BY ELIZABETH LENHARD
Sun In My Belly’s stuffed French toast seems like something you’d enjoy at 10 a.m., and regret at 11. There’s a lot going on in this dish and every component is indulgent.
It starts with a springy slice of challah so thick it really can’t be called a slice. Call it a wedge. A hunka chunk. A brick, though one that’s light as air.
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This bread is egged up, then fried into French toast. After that, it’s slit down the middle and clamshelled around a cloud of ricotta and a tumble of berries.
That aromatic sweetness you detect in the fluffy cheese? That’s honey. There’s also a pot of maple syrup and the whole plate is liberally dusted with powdered sugar.
In short, this is confection-as-breakfast.
Eating this assemblage is deliciously slow business. It’s worth it to make sure every forkful is triple-loaded with custardy challah, tart juicy fruit and creamy cheese.
And then—you brace yourself for the logy, leaden aftermath of a carb bomb explosion.
But what’s this? Your sugar crash never comes. You waltz out onto College Avenue feeling nothing but happily sated. Somehow, this sweetheart of a dish lands as lightly as, well, sun in the belly.
Maybe your post-toast sprightliness comes from the protein in the eggs and ricotta.
Perhaps you can credit SIMB’s whimsical décor—all pastel-painted mason jars and tattered fringe garlands.
Or maybe this is a gift you shouldn’t question, like tax refunds, comfortable high heels, and other delightful improbabilities.
Whatever the reason, eating this Sun In My Belly staple feels—wonderfully—like getting away with something.
Sun in My Belly, 2161 College Ave. N.E., Atlanta. 404-370-1088, suninmybelly.com.
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