When I have a cold, I crave cinnamon toast in the morning and wonton soup in the evening. Perhaps it’s that my muffled palate can only respond to such uncomplicated notes as sweet and salty, amplified, respectively, by the clear flavors of cinnamon and ginger.
Over the course of a three-day layup, I left the wonton soup to the Chinese restaurant delivery guys, but every morning I made my own cinnamon toast, generously buttering toasted white bread and then heaping on the cinnamon sugar.
Feeling a bit stronger toward the end of my convalescence, I decided to add some eggs to the mix and made a very comforting baked French toast. In fact , it was so eggy as to qualify as bread pudding. Here’s what I did:
I smeared a small ovenproof casserole with about a tablespoon of softened butter and arranged in it 5 slices of white bread, each of which I’d cut into 4 triangles. I beat 5 eggs with ¼ cup milk, ½ teaspoon of salt and 1 tablespoon of sugar and poured this over the bread.
It took about 15 minutes for the bread to soak up the eggs. I helped the process along by tilting the casserole and gently pressing some of the unsoaked tips into the liquid. I happened to have some frozen blueberries on hand and I tucked them around, then I sprinkled cinnamon sugar over everything and dotted it with another tablespoon of butter. It baked for 30 minutes at 400 degrees. I ate half of it on the spot and, the next day, reheated the other half by breaking it into pieces and gently frying it with a couple more tablespoons of butter in a nonstick pan. Hey, I was sick.