Dulce de Leche French Toast

Mother's Day. Día de las Madres in Mexico is May 10, but here in the United States it is the second Sunday in May, and so I celebrate both, because I am both, because I live with one foot on each side of the bridge and that is how it has always been and how it will always be.

The bakery was chaos. Everyone wants bread for their mothers on Mother's Day — conchas and polvorones and cakes and special orders. We had seventeen cake orders this week, which is twelve more than our usual five, and I was in the kitchen from 2 AM to 2 PM every day and my hands were cracked and my back was a solid wall of pain and I loved every minute of it because this is what the bakery was built for. To feed people on the days that matter. To be the place where love gets picked up in a pink box.

Luis Jr. gave me a card he bought at Walgreens. It was a generic card with flowers on it and he signed it \"Love, Junior\" and that was it, and it was enough, because he is fifteen and embarrassed by feelings and the fact that he bought a card at all means something inside him that he can't say yet and might not be able to say for years. I will wait. Mothers are patient. We wait for our children to become the people they are becoming, and we don't rush it, even when we want to.

Isabella made me breakfast in bed. French toast, which is not Mexican but which Isabella has perfected because she watches cooking videos on her phone and practices with scientific precision. The French toast was perfect. The syrup was warm. The coffee was strong. She sat on the edge of my bed and watched me eat and I saw Rosa in her face — the cheekbones, the serious eyes, the way she holds her mouth when she is waiting for approval — and I wanted to tell her that she is everything Rosa hoped I would be and more, but I didn't because the lump in my throat was the size of a concha and words couldn't get past it.

Sofia gave me a jar of homemade dulce de leche. She made it herself — cooked a can of condensed milk in a pot of water for three hours on the stove, which is how Rosa made it, which is how I make it, which is how women in our family have made it for as long as anyone remembers. The jar had a ribbon on it and a tag that said \"Para mi mamá.\" I opened it and tasted it and it was perfect and I cried in the pantry.

Diego gave me a coupon book he made from folded paper: \"One free hug.\" \"One day of no fighting with Camila.\" \"One breakfast in bed (cereal).\" The honesty of \"cereal\" killed me. He is eight and knows his limits and that is more self-awareness than most adults have.

Camila climbed into my bed at 5 AM and said \"Happy Mommy Day\" and gave me a rock she found in the school parking lot that she had painted gold. She said it was a nugget of gold and I was rich now. I said yes, mija, I am. I meant it. I am the richest woman on Dyer Street.

I called Rosa. She said she was having a good day. I said Feliz Día de las Madres, Mamá. She said: \"Every day is Mother's Day, mija. Every day I have you is Mother's Day.\" And I held the phone and listened to her breathe and thought about all the years she stood in that kitchen in Anapra making food for seven children on no money and no sleep, and I thought: there is no card big enough. There is no gift sufficient. The only thing I can give her is the bakery, and the bakery is her name on a building in a country she will probably never see, and I don't know if that is enough, and I don't know if anything ever is.

After I hung up the phone with my mamá, I stood in my kitchen thinking about her hands — the way they moved without thinking, making something out of nothing, feeding everyone, never stopping — and I needed to cook something that tasted like her love felt: rich, slow, a little extravagant, the kind of thing you make when ordinary food isn’t enough for the size of what you’re feeling. Dulce de leche french toast is what I make when I want to say something I don’t have words for. Here’s how I made it this Mother’s Day morning, with Camila’s gold rock on the counter next to me.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes (plus 3 hours if making dulce de leche from scratch) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 thick slices brioche or challah bread (about 1 inch thick)
3 large eggs
1/2 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 pinch of salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
1/2 cup dulce de leche, warmed (store-bought, or homemade — see Note)
Powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)

For homemade dulce de leche (Rosa’s method):

1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk, unopened

Instructions

Make the dulce de leche (if homemade). Place the unopened can of sweetened condensed milk in a large pot and cover with at least 2 inches of water. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to a steady simmer. Cook for 3 hours, checking every 30 minutes and adding hot water as needed to keep the can fully submerged — never let it go dry. Remove from heat and let the can cool completely before opening. The dulce de leche will keep, refrigerated, for up to 3 weeks.
Make the custard. In a wide, shallow bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, vanilla, cinnamon, and salt until fully combined.
Soak the bread. Working one slice at a time, submerge each piece of bread in the egg mixture and let it soak for 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. When the butter begins to foam, add 2 slices of soaked bread. Cook 3 to 4 minutes per side, until each side is deep golden brown. Transfer to a warm plate and repeat with the remaining tablespoon of butter and 2 slices of bread.
Warm the dulce de leche. While the second batch cooks, gently warm the dulce de leche in a small saucepan over low heat, stirring until pourable. If it is very thick, add 1 to 2 teaspoons of warm water and stir to loosen.
Serve. Arrange the French toast on plates and drizzle generously with warm dulce de leche. Dust with powdered sugar if you like. Serve immediately, while the butter is still in the bread and the coffee is still strong.

Nutrition (per serving)

Dulce de Leche French Toast — The Mother’s Day Breakfast My Daughters Made Me