This French Toast — just above — was made for Thanksgiving breakfast. When planning the morning of lazing in pajamas in front of the Macy’s Parade I realized that there would be a partial loaf of bread just perfect for soaking up milk, eggs, and a large splash of rum and drenching in the good maple syrup. I had to include the heel end because ever since researching superstitions I can’t get over the idea that it’s bad luck to cut from both ends of a loaf. Of course, I could have added it to the stale bread bag, but I wanted that extra piece.
Other than turning on the TV before the late post meridiem the morning isn’t precisely a special occasion. Yes, it’s Thanksgiving and there would be a very large roast turkey. The quiet morning at home — very like most weekend mornings — was dependent on a breakfast in order to achieve the proper sense of occasion.
Which I think is very correct.
It must have taken me an hour to write those last four sentences. I kept getting distracted looking things up. I read the NIST’s FAQ’s on time, the list of surviving Plymouth passengers at the first Thanksgiving — the names they gave their children — and eventually had to make myself stop. Except I think this paragraph was written just so I could read more about all those things.
Anyway, it is now Saturday. It’s a very nice day — though getting to be a little warm for November — it makes dressing very difficult. At some point today — it might just need something to give it a little sense of occasion. Tomorrow’s already covered. Second Thanksgiving came early this year.