Hot Buttered Toast

I just treated myself to a breakfast of hot buttered toast.  There is nothing like it.  I made three slices for myself, which I justify because that's all I'm having.  No eggs, no bacon, no nothin' else.  Just toast.

There is an episode of the British television series "Upstairs Downstairs" (the one from the 1970's) that I have seen numerous times in which a young man moans about longing for hot buttered toast.  One of his companions finally goes to the housekeeper to ask for some, and after an interval, the toast arrives.  Every time I see that episode, I always wonder exactly how hot that toast would be by the time it was removed from whatever Edwardian heat source had toasted it, was buttered, stood up in one of those little racks, and carried up two flights of stairs on a tray.  I'm guessing not very.

I toast only one slice of bread at a time, butter as fast as I can, cut in two with a quick, deft motion, and start eating.  That's how you get hot buttered toast.

As I've mentioned before, my father wouldn't eat toast.  He said it was just a quick way to make old bread.  It was probably not the only thing he didn't know he was missing.