I can’t talk about how we made pain perdu without talking about the dinner we had the night of our arrival. Well it was typically what people consider french: baguette, cheese (camembert), wine (because I’m legal to purchase and drink alcohol here! responsibly of course), strawberries, and chocolate. It was deliciously low-key, something much needed after 12 hours of non-stop travel.
The next morning, when we were contemplating what to have for breakfast, I finally understood. With the bread we had leftover from the night before, which had now become considerably drier and harder, we would make french toast. Pain perdu, if you will. With the revelation of this plan for breakfast, the reason pain perdu exists struck me to the very core of my being. And as I mixed together an egg, milk, sugar, and vanilla extract and soaked the slices of bread, I felt a deeper connection with my breakfast than I ever had before. I kid you not.
The bread that was thought to have been lost, had been found. Within our stomachs.