Forgive me ahead of time for writing about a subject that is not strictly related to writing. It is, however related to a personal passion, something I feel very strongly about: toast.
I have long enjoyed the virtues of buttered toast. It is simple, portable, and satisfying (both aurally and orally). It has quieted my hungry stomach and comforted my weary mind on more than one occasion. I am sure somewhere in my DNA there is an explanation for why toast is, at times, better than a cup of chamomile. However, with or without a scientific explanation for my preferences, what is now being done with toast makes me ill.
ABC News put out an article on the fifteenth discussing how toast is the newest overpriced thing in cafés. With prices reaching from anywhere between $3.50 to $7.00 per slice, there are certain establishments that sell slices of toast numbering into the hundreds in one day. But this isn’t any toast. This is locally made bread, thick cut and slathered with organic almond butter and so on and so forth. Occasionally, toast masquerades under the name of “burnt” brioche (if it’s burnt, you’re doing it wrong).
What does this hipsterizing of toast mean to me? It means that every time I look at my simple piece of Italian bread with butter spread on it that I am going to hear the voice of the hipster gods in my ears saying “was that organically sourced?” and “why not add some guava paste and basil?” or “how about goat cheese, tomatoes, and extra virgin olive oil?”. And I will mutter at my white saucer and mute toast about how all I want is a little bite of something good, not a culinary scrapbook.
So, I will wait for the fad to fade. My mother (who taught me the finer points of toast) and I will be one another’s support group in world obsessed with putting frills and a dollar signs on foods never meant for either. I will not buy one piece of toast. And I will continue to push my toast down into the toaster one-and-a-half times to reach my preferred level of toastiness, General of Electric be damned.