Cheese Strata from Leftover Bread

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Cheese Strata is the soufflé of the hard-working proletariat. Strata can’t be bothered with é. Strata doesn’t even have time for a plural^[1].

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Thinking of casseroling some bread in egg custard? Hell yeah, man. You came to the right place. Let’s get to it.

The first thing you gotta do is free your mind. Strata can be anything: think any kind of herb imaginable, man, and the rest will follow. Foresee your favorite fruits and meats. Hey, consider Craisins and cinnamon if you can. Canned pie filling crossbred with cream cheese! It’s all cool when it comes to strata.

All except cubed bread, that is.

Cubed bread: not cool, man – not for a food whose name means “layers.” (I said “free” your mind, not “lose” your mind.) Yeah, that’s “strata” as in “stratification.” Cubed bread is more like integration than stratification.

"Rush Limbaugh with Cigar," from News One, via Make It Like a Man! Cheese Strata

Stratificationist with Cigar

Equal distribution is a nice idea, but for some ingredients to achieve greatness, others need to be stepped on and crushed underfoot. Same reason that Rush needs Obama. Get with it, baby.

I’m unaware of a law that sets it in stone, but strata is a breakfast casserole. However, strata’s soak-overnight requirement – also not set in stone – makes it easy to serve strata for dinner: pop the overnighted strata in the oven as you get home from the quarry, and supper will be ready right about the time you’ve just started to ~~get stoned~~ shrug off the day and resharpen your mind.

Keeps well, freezes well, reheats in the microwave.

Cheese Strata w/Asparagus

Makes 12 servings.

You may be tempted to cut the pieces bigger than the serving size I’m recommending, but try one before you do. This much cheese layered with custardy bread is so rich, you might bite off more than you can chew. Should you choose to serve this as a side, you shall sustain 24 satisfying slices.

8-12 thick slices of bread^[1]
Butter, for the casserole
24 oz of nicely-melting cheese,^[2] such as asiago fresh, fontina, monterrey jack
6 eggs, beaten
3 cups whole milk
½ tsp salt
2 tsp Dijon
Fresh, coarsely-ground pepper
½ tsp dried basil
9 pieces of thick-cut bacon, fried up all crispy-like and chopped to bits
¼ tsp thyme

1. Layer bread into a 3.5 quart casserole^[3]. Cut slices to fit empty spaces. You want each layer to be as even as it can be, with the bread packed in like riders on the L just before a Cubs game. But don’t be so obsessive that it makes the task as ungoddamnedpleasant as the L on St. Patrick’s Day. Aim for three layers of bread; this will depend on how thick your slices are. Your casserole should be about half full (or half empty, pessimists).

Don’t use fresh bread. Use bread that’s too dry to be appealing, but was delicious when it was fresh. This is not a good way to use up bread that was boring from the get-go.
If you’re ignoring what I’ve told you and are using fresh bread, at this point, while it’s all stacked in the casserole, put the top on and let it sit on the countertop for a day or two.

2. Take the top off the casserole, if it’s on. Place a cutting board over the casserole. Grasp both the casserole and the cutting board firmly, and invert the whole thing. Remove the casserole. If all has gone well, you will have a fortress of bread on a cutting board. Butter up your casserole, not with flattery, but with actual butter. Grab a handful of cheese and reserve it. Mix the eggs with the milk in a pitcher, preferably. Add salt and Dijon to the milk and give it a good shake or stir. Set aside.

3. Assembly:

a. Carefully strip away the top layer of your bread fortress and lay it back into the casserole the way it was before you dumped it out – in the exact same configuration, I mean. Pour ⅓ of the milk mixture over the whole thing, leaving no bit of bread untouched. Distribute ⅓ of the unreserved cheese over the bread. Generously pepper the cheese. Sprinkle half the basil over the peppered cheese. Distribute ⅓ of the bacon over the peppered, basiled cheese.

b. Go to your next layer of bread and repeat this whole process again, but with thyme: bread, egg mixture, cheese, pepper, thyme, and bacon.

c. This layer is just like Layer 3A.

4. Cut off the tough bottom half-inch or so of the asparagus and throw it out. Measure your trimmed asparagus against your casserole; you may have to trim it some more in order to get it to lay into the pan nicely. Distribute the asparagus atop the strata. Distribute the reserved cheese on top the asparagus. Place the top on the casserole and shove the whole thing in the refrigerator, where it will stay overnight.

5. The next day, whenever you’re good and goddamned ready, bake the thing for 55 minutes at 350˚F, covered. Remove cover and continue to bake until cheese browns, about 25 minutes. Let sit for 20 minutes or more before serving. A sharp knife will easily and neatly cut through the asparagus, but finish your slicing with a duller blade unless you’re sure your sharp blade won’t scratch your casserole’s finish.

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Notes:

[1] Plural: I feel I should explain myself here. “Strata” is plural. It’s the plural form of “stratum.” So, the name of this dish translates to “layers,” (plural) which seems appropriate. In that light, you’d think we’d say, “I’m going to make some layers for tomorrow’s breakfast.” But that’s not what we say. We say, “I’m going to bake a layers.” Thank God that Latin is a dead language, because we’d really sound like dumb-asses saying that to a Roman senator. But Latin is dead. “I’m going to bake a strata” sounds weird only to professors. “Strata” has become the word that refers to this dish, and in that use, it’s considered singular. However, being dead affords Latin the ability to haunt us to the extent that when you say “stratas,” the part of your brain that second-guesses itself fires off, reminding you of words like “datum” and “alumnus” – words that you know, but have no idea how to use properly. In some people, though, that part of the brain has been re-purposed to recognize Kim Kardashian’s brand when it’s encountered in trendy magazines. Hence, when used in the culinary sense, half of the people say “strata” and half of the people say “stratas.”

[2] Bread: I used Tomato Basil Bread from Panera.

[3] Cheese: I prefer a mixture of cheeses. For the strata photographed for this post, I used 8 oz asiago fresh, 10 oz fontina, and 6 oz monterrey jack. I didn’t mix them, but used the asiago, then 8 oz of the fontina, then the rest. Swiss would be welcome, so would Parmesan. I’ve never had a strata with yellow cheese, but The Internet informs me that there are such things. To be quite honest, 24 ounces is a lot of fucking cheese. You could do with 25% less, but why would you?

[4] Lid: Don’t have a casserole with a lid? Use aluminum foil when the time comes.

Don’t for get to:

5 thoughts on “Cheese Strata from Leftover Bread”

Pan on March 10, 2014

This looks insanely good!

- Jeff the Chef on March 28, 2014
  
  It is!
  
Marie on March 23, 2014

Hello there, That strata looks delicious! Excellent post! I love your website.

- Jeff the Chef on March 28, 2014
  
  Thanks, Marie! Cheers!
  
Susan on July 20, 2021

Thank you for sharing this. It looks delicious!