By Calving started Monday. First heifer of the year, early morning, no complications. Second on Wednesday. The season is underway. I'm running on the interrupted schedule and my body is protesting the same as every year and I'm doing the work anyway. The equipment is working, the barn is ready, the lighting in the calving area is good. Everything that can be prepared has been prepared. The rest is attention and presence and arriving when needed.
Six years March 8th by the secondary count. I drove to the river on the 7th instead — the anniversary is more flexible now, which I think is the right direction. The specific date matters less than the practice of acknowledgment. I stood at the river in the early evening light and said what I say and then came home and made dinner. The anniversary is a reminder, not a ceremony. The ceremony is every day.
March magazine column is due in April and I've been thinking about the subject all week. The calving piece from two years ago covered the birth itself. This year I want to write about what happens after: the specific relationship between a rancher and a calf that was born in difficulty, the way assistance in the first moments creates a particular quality of trust that a calf that arrived without help doesn't have with the human caretaker. The animal recognizes the person who was present at its worst moment. That recognition is worth writing about.
Made French toast from stale sourdough Saturday morning when Cole came by before accounts. Thick-cut, egg and cream, cooked slow in butter. Served with the maple syrup and the peach preserves from August. The kind of breakfast that's more than the sum of its ingredients when the ingredients are yours and the person sitting across from you has been a good student and is now a good craftsman.
Saturday morning after the first week of calving — the interrupted sleep, the early checks, the season finally underway — Cole came by before we got into accounts, and the occasion called for something that took its time. The sourdough had been sitting since mid-week, which made it exactly right for this: thick slices soaked through, cooked low in butter until the outside holds and the inside stays soft. With the maple syrup and the peach preserves from August on the table, it was the kind of breakfast where the food does part of the talking, and you let it.
French Toast from Stale Sourdough
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 8 thick slices (about 1-inch) stale sourdough bread
- 4 large eggs
- 1/2 cup heavy cream
- 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
- Pinch of salt
- 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
- Maple syrup, for serving
- Peach preserves or jam, for serving
Instructions
- Make the custard. In a shallow dish or wide bowl, whisk together the eggs, heavy cream, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, and salt until fully combined and smooth.
- Soak the bread. Lay the sourdough slices in the custard one or two at a time and let them soak for 2—3 minutes per side, pressing gently so the custard absorbs all the way through. Stale bread will take the soak better than fresh.
- Heat the pan. Warm a large cast-iron skillet or heavy pan over medium-low heat. Add 1 tablespoon of butter and let it melt until foamy but not browned.
- Cook slow. Place soaked slices in the pan without crowding. Cook 4—5 minutes per side, adjusting heat as needed to get a deep golden crust without burning. The low heat is what lets the inside set properly. Add butter between batches as needed.
- Rest and serve. Transfer finished slices to a wire rack or warm oven (200°F) while you finish the remaining bread. Serve with maple syrup and peach preserves on the table.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 21g | Carbs: 46g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 410mg