“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 808 (Thursday) – french toast

Tonight, while studying the contents of the refrigerator and trying to conjure up something for supper, my eyes rested on the bottle of maple syrup in the door rack and French toast flashed through my mind. Hot, buttery fluffy French toast, dripping with maple syrup.

That was it. The only acceptable option for supper was settled. Everything became laser focused on French toast.

There was a frosty forage through the freezer where the bread lives. Behind the new bagels and some forgotten old bagels and even older English muffins, there were various remnants of various of loaves of bread. One bag of sliced something or other was removed. Eggs were scrambled with creamer and cinnamon. The slices, of varying thicknesses and sizes, were dipped in the egg and fried in butter. Then they were stacked and topped with pats of butter and drizzled with maple syrup. 

This was no pretty plate of restaurant quality uniformly sized white bread French toast triangles, and the oddball slices from the dense bread remnants made for an almost comical looking stack.

It was good, but not exactly the best French toast. The bread was heavy. There was probably enough to save half of it, but that didn’t happen. Soon, it was all gone, except for the stomach ache, which took about thirty minutes to set in, and then lingered for a while. The penalty for zealous overeating is pain.