, I’m never without a tin of ghee in the fridge, which speeds up the process considerably. And, even on a lazy Sunday morning, that’s got to be a good thing.

Perfect french toast

(Serves 2)
2 tbsp clarified butter (ghee), melted
2 large eggs
2 tsp granulated sugar, plus extra to sprinkle
¼ tsp salt
Pinch of ground cloves
Pinch of ground mace
Pinch of ground nutmeg
¼ tsp ground cinnamon
Finely grated zest of ½ lemon (optional)
2 tsp plain flour
2 x 2cm-thick slices of stale, good-quality white bread

Melt one tablespoon of the clarified butter and set aside. Beat the eggs in a wide, shallow bowl, and then whisk in the melted butter, the sugar, salt, spices and zest, if using. Stir a little of this into the flour to make a paste, then beat back into the egg mixture until smooth.

Heat the remaining butter in a frying pan over a medium-high heat. Meanwhile, soak the bread in the egg mixture for about 30 seconds a side until soft but not floppy. Put in the hot pan and allow to cook undisturbed for about two minutes until golden and crisp.

Turn and cook for about a minute or a little more on the other side, then put on to plates, sprinkle with sugar and serve with indecent haste.