French toast. It cures most disease, mends broken bones. Without it, airplanes could not fly, trees could not grow. Remove those sweet fumes, and Earth would not sustain life — OK, arguably not sustain life.
The point: French toast is taken for granted, often drowned beneath a tsunami of mascarpone, strangely less popular than the omelet, even overshadowed by its less-consistent (but, oddly, hip) partner the waffle. Yet it is complex, worthy of an appreciation, of an aria, of a consideration of those qualities that make this big-hearted breakfast dish as sturdy as it is evocative. Therefore: 16 short essays about our favorite Chicago French toasts, with the first eight below.
The best
I began eating cornflake-crusted French toast at Jerry’s Restaurant in Winnetka last summer. It’s a corner spot on a quiet strip in a quiet village, with an unwieldy dining room, a cooking school/catering service/party space attached (called Corner Cooks). I couldn’t tell you if the dinner is good; I haven’t been able to move beyond the French toast. I would sit outside week after week and marvel, staring at the bread — I’ve always hated cornflake-crusted French toast, but this one, baked until the flakes darken, each large slice caramelized outside, with a near-bread-pudding interior, is ideal. It doesn’t need butter, and it woke me up to how textured French toast could be. The chef is Bridget Burns. She is 29, a graduate of Kendall College. Watch for her. 507 Chestnut St., Winnetka; 847-441-0134; $10
The classic
Before French toast was French, it was suppe dorate, found in England during the Middle Ages, though that lineage is disputed. Later, it became “the Poor Knights of Windsor,” but that’s a long story. As for its Gallic roots, in France, French toast is pain perdu, or “lost bread,” stale bread, stray ends of a loaf, dipped in custard batter. That’s all. It’s here we find Andrew Alcid, chef at La Tache in Andersonville. His French toast, like Jerry’s — I crave it daily. As he said, “I am a French toast purist, a believer in nothing unusual, but in doing what has always worked and doing it with care.” It’s a quiet jewel of a dish, four slices of brioche lightly dusted with powered sugar, browned at the edges, a waft of vanilla rising from the plate. Simple, and perfect. 1475 W. Balmoral Ave.; 773-334-7168; $7
The stuffed surprise
There is a crisis in French toast, which I place at the feet of stuffed French toast, the worst thing to ever happen to French toast. Chef Jeffrey Mauro at Jam (See The Experiment) said he has tried to enjoy it, but often it’s a mask for cheap bread, “cramming in everything under the sun, cream and fruit, until the dish no longer has integrity.” Yes. But I found an exception: Teri’s Famous Stuffed French Toast. It is neither famous nor really stuffed. Find it at Travelers Cafe & Ice Cream Depot in Westmont. The recipe is from a Cape Cod bed and breakfast. It appears sad and squat, made the night before, then baked. But the stuffing is a thin sheet of cheesecake-like mix topped with a thinner layer of preserves. Just enough to taste. Then there’s the egg, so bold the bread (Labriola) turns yellow. 20 N. Cass Ave., Westmont; 630-971-2233; $5.90
The savory agitator
“I don’t like French toast,” Carol Wallack told me. She is the owner of Sola. “I don’t like eggs. I don’t like potatoes. I don’t like breakfast. I’m not a bread fan. I don’t like sweets. And I really don’t like French toast. It’s not my thing.” Her chef du cuisine, Alex Shalev, faced with a boss who hates a third of her menu, came up with a fantastic compromise: a sort of croque monsieur, with house-cured ham, Gruyere, a dab of whole-grain mustard tossed with honey from Green City Market. The batter is standard, the bread is standard but — topped with a river of plum preserves — the result draws memories, of the most satisfying after-school latchkey-kid grilled cheese ever made, fused with egg and jelly. But everything in moderation. 3868 N. Lincoln Ave.; 773-327-3868; $11
The true believer
Noe Sanchez is 27, chef at Convito Cafe & Market in Wilmette, in a strip mall off Sheridan Road that, when I squint and hear waves crash across the road then look up at the condos dotted with faded pastels, somehow always reminds me of Miami Beach. Sanchez has worked here since age 14; he started as a pot washer. He adores his French toast, does not understand why it does not sell. He has taken to offering customers a bite, a temptation. Take the full dish. Mine was sopped with strawberry compote, squishy but gorgeous — a dramatic single brick, topped with peeled tangerine and mint, the towering walls of the bread the same brown as an expensive pair of leather boots, the center a perfect balance between custard and the buttery lattice of brioche. 1515 Sheridan Road, Wilmette; 847-251-3654; $8
The line stepper
Psst. Weekend French toasts at Lula Cafe in Logan Square are not really French toasts. Co-owner Jason Hammel walks a narrow margin between excess and inspiration. The bread remains the same (brioche, from Fox & Obel), but the stuffing changes at whim. One weekend, a fragrant camomile stuffing (ambitious, but it had me missing eggs); the other day, white chocolate-custard stuffing, which had me reconsidering my hatred of stuffed French toast. The topping was shaved, marinated cranberries. And in lieu of maple syrup, a chocolate ganache. “It’s over the top in a good way,” Hammel defended. When the bread doesn’t bend beneath the strain of so much sugary pizazz, when the stuffing is light, he’s spot on. 2537 N. Kedzie Blvd.; 773-489-9554; $12
The family tradition
Here’s how Jimmy Bannos at Heaven on Seven landed his banana foster French toast with pecans, a dead ringer for the grainy crunch of a churro, and just as deceptively light: “The recipe came from my dad. When he was married in the 1940s, he took the train to Florida for their honeymoon. They had this French toast. He was a chef, a second-generation chef, and went back into the kitchen and came out with a few tips. Anyway, when I opened Heaven in 1980, we used it. Our New Orleans theme came about a few years later, and I added banana foster. My brother-in-law roasts the pecans. I sugarcoat the bananas. We use a challah, but the trick is to not soak the bread as much as people think they should. Then it’s griddled. Then, yes, we deep-fry it.”
111 N. Wabash Ave.; 312 263-6443; $9.95
The king of cinnamon
“You know, the breakfast scene — God, that’s a frightening way to put it — the breakfast scene is getting too involved, too elaborate, just way too … much,” said Eric Singer, who has owned Lucky Platter in Evanston since 1991. He said that after I asked him to tell me about his cinnamon-raisin French toast, which is milder than most, the bread heavier, with a dust of crumbled cornflakes on top, a classic go-to. I recognized his squeamishness as I asked. You don’t eat at Lucky Platter looking for innovation. You eat here because it’s a nice morning, you want to hang out. That Singer is a baker, that he started as a pastry chef at the legendary Cafe Provencal, that he makes his bread in the basement — those are details he seems to actively bury, and that modesty and taste are what I taste.
514 Main St., Evanston; 847-869-4064; $6.75
The experiment
Chef Jeffrey Mauro, who recently opened Jam in Ukrainian Village, was frustrated by French toast. “It should be a standout. Not the thing you have to do. Mine came out of Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby. I wanted to reproduce those flavors, that malt and custard flavor. We wanted to bake a malted custard inside French toast. We went through 10 loaves of Pullman white before it worked (via sous-vide). For the lime leaf cream (on the side), we steep lime leaf in simple syrup, mix in heavy cream, egg white, lime zest. It’s sprinkled with pink peppercorn. And the macerated fruit is stone fruit, macerated in vanilla and brandy.” Our suggestion: Order, but ignore everything but the bread, which is malty and ideal, a down-home dish with a distracting entourage. 937 N. Damen Ave.; 773-489-0302; $10
The bread
The feel of dough beneath your fork is important. More important than malt, chai or maple syrup. At Victory’s Banner, consider the basic French toast, which employs a potato bread that owner Pradhan Balter buys down the street, at Rudy’s Bakery. This bread sinks beneath your fork, its crust negligible, not a good sign. But that first impression betrays the taste, which sneaks up and grows eggy the closer you get to the core, with hints of orange marmalade (mixed into the batter). Still, the bread remains the focus. Brioche, challah — popular choices, their richness a few eggs apart. But potato bread is milder. “Maybe too indulgent?” Balter asked, sweetly, naively, a man who has never had a white chocolate custard tucked into his breakfast food. 2100 W. Roscoe Ave.; 773-665-0227; $6.85
The beauty
Style and substance? Three slices recline, each slice nuzzled against the other, half submerged in a pool of pale cream, the bread half warm and half crisp, as if wading. There is no plate; it’s served in a bowl, resembling a scooped ’70s space chair. The bread is a rust brown. Lying across its top, thin but crunchy, are strips of caramelized apple drizzled with honey. The chai-tea French toast at Orange is a vision, but the taste is genius, a Pullman white, laced with ricotta, battered in chai latte, then baked. Luis Gomez, head chef for Orange, prefers his other French toast, one dipped in rosemary and orange juice. But he’s wrong. 2413 N. Clark St.; 773-549-7833; $8.95
The diner special
The Moondance Diner in Burr Ridge does not make remarkable French toast, but a satisfying example of the under-grilled, few-frills French toast served by suburban strip-mall chains around the country. Try the sampler. Owner Theresa Manuele rarely touches the thing — “I want to stay in my size zero.” You get a slice of traditional, a slice of cinnamon-raisin, but the focus is the banana slice, so bold with banana and batter that syrup would only intrude. “I go into the city for ideas, I’m not going to lie,” she said. “Wait. What are you going to say? Say I’m cute and I look like Sarah Jessica Parker. Everyone thinks so anyway.” 78 Burr Ridge Parkway; 630-455-5504; $7.59
The eccentric
Bridgeport’s Polo Cafe and Catering, which is open for brunch until 2 p.m. on Saturdays, is tucked between a row of brick homes within cheering distance of the White Sox. The room resembles your grandmother’s, doilies included. The chef is Dave Samber, and he understands his neighborhood. The creme brulee French toast arrived at my table surrounded by candles, with a picture of the pope propped alongside the plate. He doesn’t give the surface that hardened crust of a brulee, but he doesn’t need to. The syrup is made with a generous pour of Kleiner Feigling, a fig-infused vodka. And did I mention the pope thing? 3322 S. Morgan St.; 773-927-7656; $7.50
The fine line
How soaked is too soaked? How crisp too crisp? Some chefs want the bread dark and dry, a palette for their toppings. Others want a 24-hour egg bath. The ideal, and what is great about French toast, is that somewhere-in-between. Consider Milk & Honey Cafe, in Wicker Park, where the margin between a sop of dough and a brick of yeast feels endlessly tense, and well illustrated in owner Carol Watson’s orange brioche French toast. The cut is more cornerstone than breakfast food — “We use a rich batter with orange extract in it,” she said. “A smaller slice and it could only dip a second.” To counter that batter, Red Hen makes Watson’s loaf with less butter than standard brioche, allowing for more density. For crunch, there are toasted almonds. 1920 W. Division St.; 773-395-9434; $6.75
The custard explosion
My heart sank at the Meli French toast at Meli, in Greektown. The bread appeared wilted, soggy; the four halves, arranged in stacks of two, groaned at the center, a large swirl of cream buckling the bread, like a roof collapsing beneath a mountain of snow. Surely, this bread lacked heft. (It did.) But chef Frank Georgacopoulos made a calculated trade — his custard becomes the star, not his butter, his syrup or his bread. Essentially, he said, it’s creme brulee wrapped into challah. The bread has honey added to the dough. The result is a rarity — the deeper you sink into a slice of this French toast, the more egg and custard you come up with. “Believe it or not, we do watch calories, and try to remove the fat without sacrificing flavor.” (I’ve had it. I don’t believe it.) 301 S. Halsted St.; 312-454-0748; $8.95
The Southern touch
The Sally Lunn French toast at Big Jones in Andersonville fluctuates in quality, looks drab beneath the wrong-colored fruit compote, could use less whipped cream — less everything. That said, as far as I know, it is the only Sally Lunn French toast around, a sponge-cake-ish Southern tradition that lacks the sturdiness of great French toast but makes up for it in minor, resonant tweaks. The egg custard batter receives more cloves and a touch more nutmeg than usual, and more brown sugar. The syrup is from cane sugar (another Southern thing). But here’s the addicting part: candied almonds on top, spiked with dashes of cayenne. (Note: See Phil Vettel’s review of Big Jones on Page 3.) 5347 N. Clark St.; 773-275-5725; $10
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cborrelli@tribune.com
