"Simply told and cleverly imagined, French Toast is a great starting point for talking to young children about race, diversity, and respect." —Quill and Quire, ★ Starred Review
Phoebe—half Jamaican, half French-Canadian—hates her school nickname of “French Toast.” So she is mortified when, out on a walk with her Jamaican grandmother, she hears a classmate shout it out at her. To make things worse, Nan-Ma, who is blind, wants an explanation of the name. How can Phoebe describe the color of her skin to someone who has never seen it? “Like tea, after you’ve added the milk,” she says. And her father? “Like warm banana bread.” And Nan-Ma herself? She is like maple syrup poured over...well...
In French Toast, Kari-Lynn Winters uses favorite foods from both of Phoebe’s cultures to celebrate the varied skin tones of her family. François Thisdale’s imaginative illustrations fill the landscape with whimsy and mouthwatering delight as Phoebe realizes her own resilience and takes ownership of her nickname proudly.
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French Toast
"Simply told and cleverly imagined, French Toast is a great starting point for talking to young children about race, diversity, and respect." —Quill and Quire, ★ Starred Review
Phoebe—half Jamaican, half French-Canadian—hates her school nickname of “French Toast.” So she is mortified when, out on a walk with her Jamaican grandmother, she hears a classmate shout it out at her. To make things worse, Nan-Ma, who is blind, wants an explanation of the name. How can Phoebe describe the color of her skin to someone who has never seen it? “Like tea, after you’ve added the milk,” she says. And her father? “Like warm banana bread.” And Nan-Ma herself? She is like maple syrup poured over...well...
In French Toast, Kari-Lynn Winters uses favorite foods from both of Phoebe’s cultures to celebrate the varied skin tones of her family. François Thisdale’s imaginative illustrations fill the landscape with whimsy and mouthwatering delight as Phoebe realizes her own resilience and takes ownership of her nickname proudly.
"Simply told and cleverly imagined, French Toast is a great starting point for talking to young children about race, diversity, and respect." —Quill and Quire, ★ Starred Review
Phoebe—half Jamaican, half French-Canadian—hates her school nickname of “French Toast.” So she is mortified when, out on a walk with her Jamaican grandmother, she hears a classmate shout it out at her. To make things worse, Nan-Ma, who is blind, wants an explanation of the name. How can Phoebe describe the color of her skin to someone who has never seen it? “Like tea, after you’ve added the milk,” she says. And her father? “Like warm banana bread.” And Nan-Ma herself? She is like maple syrup poured over...well...
In French Toast, Kari-Lynn Winters uses favorite foods from both of Phoebe’s cultures to celebrate the varied skin tones of her family. François Thisdale’s imaginative illustrations fill the landscape with whimsy and mouthwatering delight as Phoebe realizes her own resilience and takes ownership of her nickname proudly.
Kari-Lynn Winters is an author, poet, and performer. With over sixteen picture and poetry books published, she has won the British Columbia Book Prize silver medal twice, and been nominated numerous times for the Christie Harris Illustrated Children's Literature Prize and the Chocolate Lily Awards. Bad Pirate won the Rainforest of Reading Award. Kari-Lynn loves being in the classroom and now teaches drama in education at Brock University. She lives in St. Catharines, Ontario. Her most recent picture book is On the Line.
François Thisdale’s work blends traditional drawing and painting with digital imagery. He is the illustrator of Missing Nimama, which won the TD Canadian Children's Book Award. The Stamp Collector is on the IBBY Honor List, and That Squeak was honor book for the IBBY Canada Elizabeth Mrazik-Cleaver Picture Book Award. His New York Times-recommended title Bon Voyage, Mister Rodriguez was nominated for the same award. François lives in Montreal, Quebec.
Even though Nan-ma's blind, she sees things others do not. On weekends, I am her neighborhood guide. Today, I fall silent as we pass the school. I stare at my sandals, wishing Nan-ma could walk faster. Then one of the kids—the one who always carries the basketball—shouts, "Hey, French Toast!" Another kid laughs. "Come on, Nan-ma," I say, pulling her. "The park is just up ahead..."
