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I believe brunch is a personality trait. Also a public service. Also therapy. There—I said it. If you are going to eat something that feels like dessert for breakfast, do it with commitment (and preferably caramelized sugar shards on top). This Crème Brûlée French Toast is the kind of thing that makes two people in my house temporarily forget they’re supposed to be adults. Also: if you think French toast is just for sad hotel buffets, we need to talk. And no, not right now—I’ll be in the kitchen.

Oh, and if you liked my twist on Hawaiian-style sticky-sweet mornings earlier, that technique actually inspired how I treat the custard here: a softer soak, less soggy flop. You’re welcome.

How I totally ruined this once (and smelled like burnt sugar for two days)

There was a time I tried to torch the top of this in an apartment with a smoke detector that has the emotional range of a Victorian mother. The first attempt? Smelled like a roadside fair and regret. Also the texture—soggy in the middle, crunchy around the edges, and a mid-note of raw egg that made me politely apologize to everyone within earshot. I tried fixing it with more heat, because of course I did. It sounded like a tiny construction site in the oven (do ovens actually make that sound or was it my conscience?). I learned about bubbles forming in custard the hard way. I also learned that sugar can go from amber to charcoal in approximately three seconds if you stop watching it for one second to check Instagram (which, never do).

Embarrassing aside: I once served it un-torched because I chickened out and everyone pretended not to notice. They lied. The texture was a mess. I cried. Then I ate the leftovers at midnight, because of course I did. I am still slightly ashamed.

Why this version finally behaves (and maybe I’ll stop panicking at brunch)

I stopped trying to impress and started controlling the variables. Shocking solution: chill the custard-soaked bread so it holds together, and don’t torch like you’re casting a spell. Also, the sugar distribution—tiny but everything. I switched to a gentler bake, which made the center confident instead of wobbly. Emotionally, I stopped waiting for perfection; practically, I learned to trust timing and not my feelings (which are very loud and dramatic at 9 a.m.).

This Crème Brûlée French Toast works now because it borrows the velvet custard of crème brûlée and the comfort of French toast without pretending to be dainty. It’s decadent but unfussy, and yes, I still have doubts (what if the top cracks weirdly? what if it’s too sweet?), but the people who’ve eaten it have been notably quiet, which I interpret as success.

Ingredients (and a few tangents about butter vs. regret)

1 loaf of French bread
6 large eggs
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
1 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup brown sugar for topping
Butter for greasing the baking dish

I mean, you could skimp on the heavy cream, but then what’s the point? (Budget-friendly alternative: use a touch more milk and less cream—texture suffers, but breakfast happens.) Also, brown sugar on top gives that toasty molasses hug, which is mood-altering. Availability? If your bakery is closed, day-old sandwich bread will sulk but still comply.

Cooking Unit Converter

If you suddenly decide to go metric or are double-checking tablespoon drama, this little converter will save you from math grief.

How to make it (but like, with personality and interruptions)

Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease a baking dish with butter.
Slice the French bread into thick slices and arrange them in the baking dish.
In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, heavy cream, milk, granulated sugar, vanilla extract, and salt until well combined.
Pour the egg mixture over the bread slices, ensuring they are fully coated.
Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes or overnight for best results.
Remove from the refrigerator, sprinkle brown sugar evenly over the top.
Bake in the preheated oven for 30-40 minutes or until golden brown and set.
Let cool slightly before serving.

This is the mechanical part (yes, my handwriting gets nicer when I follow steps). Also: don’t be afraid to poke the center—it’s allowed. If it jiggles too much, it needs more time, not a pep talk. And if you broil at the end to get extra color, watch it—the sugar stage is a short, passionate life. Also pro tip (I say that like I’m qualified): if you’re feeding a crowd, assemble overnight. Also, maybe invite people who laugh at your jokes.

Household chaos + real talk (are we all just winging it?)

Do you ever have a plan and then your toddler decides the plan’s curtains and scrawls on them with a marker? How about partner-related sabotage where they "taste" everything? Tell me your chaos. I’ll trade you a slice. Are we tied together by shared kitchen mishaps? Probably. Have you ever served this and someone asked if it’s technically a dessert? My answer: yes, and don’t fight it. If your oven runs hot (mine sometimes thinks it’s summer year-round), adjust and whisper encouraging words to your pan.

Sometimes I text the recipe to friends with a single GIF and no instructions, because trust is a thing we give each other. Do you do that? Do people ever reciprocate with casseroles that live in Tupperware forever? Please tell me I’m not the only one.

FAQ-ish things people nag me about

Can I make this ahead of time? +

Yes. Overnight in the fridge is your friend. It mellows into glory.

What if my bread gets soggy? +

Use slightly stale bread and don’t drown it. Patience: the fridge soak is the key.

Can I use half-and-half instead of heavy cream? +

You can, but it’ll be less luxurious. People will still smile. Different smiles.

Do I have to torch the top? +

No. You can sprinkle brown sugar and broil briefly or accept a softer top. I judge no one (but silently prefer shards).

Is this too sweet? +

Adjust sugar to taste. Also remember: toppings change everything. Lemon zest is a surprisingly sane counterpoint.

I promise I meant to end with a neat thought and maybe a quippy sign-off. But I’m also thinking about the toast in the oven and whether I should add a pinch more salt (yes, salt wakes up everything—unpopular opinion?). If you make this, tell me if it made your kitchen smell like brunch therapy or like someone attempted a science experiment with sugar. Also send pictures. Or don’t. I’m probably already checking my phone. Meanwhile, I need to go rescue a slightly overzealous pan—

Daily Calorie Needs Calculator

If you’re counting (or pretending to count while eating six bites), this calculator helps you figure out where this breakfast fits in your day.