We need to talk. I know, I know, no one likes to hear these words, but– if I didn’t care I wouldn’t take the time. There’s something very important that has been happening our whole lives that has gone undiscussed, and it’s high time someone brought light to the subject. I promise it’ll be okay, it”s just one of those things that everyone does, in private and in public– yet no one talks about it. We all love it, we do it at different times of the day, alone or with other people; we take part in it so often that its normalcy has underwritten its importance. Some people don’t do it correctly and some people have very calculated procedures about the whole thing. Some take a minimalist approach, while others require various accouterments to be satisfied. People will partake more often when they feel under the weather or earlier in the morning. Basically, we all do it, we all love it, and it can no longer be a secret. We ALL. EAT. TOAST.
Toast is the unsung Hero of the breakfast world. It’s the side-kick that makes the crime solving possible. It’s the glue that holds the fabric of the meal together. Why does it not get the proper respect, attention, and love it deserves? I have been plagued by this question for years. It’s my duty to break the silence. I love toast, I love my toaster for making toast possible, and some of you out there have this nonchalant approach to my beloved that must be stopped.
I was reared in a toast respecting house. I was taught to butter the bread all the way to the edges of the crust, as to not leave the eater with any double dry spots. I was aghast when I first encountered second-rate toast butterers. Cold butter pats, half smeared on broken and torn toast, dry edges. Monsters. As I encountered more toast in the world, made by half-assed, get the food to the table, oh yeah that plate needs toast for table 3, I began to notice that it was more widespread than I thought. Dare I say, an epidemic. My Momma taught me proper, and here there was this big wide world of toast making and eating people, with no reverence for crisp hot bread morality. I went out to breakfast the other day, and my “toast”- wasn’t. It was warmed bread. At least they got the butter right. Heathens in the kitchen. I still tip 20%.
On to the top. Put whatever your hearts desires. I am not the arbiter of that debate. Butter or margarine, jelly or jam, bacon or marshmallow fluff, pile it all on. Make some bruschetta, onion marmalade, sweet or savory, or a piece of each. I’ve been known to dabble in the cinnamon & sugar, when I’m feeling fancy I might reach for some local blackberry preserves. I know a peanut butter and bacon on wheat toast woman, and a day old stale toast Nana. For a quick delicious desert, I’ll butter some toast and add melted dark chocolate. Yummm.
Let us be clear about one very important thing. When you take two pieces of toast with your choice of toppings of delight, and face them together, pressing them into one, it’s called a SANDWICH! You’ve stepped into another realm– a celebrated, exalted, and socially aware culinary concept. Also known as lunch. Yes, stacking toast with something in between is a sandwich. I am the arbiter on this. I can provide a certificate of expertise should you require verification.
So, my darling, my plea to you– respect the toast. The humble breakfast servant. The goes great with hot cocoa or tea. The secret is out. Let us congregate and conversate about our shared experiences and love of all things toasted. English muffins, toaster biscuits, buttermilk, whole wheat, rye and the like. Let us ponder how you can order a steak medium well, or well done, but there is no option to order your toast with the same gradient option. I once had toast so exquisite, I ordered another. That’s some damn good toast. I don’t remember the name of the café in Portland, or the rest of the meal, but I remember the toast. All four, gloriously buttered, perfectly browned, crispy chewy bites of all four pieces. Yes, this place did it right. They actually had an employee who was designated to just make toast. And seven years later, I still remember. Seven. years. later. Tell me of your toast of yore, and your hopes of toast for tomorrow.
~A
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