Time for a confession. As a child, I never once celebrated Mother’s Day. My parents thought the holiday was nothing more than a cheesy excuse to sell greeting cards, and who was I to argue?
But after I became a mother myself? Oh. My. Goodness.
I’d spent years working 80 hours a week as a restaurant chef, and that was nothing compared to the amount of work required of the mother of a newborn. I buckled down and got the job done, but not without help. And not before establishing that in our house we’d most certainly be celebrating Mother’s Day. And not just once a year, but once a week. Every Sunday.
At my insistence, The Husband did just as much diaper-changing, baby-bathing and bottle-feeding as yours truly. I also charged him with preparing and serving me breakfast in bed on Sunday mornings.
Of course, he’s not really a cook, not even much of a home cook, so I reassured him that the meal didn’t have to be fancy. All I needed was a cup of hot coffee and something on a plate or in a bowl that I could eat at my leisure behind the closed door to our bedroom while I read all the magazines that had been piling up since the blessed event occurred. I looked forward to that little staycation all week long.
Once Ruthie – our dear daughter – began to grow up, she and I started baking together. Our first project was pizza. Nothing if not kid-friendly, pizza is just as much fun to knead and shape as Play-Doh. (And, unlike Play-Doh, it’s delicious.) Meanwhile, I was doing my best to keep sugar from entering Miss Ruth’s ecosystem. Sure enough, somehow someone at some point introduced her to sweets, and to ice cream and chocolate in particular. (Let’s blame her young baby sitter.)
With the genie out of the bottle, I added some sweet items to our mother-daughter repertoire. Then, when Ruthie was about 5, I invented a special recipe just for her. It incorporated two of her favorite things, French toast and chocolate. And I added one of mine, raspberries. Not only did my little chocoholic love the taste of our French toast, she also loved to make it.
The inspiration to pair up bread and chocolate had its origins in a trip I took to France with my family when I was 13. I was more than intrigued when I noticed French school children digging into a most unusual after-school snack: a healthy hunk of baguette, sliced in half and stuffed with a big piece of dark chocolate. (I had a sweet tooth of my own once upon a time.)
The following recipe – perfect for breakfast in bed for Mom on Mother’s Day – is a little healthier than the original. We start with whole-wheat bread, replace some of the whole eggs with egg whites, and swap in raspberry sauce for maple syrup. Complement the finished French toast with some freshly squeezed orange juice and a pot of freshly brewed coffee, and you’re off to the races.
By the way, I began calling my own mom every Mother’s Day the minute I learned for myself just how tough a gig it is. Love ya, Mom!