Mascarpone Strawberry Stuffed French Toast

Mother's Day. Mason made me a card that said "You are the bravest mama in the world" with a drawing of me, bald (still his mental image of me, even though my hair is growing back), wearing a cape. A cape. My son drew me a superhero cape. I held this card and the superhero version of me stared back from the construction paper, bald and caped and smiling, and I thought: this is how he sees me. Not broken. Not sick. Super. Brave. A woman in a cape who fights things and wins.

Lily gave me a macaroni necklace from Rosa's daycare. It was painted purple (Lily's current favorite color, subject to change without notice) and strung on yarn and I wore it all day because three-year-olds remember these things. They remember if you wore the necklace. They remember if you smiled. They remember the small gestures of honoring their gifts, and I will wear a pasta necklace until it disintegrates if it means my daughter remembers being celebrated.

Scott gave me a card. A nicer card than last year — from an actual bookstore, not a gas station. Progress, I suppose. He also took the kids to the park in the afternoon so I could have two hours alone, which I spent sitting on the back porch with Hank and a cup of coffee and the feeling of sun on my face and the sound of birds and the absence of obligation, which is the best Mother's Day gift anyone can give: the gift of nothing. Two hours of nothing. It was magnificent.

I called Mom. She was in the garden, planting tomatoes. We talked about the garden, about Dad's knees, about Kyle in Germany (he's doing well, promoted, still not verbose about it). We did not talk about cancer. We did not talk about Scott. We talked about tomatoes and that was enough, because sometimes the conversation you need is not the deep one but the shallow one, the one about tomatoes and dirt and whether this year's crop will be better than last year's.

I made French toast for breakfast — the thick-sliced, custardy kind, soaked in an egg-and-cream mixture with vanilla and cinnamon, fried in butter until golden, dusted with powdered sugar. It's a weekend breakfast, a slow morning breakfast, a breakfast for a day when there is nowhere to be and nothing to rush toward. Mason ate four pieces. Lily ate the powdered sugar and some of the egg custard and called it "cake bread," which is honestly a better name. French toast should have always been called cake bread. Lily is a visionary.

The French toast I made that morning was the simple kind — no filling, just custard and butter and powdered sugar — but if I’m being honest, a day that started with a superhero cape drawing deserved something a little more. This version, stuffed with sweetened mascarpone and fresh strawberries, is what I’ll make next year: still slow, still golden, still the kind of breakfast that turns a morning into an occasion. Lily will still call it cake bread. She will not be wrong.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4 (2 stuffed pieces each)

Ingredients

1 loaf brioche or Texas toast, cut into 8 thick slices (about 1 1/2 inches)
8 oz mascarpone cheese, room temperature
3 tablespoons powdered sugar, plus more for dusting
1 teaspoon vanilla extract, divided
1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and thinly sliced
4 large eggs
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
Maple syrup, for serving

Instructions

Make the filling. In a medium bowl, stir together the mascarpone, powdered sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla until smooth and creamy. Gently fold in the sliced strawberries. Set aside.
Stuff the bread. Using a sharp knife, cut a deep pocket into the side of each bread slice, being careful not to cut all the way through. Spoon about 2 tablespoons of the mascarpone-strawberry filling into each pocket and press the edges lightly to seal.
Make the custard. In a shallow dish, whisk together the eggs, heavy cream, cinnamon, nutmeg, and remaining 1/2 teaspoon vanilla until fully combined.
Soak the bread. Working in batches, gently dip each stuffed slice into the custard mixture, letting it soak for 20–30 seconds per side. Don’t rush this — the custard needs time to saturate the bread.
Cook until golden. Melt 1 1/2 tablespoons butter in a large skillet or griddle over medium heat. Add the soaked slices in batches (do not crowd the pan) and cook for 3–4 minutes per side, until deep golden brown and cooked through. Add remaining butter for the second batch.
Serve immediately. Dust generously with powdered sugar and serve with warm maple syrup and any extra sliced strawberries. Eat while it’s warm. Let the kids call it cake bread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mascarpone Strawberry Stuffed French Toast — Cake Bread for the Bravest Mama