Churro French Toast Ice Cream Sandwich

Mid-August. Post-birthday. The shiso is at its most abundant, the annual peak, the August moment when the herb threatens to overtake the entire balcony and I harvest with both hands and make shiso everything: pesto, tempura, juice, wraps, garnish. The abundance is aggressive and generous, the plant producing more than one family can eat, more than one kitchen can use, which is why I give bags of it to neighbors and to Lin and to Rachel and the giving is the practice, the way Fumiko gave bags of shiso from her windowsill to the neighbors in Sacramento, the way the giving-of-shiso is the giving-of-self, the way the herb carries the woman who grows it.

I made shiso granita — a frozen dessert, shiso leaves blended with sugar and water and lime juice, frozen, scraped into crystals, served in small cups. The granita is green and icy and herbaceous and tastes like summer distilled into ice, the way a memory is an experience distilled into thought. The granita is my invention. Fumiko never made granita. Fumiko would have called it "unnecessary cold," which is what she called all frozen desserts, because Fumiko believed that food should be warm and that cold food was a sign of laziness or indulgence or both. I make granita anyway. The making-anyway is the daughter's prerogative: to honor the grandmother and also to innovate, to preserve and also to create, to carry the tradition and also to add to it.

Brian took Miya for the last two weeks of summer. The apartment is quiet. I write. I write the second book in the morning and the blog posts in the afternoon and the magazine column in the evening and the three writing projects are three pots on three burners and I move between them with the practiced efficiency of a line cook, adding heat here, stirring there, tasting, adjusting. The kitchen is the writing. The writing is the kitchen. The metaphor has collapsed into identity. There is no longer a metaphor. There is only the practice, and the practice is both, simultaneously, without distinction.

Fumiko would have disapproved of this one too — all that cold, all that indulgence, the ice cream melting between warm toast before you even get to the table. But the quiet apartment calls for exactly this kind of unnecessary cold, the kind you make anyway, the kind that turns a lone afternoon into its own small celebration. I pulled this together after I’d packed the last bag of shiso for the neighbors, hands still faintly green, and decided that the making-anyway applied to everything, not just granita.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

8 thick slices brioche or Texas toast (about 1-inch thick)
3 large eggs
1/3 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, plus more for topping
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon (for churro coating)
2 cups vanilla ice cream (or cinnamon ice cream), slightly softened
Caramel sauce, for drizzling (optional)

Instructions

Mix the custard. In a shallow bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, vanilla extract, and 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon until fully combined.
Make the churro sugar. In a separate shallow bowl, stir together the granulated sugar and 1 teaspoon cinnamon. Set aside.
Cook the toast. Melt 1 tablespoon butter in a large skillet or griddle over medium heat. Dip each bread slice into the custard mixture, letting it soak for about 10 seconds per side. Cook in batches, 2—3 minutes per side, until deep golden brown. Add remaining butter as needed between batches.
Coat in churro sugar. While the French toast is still hot, press each slice gently into the cinnamon sugar mixture on both sides to coat. Set on a wire rack and let cool for 5 minutes — they should be just warm, not hot.
Assemble the sandwiches. Scoop about 1/2 cup of softened ice cream onto the flat side of one slice of French toast. Top with a second slice, flat side down, and press gently. Repeat with remaining slices.
Serve immediately. Drizzle with caramel sauce if using, and serve right away — or wrap individually in parchment and freeze for up to 2 hours for a firmer sandwich.

Nutrition (per serving)

Churro French Toast Ice Cream Sandwich — The Making-Anyway Dessert