Wake Up Time

This morning was a mixed blessing. I had some good Italian bread from a place called "Eatily" in Manhattan. However, it is/was over 4 days old, making it sort of, you know, difficult to cut. What to do with this bread? Well, french toast, of course, right?  I whipped up some eggs with a little brown sugar and cinnamon and let the bread soak for about 10 minutes until it was genuinely soft.  Then I threw it in the pan to cook.  After a few minutes, it looked like this:

I'm not sure if that looks good to you, but it is a decent slice of french toast, with enough inner tenderness to melt in my mouth, and I've got a somewhat high standard for inner tenderness, at least relative to those anecdotes that I could foist upon you, but which, I'm afraid, would be mildly embarrassing to me, because the threshold one must reach to share mementos about inner tenderness with another is always high, no matter what people say.

And, onward to the next dilemma.  No syrup.  Damnit, I had to run across the street and get syrup from the cheapie grocery store.  Nothing wrong with this place in a pinch, and this was a pinch if you need, let's say, a box of brand name cereal (well, let's not digress)--and I never used to think like this, trust me, I was raised on Log Cabin syrup--but I was forced to purchase some inferior molasses colored high fructose corn syrup, and it basically ruined the flavor of the eggs and bread, if, that is, you'll allow me to indulge my own skills at infusing taste and flavor into such things.    And, so, here we stand.  I've made the extra two pieces without eating them, and will save them in the fridge to be toasted on weekday morning procuring the necessary "real" maple syrup, which is, also unfortunately, really really expensive.

Another note that not drinking helps significant other not drink that much--it isn't her goal per se--she can drink just fine without me, just that she doesn't do it nearly as much as when I was drinking more myself.