This was not a good morning. Spring is here, and I got out of bed with the season shoved up my nose and running down my throat. We were out of bagels — and what else does one serve with iced tea? — and, worst of all, my “innovative” side was out again, and on the prowl.
What was intended to be a breakfast of pancakes took a turn for the worse. Like, a lot worse.
Pictured above is what appears to be, as you might have guessed, a pile of soaking wet rye bread! And you’d be right! Because, well, I’d be the first to admit that I’m no star chef, and being the avant-garde type, the whole “we don’t have any regular almond milk” and “what happened to the bread that wasn’t rye” thing seemed like a minor setback. There’s a particular technique of readers called suspension of disbelief, and let’s just say I’m a bit of writer, so that mindset interferes with my cooking, too.
“Hey!” I thought. “Maybe it’ll turn out really great! Green tea was created on accident, as the story goes. The nation’s latest item on the morning menu might be as well!”
Here’s the thing. Maybe it was the whole allergy thing getting to my inhibitions or maybe being around all those egg whites exposed me to some mutant form of vaporized salmonella, but French toast is supposed to be sweet. Rye bread is a hard flavor to pin down in a sentence, but the point is it’s not sweet. This is kind of like the equivalent of having a perfectly good plate of ordinary French toast and saying,hey, maybe this mustard would go great in there. Let’s marinate it.
I’m only posting this because, for all of you breakfast wanna-be connoisseurs like me out there, the world needs to be warned that this is a terrible, terrible idea. Because now I have six pieces of mistake left sitting in the kitchen waiting for me. My cat probably won’t even eat them.
I’ll see you all in the hospital.