By Second week with Dr. Langley. She asked us to each describe what we want our kitchen to mean. Not what it does mean but what we want it to mean, which is a question about intention and desire rather than fact. Calvin said he wants the kitchen to mean safety—a place where the world outside cannot enter without permission, where the smell of food is a signal that someone is taking care of things. I said I want the kitchen to mean continuation—the place where what Bernice put into me becomes what I put into the food becomes what I put into the people who eat it, the chain going forward, never ending, the love that does not die when the people who carry it die but finds new hands, new pots, new tables.
Dr. Langley wrote this down. She said, "You've been using food as your primary language for grief." I said, "Yes. Since I was eight years old." She said, "That's not a problem. That's a tool. The problem is when it becomes the only tool." I thought about this. I thought about the months after Marcus when I couldn't cook and I had nothing—no tool, no language, no way to reach the grief or be reached by it. I said, "The problem isn't the food. The problem was that when the food stopped, I didn't have words. And when I came back to the food, I still didn't always have words." She said, "Then let's find the words." We are finding the words. The food and the words together. Both tools. Both necessary. A kitchen and a counselor. That's what fifty years has earned me and I will take both.
After that session with Dr. Langley, I drove home and went straight to the kitchen — not because I had to, but because I wanted to, which felt like its own small victory. I made this French toast for Calvin and left a plate for myself, and I thought about Bernice the whole time I was pressing the bread into the egg and watching the cream cheese soften at the edges of the pan. It is the kind of recipe that asks you to be present — layering, watching, turning — and presence is the word, I think. That is what both the food and the words are asking of me right now: to be present with what I carry, and to keep setting it on the table.
Cranberry Cream Cheese French Toast
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 8 thick slices brioche or Texas toast bread
- 4 oz cream cheese, softened
- 1/3 cup whole-berry cranberry sauce (canned or homemade)
- 3 large eggs
- 1/2 cup whole milk
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
- 2 tablespoons butter, divided
- Powdered sugar, for serving
- Maple syrup, for serving
Instructions
- Make the filling. In a small bowl, stir together the softened cream cheese and cranberry sauce until combined but still slightly swirled. Do not overmix — you want pockets of cranberry throughout.
- Assemble the sandwiches. Spread a generous layer of the cranberry cream cheese mixture on one side of four bread slices. Top each with a second slice of bread, pressing gently to seal.
- Prepare the egg mixture. In a shallow dish wide enough to fit your bread, whisk together the eggs, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon until smooth and fully combined.
- Soak the bread. Dip each assembled sandwich into the egg mixture, letting it soak for about 20 to 30 seconds per side. The bread should be saturated but not falling apart.
- Cook the French toast. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in a large skillet or griddle over medium heat. Cook two sandwiches at a time for 3 to 4 minutes per side, until deep golden brown and the filling is warmed through. Add the remaining butter for the second batch.
- Serve. Slice each piece diagonally and dust with powdered sugar. Serve warm with maple syrup alongside.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 12g | Fat: 19g | Carbs: 52g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 380mg