On Toast.

Many of you know that my favorite food is toast. I’m admittedly not that keen on bread, but dry it out a bit in a warming device and lightly brown and crisp the outside? Then put stuff on it?

Yes, please.

Toast, along with my second favorite food, crackers, is awesome because it’s a clever delivery vehicle. I think toast can be served with just about anything and in my house, it usually is. Well, it is since I replaced my toaster, which fell victim to the Marcus Visits Madeline Rules Scandal of 2005.

It was dicey going without toast for a spell. Sure, I made due with the oven, but not being an Englishman in New York or anywhere else, I like my toast done on both sides.

(Sorry, Sting. Tell Trudi I say hi. After the tantra. Right, bye.)

I like openfaced tuna sandwiches on toast. Toast under a slice of ham, poached eggs, asparagus spears and hollandaise sauce. Chipped beef on toast (shut up, motherfuckers, it’s comfort food), toast with rosemary and garlic butter sitting jauntily on the side of my salad bowl. Tohhhhhhhst!

I’m putting this on my Amazon Wish List:


I need it. I need it more than anyone I know, and I will love it as only I can love a cookbook devoted to dry bread and its endless culinary possibilities.

(via Slashfood)


Filed under Cooking, Food, Stories, Toast, Weirdness

2 responses to “On Toast.

  1. Aaaaand, Englishman In New York will now be in my head all day.

    “I take it everywhere I waaaaaaaaaaaaalk!”

  2. Now, see, I do have a walking cane.

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