I just made French toast, and it was amazing. In this house, the Sunday morning meal is known as “Special Breakfast.” The kids take turns choosing whatever they want for breakfast. There are limits, of course. If one of them wanted burgers or pizza, I would give it some consideration, but, ultimately, I or, more likely, mom would say no. Most often they choose from the traditional carbohydrate infused breakfast options: pancakes, waffles, and French toast. Bacon or sausage is de rigueur for Special Breakfast.
On a few occasions one of the kids talked me into making donuts from scratch. I have vowed never to do it again. First, waiting for dough to rise does not make for a quick breakfast, which means either I get up really early or the family enjoys a late morning donut brunch. Second, and more importantly, the donuts I make are not as good as the ones available in the grocery store bakery department. The store is 1.5 miles from my house. I could walk there, buy donuts, walk home, eat the donuts, and enjoy a cup of coffee before the homemade donut dough had risen to sufficient volume. I can wait ten hours for a brisket to cook on the grill, but I have no patience for yeast expelling carbon dioxide. French toast is more tolerable.
Normally, my wife cooks French toast. However, this morning she is sleeping in, and I had to step up to the challenge. With assistance from my son and the Internet, I found a recipe for French toast and got to work. While I didn’t have to make the bread – which would have required yeast and waiting – the recipe I chose did involve a complex cooking procedure that required use of a griddle and the oven. I did consider the possibility of grilling the toast to further dial up the degree of difficulty, but that’s not why I’m writing about today’s Special Breakfast.
I’m writing about French toast because I need to write about something. Anything. I have been avoiding writing for a couple of weeks, and my anxiety is growing. I have not been able to diagnose my avoidance. All I know for sure is that any household chore – including the preparation of an elaborate French toast meal – seems preferable to writing.
While I have been dreading the idea of facing a blank page, it’s not just a lack of inspiration. I have a 30-page manuscript that I just need to edit, but even that writing project is much less inviting than watching television, doing laundry, or using a shop vac to clean spider webs off my mom’s front porch. I feel good about my domestic industriousness – less so about my TV time – but I know I need to exercise the creativity muscles outside the kitchen.
So, let it be known throughout the land: I will spend time editing my manuscript today. I may not finish the work, but I will make significant progress. That is my vow. Of course, I will also watch the World Cup final on TV. And I will grill coffee crusted pork tenderloin with red eye gravy barbecue sauce for dinner. I need to finish the laundry, too.
Man, that French toast was good.