Hawaiian French Toast with Pineapple and Mascarpone

Labor Day weekend, and I did something reckless. Not ER reckless — the other kind, the kind where you do something that scares you and nobody's life is at stake except, possibly, your dignity. I signed up for RecipeSpinoff.com. It's a recipe sharing platform I've been reading for months — other home cooks writing about food, about the recipes that define them, about the intersection of kitchen and life that I've been living in since the breakdown. They have a contributor program. I applied. I hit submit. I closed the laptop. I made adobo. Obviously.

The application asked what I'd write about. I said: Filipino home cooking from an Alaskan kitchen. I said: adobo and sinigang and lumpia and the way these recipes connect me to parents who crossed an ocean. I didn't say: I had a breakdown and cooking is the only thing that kept me from disappearing. I didn't say: I'm an ER nurse with PTSD and I make arroz caldo at 3 AM because it's the only thing my dead father's recipes and my mother's hands and the sound of simmering can do that no medication fully does. I'll say those things eventually. Not yet.

Angela thinks I should. "Your story is the story," she says. Maybe. But first I need to earn the right to tell it, which means: first I need to write about food. Good food. The recipes themselves, the techniques, the tastes, the textures. Once people trust me as a cook, maybe they'll listen to me as a person. This is a lesson the ER taught me — establish competence before vulnerability. Prove you can start the IV before you tell them you cry in the break room.

Meanwhile, it's September and Alaska is turning. The birch trees are going gold, which is Alaska's version of fall foliage — less dramatic than New England, more concentrated, an explosion of yellow against dark spruce that lasts about two weeks before the wind strips everything bare. I drove the Seward Highway south of Anchorage and the mountains were reflected in Turnagain Arm and the whole world was gold and blue and I thought: I want to write about this. About food in this place. About what it means to cook in a state that freezes you for seven months and then, briefly, turns everything to gold.

I came home and made ensaymada — Filipino brioche buns, buttery and soft, topped with sugar and grated cheese. They take hours — the dough needs to rise twice — and they're worth every minute. I ate one warm from the oven and the butter and sugar melted together on my tongue and I thought: yes. I want to tell people about this. About the food. About the place. About what happens when you put garlic in hot oil and let the sizzle save you.

The ensaymada I made that evening — buttery, soft, dusted with sugar, rich with cheese — was never going to be a beginner’s recipe to write about, not for a first post on a new platform where nobody knows me yet. But the feeling it gave me, that warm-from-the-oven, butter-melting-on-the-tongue feeling that made me think yes, I want to tell people about this — that feeling lives in this Hawaiian French Toast too. Hawaiian bread is the closest American pantry cousin to ensaymada: enriched, soft, faintly sweet, the kind of bread that wants butter and doesn’t apologize. Add mascarpone and fresh pineapple and you have something that earns the same quiet reverence. This is where I start.

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

Ingredients

8 thick slices Hawaiian sweet bread (such as King’s Hawaiian), about 1 inch thick
3 large eggs
1/2 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
1 cup fresh pineapple, cut into small chunks (or canned, well-drained)
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1/2 cup mascarpone cheese, softened to room temperature
2 tablespoons powdered sugar, plus more for dusting
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract (for mascarpone)
Pure maple syrup, for serving

Instructions

Make the mascarpone cream. In a small bowl, stir together the mascarpone, powdered sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract until smooth and creamy. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
Caramelize the pineapple. In a small skillet over medium heat, melt 1/2 tablespoon of the butter. Add the pineapple chunks and brown sugar. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 4—5 minutes until the pineapple is golden and slightly caramelized. Remove from heat and set aside.
Prepare the custard. In a wide, shallow bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, vanilla extract, cinnamon, and granulated sugar until fully combined.
Cook the French toast. Heat a large skillet or griddle over medium heat and melt the remaining 1 and 1/2 tablespoons of butter. Working in batches, dip each slice of Hawaiian bread into the egg custard, letting it soak for about 20—30 seconds per side. Place the soaked slices in the skillet and cook for 2—3 minutes per side, until deep golden brown. Adjust heat as needed to avoid burning.
Assemble and serve. Place two slices of French toast on each plate. Dollop generously with the mascarpone cream, spoon the caramelized pineapple over the top, and dust with powdered sugar. Serve immediately with maple syrup alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Hawaiian French Toast with Pineapple and Mascarpone — The Brioche Energy of Ensaymada, Translated