If I had to pick one food which represents my spirit more than anything other, it would have to be french toast.
This morning at about 5am I wandered outside to halsted street, grabbed a north-bound bus, got off at roosevelt, and walked from there over to roosevelt & union, and stopped into a delightful little restaurant called White Palace. Don’t let the name fool you, this is not a racist establishment. People of all colors and followings congregate into this ultra-diner, throughout all hours of the night & day, on any given day.
I sat down, and a waitress offered me a cup of coffee. I looked at her, and recognized her from my previous stop in, in mid-July, when I’d gone in for a hamburger at 4am on a saturday night. I accepted her offer of a cup of coffee, and proceeded to load it up with sweet & low and french vanilla coffeemate creamer. I then took a moment to pick out what I’d eat for dinner. I could recall reading a yelp.com review in which the critic raved about how tasty their toast was. I made it a point to get the toast, because he had made it sound like the greatest thing since birthday presents. In addition to the toast, I also chose french toast, because i had never been disappointed by a breakfast of french toast. I didn’t fuck around with it either, i went straight for the french toast, no strawberries, no bananas, no whipped cream, none of that bullshit. Just straight french toast, syrup, and butter. I’m not a huge fan of butter, either. I was always grossed out by most solidified dairy, but i recently came to accept butter being there. Cottage cheese however, fuckin’ hate it.
So, anyway. I ordered the food, and it was all brought back to me in like 10 minutes. I ate the toast first, and it was just as good as I imagined it would be. Before my food came, I had consumed an additional serving of coffee, and was now on my third cup, mid-toast. I ordered the texas toast, because I couldn’t really understand any of the other words the beautiful latin waitress said to me about the types of toast they had, but the texas toast was decipherable and in the end it worked well for me.
After scarfing down the toast, i moved onto the french toast. This.. frenchtoast.. was.. Delicious! Everything was well presented, and I’m pretty sure adding anything else to the dish would have ruined it. Everything was beautifully toasted, it wasn’t too hard, wasn’t too soft, it was just.. perfect. The kind of perfection you would marry had you found a human being who was able to maintain such a level of perfection (not possible).
After finishing the french toast i got another cup of coffee and some more of the texas toast, and then i got my bill, $9.88. “holy shit is that cheap or what?” i asked myself. I had like 4 pieces of toast, 4 wedges of french toast, and 5 cups of coffee, wow. I paid the normal bill, gave the waitress a nice tip, and wandered outside back to halsted, and then i took the bus back to 33rd where I wandered back home, and now i’m here, writing about toast.
It started snowing again. We had many days of warmth, and now it’s back to this.
Sleep time, bye bye lovers.