
Chef Dean
Apple Cinnamon Pancakes
Tender buttermilk pancakes folded with butter-glazed apple pieces and warm cinnamon, stacked high and drowning in maple syrup. This is Sunday morning the way it ought to be.
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A golden, bubbling casserole of sage-kissed sausage, tender bread cubes, and sharp cheddar bound together in silky custard. Assembled the night before, baked fresh for grateful holiday tables.
This casserole has been saving holiday mornings for generations. While the turkey crowd is panicking about brine times and the ham people are calculating glaze ratios, the wise cook is sliding this dish into the oven and pouring a second cup of coffee. It asks almost nothing of you on the day that matters.
The technique belongs to a tradition older than the name suggests. French cooks call this method a strata, though that term always struck me as unnecessarily fancy for something born of frugality. Farm wives from Pennsylvania to Indiana have been layering stale bread with eggs and whatever protein the larder offered since before anyone thought to write it down. The dish represents practical genius: substantial, portable, and infinitely variable.
What makes this version work is the overnight rest. The bread drinks in the seasoned custard, swelling and softening until the boundaries between ingredients blur. By morning, you have something that bakes into a single unified creation rather than a jumble of separate components. The sausage renders fat into the surrounding custard. The cheese melts into golden, bubbly rivulets. The top puffs dramatically in the oven's heat.
I've served this to crowds of twenty and tables of four. It scales gracefully, holds well in a warm oven, and reheats without complaint. This is the kind of honest, unfussy cooking that American home cooks have always excelled at when left alone by food magazines telling them what they should be making instead.
Quantity
1 pound
sage-seasoned preferred
Quantity
1 tablespoon, plus more for the dish
Quantity
1 medium
diced
Quantity
1 pound (about 10 cups)
cut into 1-inch cubes
Quantity
3 cups (12 ounces)
shredded
Quantity
10
Quantity
3 cups
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
freshly ground
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
Quantity
2 tablespoons
minced
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| bulk breakfast sausagesage-seasoned preferred | 1 pound |
| unsalted butter | 1 tablespoon, plus more for the dish |
| yellow oniondiced | 1 medium |
| day-old crusty breadcut into 1-inch cubes | 1 pound (about 10 cups) |
| sharp cheddar cheeseshredded | 3 cups (12 ounces) |
| large eggs | 10 |
| whole milk | 3 cups |
| kosher salt | 1 teaspoon |
| black pepperfreshly ground | 1/2 teaspoon |
| dry mustard powder | 1/2 teaspoon |
| cayenne pepper | 1/4 teaspoon |
| fresh chivesminced | 2 tablespoons |
Set a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the sausage, breaking it into small crumbles with a wooden spoon as it cooks. You want pieces no larger than a nickel. Cook until deeply browned and rendered, about eight to ten minutes. The fond building on the bottom of your pan is flavor. Don't scrub it away. Transfer sausage to a paper towel-lined plate, leaving the fat in the skillet.
Reduce heat to medium. Add the butter to the sausage drippings and let it foam. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft and translucent with golden edges, about five minutes. The onion will pick up the browned bits from the sausage. This is good. Scrape everything from the pan and add to the sausage.
Butter a 9x13-inch baking dish generously. Your grandmother used butter and so should you. Margarine slides off the sides and leaves you with stuck-on egg. Spread half the bread cubes across the bottom in an even layer.
Scatter half the sausage mixture over the bread, then half the shredded cheese. Repeat with remaining bread, sausage, and cheese. The layering matters. It ensures every forkful contains all the elements that make this dish worth eating.
Crack the eggs into a large bowl. Add the milk, salt, pepper, mustard powder, and cayenne. Whisk vigorously until the mixture is completely uniform with no streaks of white. The mustard won't taste like mustard in the finished dish. It amplifies the cheese and adds a warmth you can't quite identify.
Pour the custard slowly and evenly over the layered casserole. Use a spatula to gently press the bread cubes down, ensuring every piece gets submerged. The bread needs to drink in the custard. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight, or at least four hours. This rest is not optional. It transforms a collection of ingredients into a unified dish.
Remove the casserole from the refrigerator and let it sit on the counter while the oven preheats to 350°F, about thirty minutes. A cold dish in a hot oven bakes unevenly, with overcooked edges and a raw center. Patience now prevents disappointment later.
Cover the dish tightly with aluminum foil and bake for thirty-five minutes. The foil traps steam and allows the custard to set gently without the top browning too quickly. You'll smell sausage and toasted cheese filling the kitchen before you're halfway through.
Remove the foil and continue baking until the top is puffed and golden brown, the edges pulling slightly from the sides of the dish, and a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. This takes another fifteen to twenty minutes. The casserole will dome magnificently, then settle as it cools.
Let the casserole rest for ten minutes before cutting. This allows the custard to set fully and makes serving easier. Cut into generous squares, scatter fresh chives over each portion, and serve on warmed plates. This is the kind of food that makes people linger at the table.
1 serving (about 235g)
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