French Toast

Recently, an American friend tried my recipe for 'Indian Toast' -- the colonially-interpreted French toast, which I suspect wasn't French to begin with -- and declared it a thumping success. In celebration, I thought I should recall the original recipe, and make me a stack myself. With a strong cuppa :-)

 

The child's 'Indian' toast: Minus onions and chilies.

The Indian Toast Post: A Brief History:

Once at a breakfast meeting in a breakfast place with lots of local colour, I ordered french toast with some enthusiasm, and the person I was meeting ordered the same (in fact, I ordered it after hearing him order, not looking at the menu). And then he ordered bacon and scrambled eggs with it. I've always eaten french toasts by themselves, so while I thought the meaty-salty flavour of bacon went well with french toasts, I was definitely surpised at the scrambled eggs. When our food arrived, however, everything became clearer. The man ate through his eggs and grease-dripping bacon with demonic speed, and then his french toasts at leisure, dousing them in sweet syrup.

Yes, that's right, sweet syrup. And if that wasn't shocking enough, the French toasts themselves came with blueberries on and in them. I've seldom eaten a more nauseating meal, but since he obviously relished this bizarre concoction, I couldn't very well tell him how appalling I found it. And not having any other reason to not eat it after ordering it with much enthusiasm, I slowly chewed through the stack. Later, over tea (coffee for him) I tentatively ventured that in India we made french toast with chopped green chilies and onions in the whisked egg, and nothing else. And nothing poured on top, either. He did almost as good a job as I had done of disguising my shock at the strange eating habits of the natives, but I got the message anyway.

And now, for the pics from this lot:

With chopped onions and green chilies.

Slathered with garlicky sour cream.

A steaming cuppa and the morning papers.