You're toast. Er, your toast!

I suppose it is a sure sign that I am getting old when I don't seem to get bored about eating a slice of toast every morning. The only question is whether I should spread peanut butter on it, or Nutella, or that rare day when I reach for butter and jam.  But, like my dog who always seemed happy to eat the same food every time, I am, too, happy to have the toast with coffee every morning.  So, maybe it is contentment and not aging, eh!

Given such a daily morning toast ritual, should you be surprised that I am looking forward to checking out cafes that specialize in, yes, toast? (ht)

The coffee shop, called the Red Door, was a spare little operation tucked into the corner of a chic industrial-style art gallery and event space (clients include Facebook, Microsoft, Evernote, Google) in downtown San Francisco. There were just three employees working behind the counter: one making coffee, one taking orders, and the soulful guy making toast. In front of him, laid out in a neat row, were a few long Pullman loaves—the boxy Wonder Bread shape, like a train car, but recognizably handmade and freshly baked. And on the brief menu, toast was a standalone item—at $3 per slice.
It took me just a few seconds to digest what this meant: that toast, like the cupcake and the dill pickle before it, had been elevated to the artisanal plane. So I ordered some. It was pretty good. It tasted just like toast, but better.

I can easily imagine that even a plain old toast can taste heavenly when done well.  I wish I could have that divine taste every morning!  It is like how a simple idli in India can be done amazingly at some places.  We vastly underestimate the powerful effect a tasty simplest of meals can have.  We tend to think that the best dining experience can result only from complex preparations and high prices.  Not always.

WHEN I TOLD FRIENDS back East about the craze for fancy toast that was sweeping across the Bay Area, they laughed and laughed. (How silly; how twee; how San Francisco.) But my bet is that artisanal toast is going national. I’ve already heard reports of sightings in the West Village.

Again, if I relate it to the idlis back in India, I can visualize how a simple idli shop that sells nothing but plain old idli--but the tastiest idlis ever--and no fancy coffee will be a huge hit among city slickers used to highfalutin talk and food. The humble toast is that same way.  When traveling, sometimes I long for a simple toast and coffee when I wake up. But, of course, getting that toast is almost always next to impossible.

The complaint about the difficulty in getting a decent toast of bread is not anything new. Remember that wonderful scene with Jack Nicholson?