butterscotchblastoff

Kick start your day with a good breakfast

Hot Buttered Toast

on January 19, 2014

Having re-read Winnie-the-Pooh, I moved on to Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows. 

My beloved childhood edition, with illustrations by Arthur Rackam

My beloved childhood edition, with illustrations by Arthur Rackham

This is the only book from my childhood library I still have. I didn't own many; my mother, as am I, was a huge fan of the library.

This is the only book of mine from back then I still have. I didn’t own many; my mother, as am I, was a huge fan of the library.

Each of these animals bears a striking resemblance to someone I know (though most of the animals are nicer!) and their adventures, large and small, terrifying or gratifying are just a delight. Of course, there’s an ode to hot buttered toast. There’s a reason Nigel Slater’s memoir is called Toast–to the Brits, it’s manna from heaven.

“When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, with  no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfast on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one’s ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.”

This morning, that black cherry jam made it onto yesterday’s homemade bread, toasted. Gracie and I enjoyed it with as full a recognition of its charms as did Toad in his jail cell.

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