"Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard?" said Fred, to the servant who brought in coffee and buttered toast; while he walked round the table surveying the ham, potted beef, and other cold remnants, with an air of silent rejection, and polite forbearance from signs of disgust.Fred has got it made. Demanding a grilled bone first thing in the morning? Luxurious. I would be happy with eggs or even just some buttered toast.
"Should you like eggs, sir?"
"Eggs, no! Bring me a grilled bone."
--George Eliot, Middlemarch
Toast is a funny thing: It always tastes better when you had no hand in making it. Someday, maybe I'll write a book, working title: Toast Not of One's Own. For exactly one year, I'll go to every breakfast establishment and order a side of toast. It will be magical – The Year of Magical Toast? Will it be more of a Virginia Woolf or a Joan Didion? Guess we'll see what the toast has to say about that.