If a pancake stack is a statement, French toast is a quiet conversation. Ours is built on slabs of brioche — proper egg-rich, butter-laminated brioche from a small bakery we've worked with since the start. The slices are thick. Sometimes too thick. That's the point.
The bread soaks overnight in a custard of whole milk, heavy cream, egg yolks, vanilla bean, and a tiny pinch of salt. By morning the bread is saturated all the way through, which means the inside cooks to the texture of soft pudding while the outside hits the griddle and crisps. It's two textures in one slice.
We finish it with caramelised seasonal berries — usually strawberries and blueberries, sometimes blackberries in late summer — cooked down with a touch of sugar and lemon zest until they collapse but don't disappear. A scoop of whipped mascarpone goes on the side, real maple syrup at the table.
$17. It's the only dish where we'll judge you for asking for it well-done.
