I usually eat breakfast alone. If that sounds lonely, a quick peek at Simply Breakfast can teach you that solo breakfasts are an art form- intimate, meditative moments where coffee and toast become the stuff of ceremony. (Sometimes solo breakfast is a floppy packet of microwaveable oatmeal, but i’m not going to go there).

My normal routine is as follows: I turn on the coffee machine and make a cup of coffee, which I drink while making breakfast (oatmeal, rye toast, or yogurt, or a hybrid I like to call “toastmeal” or “toastgurt”). When I sit down to table there’s half a cup of coffee left, and just enough time to enjoy before I make the mad dash to the bus stop.

The other morning, though, I wanted something different. With two stale loaves of Zingerman’s challah on hand, it seemed a crime not to make French toast. But, I wasn’t sure where to begin, because my idea of French toast has evolved considerably since it sprang into existence on a plate in my parents’ kitchen. I didn’t want the kind of French toast that is essentially a piece of bread with an egg fried on the outside- I wanted the creme brulee French toast from my beloved (and now closed ) Cafe Mozart.

Sadly, this French toast is not that French toast*. It is, however, the perfect French toast for me right now. Made with half-and-half, it’s not quite as guilt inducing as the “Bell-less, Whistle-less Damn Good French Toast” from food52, and the recipe has enough (easy) steps that you feel like you’re actually making something special, not just dunking a slice of bread in some egg. Because the toast gets a last-minute bake in the oven, it ends up with crisp edges, which are a lovely contrast to the custardy interior. My first batch came out a little dry, so I recommend taking liberties with the soaking time, and adding plenty of maple syrup or fruit topping.

(*please tell me I did not just reference an Old Spice commercial while discussing French toast…)
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When I think about Thanksgiving, the bread basket isn’t the first thing on my mind. Why would I want to think about bread, when there’s turkey, stuffing, and pie to be eaten? Bread can be special (some exceptional restaurant bread baskets come to mind), but in my own Thanksgiving history it has usually taken the form of hard, hockey pucks of JIFFY cornbread, often burnt on one side due to temperamental baking pans. Admittedly, I remember those muffins with a certain fondness, but I’m not itching to recreate them.

What i’m trying to say is, it’s very unlike me to be baking bread this close to Thanksgiving. But when a friend asked if I knew a good recipe for yeasted pumpkin bread, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The only non-dessert pumpkin bread I could remember liking was a pumpkin pepita loaf from Pittsburgh’s Whole Foods Market (do they still make that?). The others I recalled were dense and tasteless.

The memory of those latter pumpkin breads made me wary of online recipes (though this no-knead version looks a tempting), so I turned instead to The Beekman 1802 Heirloom Cookbook (a current favourite from my collection), which has a Pumpkin Cheese Bread within the fall side dishes. I am thrilled with how it turned out. Can you imagine this toasted and topped with Sour Cherry Spoon Fruit or pepper jelly? Or french-toasted with sauteed apples? Or as a vehicle for mopping up cranberry sauce? Or as the base of a Thanksgiving leftovers sandwich? I certainly can (and have).

Some notes: much of this bread’s flavor comes from the cheese. I used sharp cheddar, but I think medium would be a better choice if you don’t want to lose pumpkin flavor. The cayenne is subtle, so increase it if you want more spice. Check the loaf a bit over halfway through the baking time- if the top is browning too much, cover it with foil.

Next time, I think I’m adding jalapenos.
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This weekend, I made brioche. I made the dough with help from a friend. We discovered, belatedly, that it was a two day affair, so I shaped and proofed the loaves the following day. After a few hours in the hot, humid Alabama weather on my porch, they looked like this:

I slipped both pans into the oven and stayed in the kitchen to watch them bake. I keep a little Ikea footstool near the dishwasher- primarily for reaching high-up baking pans, but also for sitting on and watching what’s happening in the oven.


If your entire apartment smelled like fresh baked brioche, you’d be this happy too.


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I am not the sort of girl who aspires to pizza making perfection. I’m not an expert, and I don’t expect to ever re-create my favorite Neapolitan style pizzas at home. I have learned, however, that it’s easy to produce a pizza that’s far superior to anything you can find in a freezer.
The trick is to:

1. Find a good crust recipe
2. Heat your oven as hot as you possibly can
3. Use good toppings, and not too much of them

More often than not, a cold oven means a pasty, doughy, floppy crust. Too many toppings can also make the pizza floppy and unattractive. I’ve been experimenting with a few different topping combinations. My favorite so far is onions, chicken, mozzarella, and bleu cheese, with a good helping of Penzey’s Sandwich Sprinkle (my new favorite spice blend). If you’re hungry for more pizza recipes, check out pizza week at food52, or Slice, one of my favorite blogs for pizza-ogling.
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