My Marie Antoinette Moment.

My breakfast is a cup of tea and a nice piece of toast, which is how I ensure that I begin each day in a good mood before, you know, life comes along and fucks it up.

I love toast. It’s my favorite food that isn’t pizza, so I am particular about the bread I use for my toast. I use a “short long ciabatta” from a boutique grocery store bakery here on the north shore of Long Island that makes it every hour, and I like to get there when the loafs are still warm from the oven. At home, I put it in the toaster oven on a “bake” setting until it’s toasted to a golden beige, and then I  butter it with Beurre D’Isigny demi sel from France, and I top it all off with a sprinkle of Himalayan salt (the pink stuff, for whimsy).

Top Cat did the weekly shopping and came home without my short long ciabatta — he said the bakery was sold out. So the next day, I was going to make a special trip back to the boutique grocery store to get my ciabatta (yes, I know, “privilege”), and Top Cat told me, “Maybe you want to try the brioche? It looked pretty good when I was there.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t care for brioche.”

And I thought, Jesus, my 10-year old self would never have imagined me one day saying something like, “I don’t care for brioche”. When I was growing up, we did not go to restaurants. The only Chinese food we ever ate came from a can — does anyone remember La Choy chicken chow mien? We did not buy bread from a bakery — we ate store-brand white bread and when we felt fancy, we’d put a few slices on a small plate for the dinner table so we could have bread-and-margarine with our canned stew. We didn’t know people who went “abroad”; that was only in movies (Sabrina and American in Paris).

No, no way could 10-year-old me have thought that one day, during a global pandemic, I would be turning up my nose at brioche, but this is the kind of person I have become. I think 10-year-old me would be rooting for me.

I did go to the boutique grocery store and I got my loaf of ciabatta, but I also got two onions, nice big Spanish onions, for cover. That way, I could look as if I were actually shopping for basic foodstuffs, the humble root veg of the people, and not defying lockdown orders just for one fancy fresh-baked Italian baguette.

BTW, this loaf is unusually puffy, so it’s a bit too fat to fit easily in my toaster oven and this morning’s toast was a bit burnt, so, karma.

I’m sure we’d all rather dwell on toast than think about the orange shit stain in the White House,but anyway, here’s today’s round up for your entertainment:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now go have a nice piece of toast and I’ll see you all back here on Friday.

 

 

 

 

 

4 Comments, RSS

  1. Steve May 13, 2020 @ 1:36 pm

    Yes! La Choy! Those were the days, when we ate bad “exotic” food and didn’t know any better.

  2. Barb May 13, 2020 @ 8:58 pm

    Thank God it’s Wednesday (or Friday) and I can see what Vivian is up to. Thank you. My best to Taffy, Bibs and Cindy (?). Also you and Top Cat.

  3. Kirra May 14, 2020 @ 7:47 am

    Your toast sounds tasty! Love the cover story of buying the onions as well.

    The ‘mongols’ one is my favourite this week, but also ‘fuck you I’m a cat’ – ha ha ha!

  4. Marilyn May 17, 2020 @ 5:52 pm

    OK, we need our treats just to survive this craziness!
    Definitely saving the day. There will be dancing in the street.
    You do make me smile.

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