Blueberry French Toast Casserole

Graduation is Friday. June 1st. Wait — I need to fix the date. The graduation was Friday, June 1st. I'm writing this the following Monday because I couldn't write over the weekend. I was too full. Too full of what happened, too full of food, too full of the specific weight that comes with watching your last child walk across a stage in a cap and gown while you sit in the bleachers trying to hold yourself together with nothing but jaw muscles and pride.

Clay graduated from Bryan Station High School on June 1, 2018. He walked across the stage to receive his diploma and the principal paused and said "Clayton Hensley, Bryan Station record holder for tackles in a season, future United States Army soldier." The crowd cheered. I stood up. Connie stood up. Travis stood up. Amber, who'd driven three hours from UK for this, stood up. We all stood and clapped and Clay looked at us from the stage and gave the smallest nod — the Hensley nod, the one that says more than any word — and I thought: that's my boy. That's the boy who ate nine pancakes and broke the tackle record and chose the Army over a scholarship and made us crazy with fear and pride in equal measure. That's my boy.

After the ceremony, Betty called. She'd watched on Connie's phone (Amber held it, broadcasting the ceremony live, which is technology being used for its highest purpose). Betty said "He looked so tall." He did. Six-two in a cap and gown, taller than Earl, taller than me, taller than the generation that made him. She said "Tell him I'm proud." I told him. He said "Tell her I know."

I threw a graduation party Saturday. Smoked pork shoulder. Baked beans. Coleslaw. Cornbread. A cake from Kroger because I didn't have the emotional bandwidth to bake. Travis, Jolene, Amber, Tyler, a few of Clay's teammates. The backyard was full. The food was good. Clay ate with his friends and laughed and threw a football in the yard and for a few hours he was just a kid at a party, not a soldier in training, not a number waiting for assignment, just a kid.

Five weeks until he ships. Five weeks of mornings and dinners and the sound of his feet on the stairs and the empty milk jug in the fridge and the life of a house with a son in it. I'm going to cook every night. Every single night. Five weeks of meals, thirty-five dinners, each one a letter in a long sentence that says: I love you. I'm scared. I'm proud. Come home.

The party Saturday took everything I had, and Sunday morning I woke up to a house that still had people in it — Amber hadn’t left yet, Travis and Jolene had stayed late, and Clay was asleep upstairs making the kind of sound that a house makes when it’s still full. I needed something I could put in front of all of them without standing at a stove, something warm and a little sweet, something that said celebration without requiring me to perform any more emotion than I had left. I’ve made this blueberry French toast casserole for years because you build it the night before and the oven does the work while you just stand in the kitchen with your coffee — and on a morning like that one, with five weeks on the clock, that’s exactly the kind of cooking I needed.

Prep Time: 20 min (plus overnight soak) | Cook Time: 50 min | Total Time: 1 hr 10 min + overnight | Servings: 10–12

Ingredients

1 large loaf (about 1 lb) French bread or brioche, cut into 1-inch cubes (about 10–12 cups)
8 oz cream cheese, cut into small cubes
2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries, divided
12 large eggs
2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/3 cup pure maple syrup, plus more for serving
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp salt
For the blueberry syrup:
1 cup blueberries (fresh or frozen)
1 cup water
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 tbsp cornstarch mixed with 2 tbsp cold water

Instructions

Assemble the casserole. Grease a 9x13-inch baking dish. Spread half the bread cubes in an even layer. Scatter the cream cheese cubes and 1 cup of blueberries over the bread, then top with the remaining bread cubes and the second cup of blueberries.
Make the custard. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, heavy cream, maple syrup, vanilla, cinnamon, and salt until fully combined. Pour the custard evenly over the bread, pressing the cubes down gently to help them absorb the liquid.
Refrigerate overnight. Cover the dish tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 8 hours or overnight. This is what makes the casserole come together — don’t skip the soak.
Bake. Remove the casserole from the refrigerator 30 minutes before baking. Preheat oven to 350°F. Bake uncovered for 45–55 minutes, until the top is golden brown and the center is set (not jiggly). If the top browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil for the last 15 minutes.
Make the blueberry syrup. While the casserole bakes, combine the blueberries, water, and sugar in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir until the sugar dissolves and the berries begin to break down, about 5 minutes. Stir in the cornstarch slurry and continue cooking, stirring constantly, until the syrup thickens, about 2–3 minutes. Remove from heat.
Serve. Let the casserole rest for 5 minutes after it comes out of the oven. Cut into squares and serve warm, drizzled with the blueberry syrup and extra maple syrup if you like.

Nutrition (per serving)

Blueberry French Toast Casserole — The Morning After We Said Everything That Needed Saying