My mom informed me today that I was in charge of planning Mother’s Day this coming Sunday. Now that I have two children of my own, I thought that this duty could be passed along to someone else, perhaps someone planning my Mother’s Day. Apparently it doesn’t work like that. She vaguely mentioned something about being Queen Mother and I’ll just have to wait my turn, so Mother’s Day breakfast is on. Good thing I like her a lot, and also like baking bread.
I’ve found brunch to be ideal for that Sunday morning celebration, but eating out is usually a busy affair in these parts. Baked French toast is now my answer to the “what are we going to serve?” question. It is put together in the evening, where the milk and eggs soak into the layers of challah overnight. The next morning it is baked, served warm, and gone within minutes. It also makes me look like I worked much harder than I did.