The kitchen was cold.
Not in a dramatic way. Just the kind of cold that makes you wrap your fingers in your sleeves and keep the kettle on, even when you forget what it was for.
I wasn’t going to cook.
But the brioche was sitting there like it wanted a eulogy.
And I’d read her French Toast Casserole recipe so many times my phone screen had flour fingerprints in the corner. I didn’t even like French toast that much. It’s all texture until it’s suddenly not. But that morning, I wanted to sink.
I didn’t follow it exactly. Of course not.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness calls for six eggs. Whole ones. Not separated or fussed with. Just beaten straight into the bowl like that’s enough. Then milk, heavy cream, a whole third-cup of sugar, a little salt, vanilla, nutmeg grated like you’ve got time, and slices of day-old brioche. Not just any bread. Brioche. Like your pantry’s an artisanal bakery.
You’re supposed to layer them, custard-soaked, in a neat little fan—pouring the extra egg mix over top like a blessing. Pecans go on last. With sugar. And foil. And a good night’s sleep in the fridge. It’s the kind of recipe that assumes you’re well-rested and have space in your fridge.
The syrup’s rum-raisin. Of course it is. Martha would never use maple without gussying it up like a cocktail.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t have cream. I didn’t even have real milk—just oat milk that expired last week and didn’t smell that weird.
I used it anyway.
I skipped the nutmeg. Not because I don’t have it—because I didn’t want to smell it.
Nutmeg makes me think of Christmas before the divorce.
I don’t talk about that.
I also didn’t wait overnight. I dunked the bread. Layered it fast. Poured the rest of the custard over like a dare. Let it sit for maybe 40 minutes while I pretended to clean the counters.
The pecans were crushed with the side of the garlic jar. I wasn’t feeling gentle.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The eggs didn’t want to break clean. The second one slipped and half the shell fell in.
I didn’t bother fishing it all out. Just stirred hard enough it disappeared. Probably.
Mae came in halfway through and asked why the bread looked wet.
“It’s supposed to,” I said, not sure if that was true.
I used the green Pyrex—the one from college that still smells like toast if you heat it too long.
I tapped the Dutch oven once, just out of habit. The dent’s still there. So is everything it reminds me of.
The sugar crusted faster than I expected. I pulled the foil off too early, maybe. Or maybe it was perfect.
It made this crackle when the knife went in, like stepping on frosted grass.
The smell was soft. Like someone trying to be kind.
Mae didn’t say much while we ate it. But she asked for seconds.
That was enough.
A Few Things I Learned
Oat milk works.
Custard doesn’t care if you’re tired.
It sets anyway.
Don’t skip the sugar on top. Even if it feels like too much. It’s the crunch that wakes you up.
Rum-raisin syrup is probably amazing. I didn’t make it.
Just poured maple. No regrets.
What I Did With the Extras
Left them in the dish.
Ate some cold. Standing. Fork straight from the pan.
Mae had another square before school and didn’t toast it. Just microwaved. Said it still worked.
Would I Make It Again?
Only when the bread tells me to.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The kitchen warmed up, eventually.
I let the kettle boil three times. Never made tea.
Just ate, and waited, and felt full enough to stay upright.
If you want something less sweet, I made Her Highness’s cornmeal spoon bread last month when the heater broke—it held me better than a blanket.
FAQs
Nah. anything soft-ish will do. white sandwich bread’s fine. i’ve even used leftover hamburger buns. it’s all just a custard sponge in the end.
Yeah. it actually wants that. let it sit overnight if you’ve got time. if not, an hour on the counter while the oven preheats sort of does the job.
Skip them. or swap for walnuts. or cereal. i crushed honey bunches of oats on top once and it wasn’t awful.
Not even close. i used plain maple and it still felt like sunday. if you do have the rum-raisin stuff though… i mean, go wild.
Check out More Recipes:
- Martha Stewart Onion Rings
- Martha Stewart Zucchini Muffins
- Martha Stewart Zucchini Fritters
- Martha Stewart’S Yorkshire Pudding
Martha Stewart French Toast Casserole
Description
Soft, sweet, and held together just enough to count as breakfast.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Make the custard: cracked the eggs straight into the mixing bowl. shell got in. didn’t care. whisked in oat milk, sugar, salt, vanilla. skipped the nutmeg. didn’t want to think about christmas. kept stirring until it looked like pale yellow silence.
- Drench the bread: stacked the brioche like lazy dominoes, dunked each piece until it sagged. custard dripping off the edges. used my hands. forgot a slice on the counter. mae ate it plain.
- Assemble the dish: layered the soaked bread in the green pyrex. shoved a few corners down so it all fit. poured the rest of the custard over. pressed it down like an apology. left it on the counter while the oven caught up.
- Top it off: crushed pecans with the garlic jar. sprinkled them over like I meant to. sugar too. probably more than martha would allow.
- Bake it slow: covered with foil that stuck to my sleeve. baked it until it puffed. pulled the foil, let it brown. the top blistered sweet and loud. smelled like something i needed.
- Cool and serve: let it sit. not long. just enough for the middle to stop wobbling. cut squares while it steamed. poured maple. skipped the raisins. skipped the rum. mae didn’t miss them. neither did i.