ARRIVE hungry
Juliette Sivertsen has the best (and biggest) French toast of her life at a funky Boston diner.
Twenty-five hours after leaving New Zealand, I was in desperate need of three things: a shower, multiple cups of coffee and a delicious breakfast that didn’t consist of the airline classic of baked beans with scrambled eggs.
Landing in Boston early in the morning, my room wasn’t ready for check-in, so the first option of freshening up was out. Fortunately, I had already mapped out exactly where to go for the next two priorities – and bottomless coffee and a giant breakfast of syrup-soaked French toast were literally just around the corner.
The Friendly Toast is a jaunty all-day brunch bar in Back Bay that serves coffee, beer and the best American-style breakfast you can find in the area. There are several locations throughout the United States and you just have to spend a morning there to know why it’s so popular.
My big sister Catherine was travelling with me, and we walked in unshowered and bleary-eyed from the long-haul flight. Turns out we were lucky to nab a spot at the counter as the queues for a table kept growing by the minute.
The bright-green interior was exactly how I imagined an American breakfast diner – formica tables, neon signs, bottles of ketchup, a hodgepodge of signs, toys and collectibles, plus a friendly barman drying glasses and wiping down the counter before slinging the cloth over his shoulder to greet us.
To start was the first round of the bottomless coffee. I felt like I was in a scene I’d seen in movies and American sitcoms time and time again, sitting at the bar, asking for more coffee and having my mug refilled three or four times over the course of brunch.
The menu was extensive but I opted for cinnamon raisin French toast with fresh berries and maple syrup served with whipped butter. My sister opted for Mexican-style huevos rancheros, while I spotted others nearby with giant plates of crispy fried chicken and waffles and bagels the size of my face.
Of course, it’s ’Merica, so the portion sizes were huge, served on fun coloured plates. The cinnamon raisin French toast was grilled to a perfect golden brown and the sourdough was thick and fluffy on the inside. It’s the best French toast I’ve ever eaten, made all the more delightful with fresh berries and a generous serving of syrup – a sweetness I would become quite accustomed to during the course of my US trip.
My sister’s plate of huevos rancheros was equally giant and delicious as a savoury option. In any other context, we would have struggled to finish the whole plate – our Kiwi palates were not used to the American portions – but after such a long trip to get to Boston, while also wanting to make the most of at least one more round of coffee, not a crumb was left behind.