Toast

Toast!

To some people that might mean "cheers!"  Or maybe even a more sophisticated response.

To me it means hot and buttered.

There is nothing more comforting than the smell of bread cooking in a toaster, except maybe the smell of it lying on my plate, almost black, with melted butter sinking deep into the memories.

My memories of food prior to age four were mostly associated with the person I ate it with, like lunch with my daddy when he came home from the U of I to eat cheese sandwiches and vegetable soup, or eating strawberry ice cream with real strawberries in it -- again with my dad.

Otherwise my memories of food began in small town America at my grandma's house.  She always served me toast with grape jelly, on a cookie sheet in an attempt to contain the crumbs.  It was also an attempt to keep me occupied while she did the morning's housework, like laundry in the old wringer washer before she left for her real job downtown.  Grandma was one of the first liberated women, but she was not above using toast to gain a few more minutes of time without me traipsing along behind her.

Today I always feel guilty eating toast, especially with butter.  It is no longer just daily bread, now it is calories, cholesterol, even sugar if I dare to add the grape jelly, but I still love it, especially on cold winter mornings.

Here's to warm toast, warm feelings and warmer memories!