The Search for the Perfect French Toast - Amanouz Cafe

Have you ever heard of Mediterranean french toast? Yeah, I hadn't either - until I spotted it on the menu at Amanouz Cafe a while back. Amanouz is a lovely little Moroccan place in NoHo notable for its wonderful selection of soups, sandwiches, and omelets (yes, omelets). I was there buying some I-don't-remember-what (something falafely, probably) the other week when I noticed that they served this thing called Mediterranean french toast, which, according to the chalkboard menu, is served with cinnamon and honey and is also available with strawberries or blueberries. I took note of this intriguing item and waited for an opportunity to investigate further.

That opportunity arose this weekend when Kate and I found ourselves up and about before anybody else in town had begun to shake of their Saturday sleepies. We hightailed it to Amanouz, anxious to get a seat before the deluge began - weekend brunch is always a busy time in the Valley - and were pleased to find plenty of open tables in the tiny cafe. Giddy with anticipation, we strolled right up to the counter and ordered some french toast. And I mean we ordered the hell out of it. I managed to stick to my (gradually wavering) determination to avoid unfair french-toast extravagance by getting mine sans fruit, and Kate ordered hers with strawberries, thereby ensuring that I could still get a glimpse of extravagance, if only to know what I was missing. It's no exaggeration when I tell you that at this moment I felt a little like Gandhi, who reputedly made a point of sleeping beside multiple naked young women, well into his old age, as a way of testing and affirming his chastity. That morning, as I refused the temptation of fresh fruit in the name of scientific inquiry, I was the Gandhi of french toast.

And so, orders placed, we took a seat and looked around.



When the food arrived Kate could hardly contain her excitement, though I remained cool as a Mahatma.



Now, I can't say with certainty that what I'm about to tell you is true of all Mediterranean french toast, or if it's only true of the type served at Amanouz, but here's what I learned that day about this unusual culinary item:

1) Unlike almost every other french toast I've had in New England so far, it's served with a sprinkling of powdered sugar. This, of course, is the way french toast is supposed to be served, so score one for the Mediterraneans for getting this one right.

2) It's served with honey instead of maple syrup. Let me repeat: no syrup, only honey. On reflection, this makes sense, since there aren't that many maple trees along the Mediterranean - at least not along the Mediterranean coast of France, which is the area to which I'm assuming this french toast is indigenous.

3) It's really frigging good. The bread is a sort of sourdough, similar to that used by the Haymarket, which is strong enough to withstand the battering and grilling and honey-drizzling, but substantial enough to temper the overwhelming sweetness of the honey and powdered sugar. That said, it's still very sweet. Imagine a Pop Tart. Now imagine a whole wheat bagel. The difference between those two? That's the difference between Mediterranean french toast and regular old french toast, especially the boring sort that you'll find at places like Stables.

4) As good as it is sans fruit, it's even better with fresh strawberries, of the sort Kate (mostly) had on hers. I know this because I maybe had a bite or two. I know, I know: some french toast Gandhi I turned out to be. But don't judge me too harshly - surely the old man didn't keep his hands to himself all the time.