I ate many a PB&J in my youth, but my favorite sandwich was a grilled cheese. It was warm and gooey, and not something I could take to school. It was special. My mom made them for me. My mom’s best friend made them for me. My aunt made them for me. I ate them all over Fort Wayne, Indiana, and I ranked them.
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Summer is berry season, but you already knew that. You’ve been to the farmers’ market. You’ve seen the stands teeming with delicious berries. (I hope yours are cheaper than mine in San Francisco.)
Did you know that you can buy French toast already made? I’m not talking about those frozen sticks of French toast-like substance; I’m talking about real pieces of thick, high quality Aunt Millie’s bread with all the yummy flavor of French toast built right in. You just pop a slice in the toaster and—bam!—French toast smells waft throughout your kitchen, and maybe fill your entire home, if your home is a 600-square foot, one bedroom apartment. In a matter of minutes, you’re eating French toast with a sly smile as if you’re getting away with something.
March Madness is upon me. It’s my favorite time of the year, but there are so many college basketball games to watch that I lose what little resolve to cook that I had in the first place. I have usually at least two games on simultaneously: one on the TV and one on my laptop. On the first two days of the tournament, there is sometimes a third game playing on my iPad.
It’s a new year, but I’m the same old me, standing here in my kitchen trying to figure out how to give myself a well-balanced breakfast with the least amount of effort. Of course, I’m going to have toast. I have a piece of Aunt Millie’s Best Grains whole wheat bread in the toaster, ready to go. I just need something to put on it.
When I was growing up, cinnamon toast was a staple of my wholesome Midwestern childhood. My mom would make it for me as an occasional breakfast or more likely for a bedtime snack. Even now, as an adult making cinnamon toast for myself in my apartment overlooking San Francisco, when I bite into a warm, crunchy, sweet piece of cinnamon toast, I am transported back to Indiana in the 1980s.
When I first saw it on the menu at a trendy brunch spot in none other than the Mission neighborhood in San Francisco, I looked over my shoulder to see if I could spot my guardian angel. Alas, she was working invisibly as usual, placing me in the path of my destiny in such a way as to make me believe I’d chosen it myself. For avocado and bread are my two favorite foods, and here they were together in one perfect dish bearing the unassuming moniker of Avocado Toast.