Cinnamon Sugar French Toast Sticks

Mother's Day. The surprise was revealed: Mason had been secretly cooking with Brett every Wednesday (while I thought they were doing "guy stuff," they were doing recipe stuff). The surprise: Mason made me breakfast. French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon, prepared in my kitchen at 7 AM while Lily "helped" by setting the table with crooked napkins and a vase of dandelions.

I sat at the table and my seven-year-old served me breakfast. He carried the plate carefully, concentrating, the way he concentrates on everything. The French toast was slightly uneven. The eggs were slightly overcooked. The bacon was perfect (Brett supervised the bacon — he doesn't trust seven-year-olds with hot grease, which is reasonable). I ate every bite and it was the best breakfast I have ever had, not because of the food but because of the hands that made it. My son's hands. In my kitchen. Making me food. The chain continues. The tradition passes. The Dawson cooks have a new member, and he makes French toast.

Mason's card this year: "Mom, you taught me to cook. This breakfast is just the beginning. Love, Mason." I will add this to the archive. The archive of things my son has written that undo me completely.

Lily's card: another horse. Under the horse: "HAPPY MOTHERS DAY I MADE YOU BREFFUST TOO." She did not make breakfast. She set the table. But her contribution is noted and valued and the spelling of "breakfast" as "breffust" is the most beautiful thing I've ever read.

I called Mom. She was in the garden. We talked about tomatoes (hers are already in; mine are catching up). She asked about the kids. She asked about work. She asked about me — "How are you, really?" — and I said, "I'm good, Mom. Really good," and I meant it, and she heard that I meant it, and she said, "Good. That's all I ever wanted," and I believe her, because that is all any mother ever wants: for her child to be good, really good, in a way that isn't performed.

This is the recipe — or close enough to it — that Mason and Brett practiced on those Wednesday evenings while I thought they were doing “guy stuff.” French toast sticks are forgiving the way that beginner cooks need food to be forgiving: the edges can be uneven, the timing doesn’t have to be perfect, and a seven-year-old with serious concentration can absolutely pull them off. I’ve made them myself now, on ordinary mornings, just to remember what it felt like to be served them — and every time I cut the bread into strips, I think about his hands doing the same thing.

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

Ingredients

8 slices thick-cut white or brioche bread
3 large eggs
1/2 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon, divided
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
Maple syrup, for serving
Powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)

Instructions

Cut the bread. Slice each piece of bread into 3 even strips lengthwise, so you have 24 sticks total. Set aside on a cutting board.
Make the egg mixture. In a wide, shallow bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, vanilla extract, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, and nutmeg until fully combined.
Mix the cinnamon sugar. In a small bowl, stir together the granulated sugar and remaining 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon. Set aside.
Heat the pan. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in a large non-stick skillet or griddle over medium heat. Swirl to coat the surface evenly.
Dip and cook. Working in batches, dip each bread stick into the egg mixture, letting it soak for about 5 seconds per side — you want it coated but not soggy. Place in the skillet and cook for 2–3 minutes per side, until golden brown. Add remaining butter between batches as needed.
Coat with cinnamon sugar. While the sticks are still warm, transfer them to a plate and immediately sprinkle or roll them in the cinnamon sugar mixture so it sticks to the surface.
Serve. Arrange on a plate, dust with powdered sugar if desired, and serve warm with maple syrup for dipping.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cinnamon Sugar French Toast Sticks — The Morning My Son Became a Cook