Eating Toast.

This week,

I discovered the singular pleasure

of eating toast.

It's one of the simplest

and most iconic foods

there is.

Think of it--

you take a soft piece of bread,

warm it up,

make it crispy.

Then you immediately put butter on it

which melts before your eyes,

making it soft again.

You're left with a strange texture

that somehow manages to be

incredibly soothing.

The secret,

I've discovered,

and the reason I'm such a latecomer

to the realm of toast,

is butter.

Not margarine.

If being content

despite how hard life is

had a taste,

it would be the rich but understated taste

of butter

on bread.

It fills every grumpy corner

of your little body

with light.

I was thinking about toast

as I was eating it this morning.

And I decided

that eating toast

should never be suffered

to be multitasked.

Toast should only be eaten

in silence

next to a sunny window.

Then I decided to have

a third piece.