I had waited all week to make these. I left the bread out to stale overnight, realized that I had no time in the next five days to make use of it, and had the good foresight to wrap the slices in a linen cloth and stuff that into the refrigerator. However, I forgot the leftovers I had set on my counter and meant to take with me. And again the next day. And the day after that. And again. I only remembered it when I smelled it, groaning yet again because I’d left something to mold. 
The first time I made these for anyone other than someone who would unconditionally praise me out of love was for a group of friends. It was summer in the Aspen mountains, and for such a privileged area there was a sever lack of a good grocer. I had to drive forty minutes out of my way to find challah, and while that was a frivolous thing to do with my time, it was a marvelously beautiful drive I took. It was nice to have a moment with myself doing whatever I wanted, which was to get challah. It was even nicer to have so many friends who were as happy and appreciative as I was to be in this place, at this festival, doing music together.
I’d been tinkering with the recipe for a while. I wanted to get a real orange flavor that wasn’t overwhelmed by all the other flavors, and being an amateur I originally added orange juice to the milk and cream that would be hosting the flavors. It curdled. I tried a whole orange. It curdled less viciously but didn’t do much else. Orange zest was the only way to go and I didn’t have a zester. I had brought one pan and one pot and one knife to Aspen, plus two harps and a passenger and all his and my paraphernalia, harp and otherwise. So I cut off the rind of one very expensive, very carbon-footprint-y orange and hoped for the best as I whipped eggs with a fork from the festival cafeteria. (Team Philly Harpists used “borrowed” spoons for Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra.)
The recipe was a success. Our “family” brunch was accentuated by mimosas and another harpist’s chocolate-covered strawberries. It was a wonderful morning. The average French toast recipe incorporates everything at once and you beat it all together and fry it in a pan. This recipe calls for infusing full-fat milk and cream with orange zest and rosemary before adding the eggs. It also calls for challah, although a sweet brioche works just as well. The final product is plenty sweet from the sugars in the bread and a little helping of maple syrup in the custard. I love the French toast with golden berries which are pouring into specialty grocers right around now for a bright little burst or candied oranges. 
- 1 loaf of challah (or brioche), sliced and left out overnight to dry out
- 2 ½ cups cream line milk
- ½ cup heavy cream
- One large sprig rosemary
- 1 heaping tbsp orange zest
- ½ vanilla bean
- ¼ cup maple syrup
- Pinch of kosher salt
- 4 eggs
- Chop off the heels of the challah and cut it into ¾ inch slices. You will dry out the bread before using it and for that there are two options. If you are the type to plan ahead, arrange the bread on a wire rack and leave it overnight to dry out. If you’re more of a do-it-all-at-once person, arrange the slices on a baking sheet in an oven at 300F for 15 minutes, flipping midway through. The idea is that the dryness will prevent the interior from becoming over-saturated when dipped in the egg mixture.
- Cut a vanilla bean lengthwise with a sharp knife. Scrape the interior of one half with the tip. Roll over the rosemary sprig win a pin to help release the rosemary flavor. Combine the vanilla bean and pod, milk, heavy cream, orange zest, and rosemary sprig into a saucepan and bring to a simmer. Remove immediately from the heat and let infuse for one hour, or until completely cool. Remove the vanilla pod and rosemary sprig.
- Add the maple syrup, salt, and eggs to the saucepan and whisk until homogeneous.
- Heat a non-stick pan or griddle over medium heat. It's hot enough when you can flick droplets of water onto the surface and they skid and sizzle before evaporating. Dip the challah slices one a time in the custard for 5 seconds per side, then cook until a golden-brown speckling develops on each side.