ALL AROUND THE COUNTRY COST TO COST PEOPLE SAY WHAT YOU LIKE MOST I DON'T WANT TO BRAG I DON'T WANT TO BOST I ALWAYS TELLUM I LIKE TOAST YEAH TOAST YEAH TOAST I GET UP IN THE MORNING ABOUT 6 AM HAVE A LIL JELLY HAVE A LIL JAM TAKE A PEACE OF BREAD IN THE SLOT PUSH DOWN THE LEAVER AND THE WHIRES GET HOT YOU GET TOAST YEAH TOAST YEAH TOAST NOW THERE'S NO SEEKRET TO TOASTING PERFECTION THERE IS A DILE ON THE SIDE AND YOU MAKE YOUR SELECTION PUSH TO THE DARK OR THE LIGTH AND THEN IF IT POPS TO SOON JUST PRESS DOWN AGAIN MAKE TOAST YEAH TOAST UNGH TOAST WHEN THE FIRST CAVE MAN DROVE IN FROM THE DRAGS DIDN'T KNOW WHAT WOULD GO WITH THE BAKON AND THE EGGS MUST HAVE BEEN A GENUS GOT IT IN HIS HEAD PLUG THE TOASTER IN TO THE WALL BUY A BAG OF BREAD MAKE TOAST YEAH TOAST UGH TOAST OH WII BONJOR MOR COVANCAN ON CONRUS CONCAV OIE MOSHARIE TH'EIFFEL TOWER OUI MARIE BUG BONSOIR MONSOWA FRENCH TOAST FRENCH TOAST FROM THE BOTTOME OF THE BOB AND TOM SHOW YEAH TOAST
The man who did the shouting at the P.S.U.C. post down on our right was an artist at the job. Sometimes, instead of shouting revolutionary slogans he simply told the Facists how much better we were being fed than they were. His account of the Government rations was apt to be a little imaginative. 'Buttered toast!' - you could hear his voice echoing across the lonely valley - 'We're just sitting down to buttered toast over here! Lovely slices of buttered toast!' I do not doubt that, like the rest of us, he had not seen butter for weeks or months past, but in the icy night the news of buttered toast probably set many a fascist mouth wattering. It even made mine water, though I knew he was lying.
At home, my father ate all the most burnt pieces of toast. 'Yum!' he'd say, and 'Charcoal! Good for you!' and 'Burnt toast! My favorite!' and he'd eat it all up. When I was much older he confessed to me that he had not ever liked burnt toast, had only eaten it to prevent it from going to waste, and, for a fraction of a moment, my entire childhood felt like a lie, it was as if one of the pillars of belief that my world had been built upon had crumbled into dry sand.
Toast is bread made delicious and useful. Un-toasted bread is okay for children's sandwiches and sopping up barbecue sauce, but for pretty much all other uses, toast is better than bread. An exception is when the bread is fresh from the oven, piping hot, with butter melting all over it. Then it's fantastic, but I would argue that bread fresh out of the oven is a kind of toast. Because I'm an asshole and I refuse to be wrong about something.
But the toaster was quite satisfied with itself, thank you. Though it knew from magazines that there were toasters who could toast four slices at a time, it didn't think that the master, who lived alone and seemed to have few friends, would have wanted a toaster of such institutional proportions. With toast, it's quality that matters, not quantity.
Thomas M. Disch
It isnt only fictional heroes to whom toast means home and comfort. It is related of the Duke of Wellington - I believe by Lord Ellesmere - that when he landed at Dover in 1814, after six years absence from England, the first order he gave at the Ship Inn was for an unlimited supply of buttered toast.
So here are some foolproof recipes for those of you who understand the true function of food. Bean Treat: Gingerly pour four fluid oz of beans or something into a jug. Cry. Eat the beans from the jug and pour the rest from the can down your throat. N.B. These taste better if they belong to somebody else in your house. Pain au Dunk: Fists of bread, rent from the loaf and dunked into anything runnier than bread. Should eat at least six of these because... you should. Don't toast the bread. Toast is cookery.
The man raised his glass, 'To you!' Can't you think of a wittier toast?' Something was beginning to irritate him about the girl's game. Now sitting face to face with her, he realized it wasn't just the words which were turning her into a stranger, but that her whole persona had changed, the movements of her body and her facial expression, and that she unpalatably and faithfully resembled that type of woman whom he knew so well and for whom he felt some aversion. And so (holding his glass in his raised hand), he corrected his toast: 'O.K., then I won't drink to you, but to your kind, in which are combined so successfully the better qualities of the animal and the worse aspects of the human being.
When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.