You don’t need a silver fork to eat a good meal. ~ Paul Prudhomme

French Toast Happiness

So if you read this blog regularly and especially if you know me in real life, you know that I’m just not normal, never have been. So while I’ve done some amazing things, hiking in Himalayas, photographing polar bears in Canada, and hugging a whale in Baja, there are some really basic, normal things that I’ve never done.

Over the last year or so I’ve tried to tick off some of these things. So for instance, about a year ago I had my first macaroon, I had my first true croissant, and a big one, I made and ate some of anyway, my first bowl of Kraft Mac and Chesse, I was not a fan. And that’s not snobbery, I grew up poor, a blue-collar kid and so every once in awhile I’ll make a bowl of Spaghettios for dinner, some Top Ramen or hell even a Banquet Pot Pie.

A long standing habit from childhood has always been a big Sunday breakfast. Big of course meant we got donuts, or my favorite, crumb cake from the local bakery via the corner store when I was sent out to by the sunday papers. For me typically that means cornbeef hash with my eggs, not much but a little something extra on a Sunday morning, sometimes I get ambitious and make biscuits and gravy. It hit me last night that I was out of cornbeef hash and it was late and I was too lazy to go out and get some. Then it hit me, I had bread. As a diabetic, I usually don’t have bread in the house, so this was a bit unusual, and an idea hit me. And the idea came from all the way back in third grade.

As a child I was a really picky eater and it’s led to some weird things in my life. To this day I still hate raw onions and can’t stomach big pieces of cooked onions either. I ate my first mushroom at my sixteenth birthday dinner. My family took me out for a steak dinner, the owner heard it was my birthday and came by the table to say hello and happy birthday. He asked me where my mushrooms were and I told him I didn’t like them. He said, “I’ll make you a deal, I’ll have the chef make you some mushrooms in brown butter sauce, try it, if you don’t like them, I’ll comp your family’s dinner.” So a little while later they came out, and were amazing, to this day one of my favorite dishes to make. When the owner came over and I was eating them he smiled and said he was glad I liked them and they were his present to me. My father was pissed, he looked at me and said, “great, you’re a pain in the ass who won’t eat anything your whole life and the one-time it can save me some money you like something.” There’s a reason he and I aren’t close.

Being a picky eater, there were a lot of things I didn’t eat. I wasn’t a big fan of eggs as a kid, I ate pancakes but I didn’t like maple syrup, so I ate them with jelly. As such pancakes, waffles and french toast weren’t really on the menu for me. In fact, I still have never had a waffle. So last night I remembered third grade. In third grade, we went to another class for science lessons or some other reason to Mr. Conti and Mr. Webster’s rooms. One of the things we did one day and I have no memory of why, was that we were taught to make french toast. I was excited for the lesson and the knowledge, I was just starting to do the cooking at home many nights. After learning and telling her about it, my granny asked me to make it for her and she liked it. Of course, it was my granny, so of course she did. But it’s my sister’s favorite breakfast and I even made it at home a couple of times, but I never ate it. I seem to have an ability to make some things really well that I don’t consume. As a bartender, in a variety of situations, I’ve come to know that I make a mean bloody mary. Of course, I really don’t like tomato juice, so I’ve never actually drunk one.

So this morning, I made french toast for the first time for myself, the lovely slices pictured above. I decided to make them with vanilla and cinnamon and they were pretty good. My opinion on syrup has changed and I covered them in cinnamon and vanilla infused maple syrup. In eating them, I realized something about french toast and that for me, it’s in the same category as tortilla chips. These are not food, what these really are, are delivery systems for a topping. While my sister eats french toast with nothing but butter, most people are really just using it as an excuse to eat syrup, I sure was. Just like we only eat tortilla chips to consume guacamole and salsa. I mean come on, who eats a bag of plain tortilla chips.

So, what does all of this have to do with happiness? Not a damn thing, but my life is stuck in limbo, the world’s gone fucking crazy, the weather is insane, bombs are dropping on little girls, so today, I decided to eat something sweet and write about it. I hope you find something as equally satisfying today and have a happy day my friends. ~ Rev Kane