Given such a daily morning toast ritual, should you be surprised that I am looking forward to checking out cafes that specialize in, yes, toast? (ht)
The coffee shop, called the Red Door, was a spare little operation tucked into the corner of a chic industrial-style art gallery and event space (clients include Facebook, Microsoft, Evernote, Google) in downtown San Francisco. There were just three employees working behind the counter: one making coffee, one taking orders, and the soulful guy making toast. In front of him, laid out in a neat row, were a few long Pullman loaves—the boxy Wonder Bread shape, like a train car, but recognizably handmade and freshly baked. And on the brief menu, toast was a standalone item—at $3 per slice.
It took me just a few seconds to digest what this meant: that toast, like the cupcake and the dill pickle before it, had been elevated to the artisanal plane. So I ordered some. It was pretty good. It tasted just like toast, but better.
I can easily imagine that even a plain old toast can taste heavenly when done well. I wish I could have that divine taste every morning! It is like how a simple idli in India can be done amazingly at some places. We vastly underestimate the powerful effect a tasty simplest of meals can have. We tend to think that the best dining experience can result only from complex preparations and high prices. Not always.
WHEN I TOLD FRIENDS back East about the craze for fancy toast that was sweeping across the Bay Area, they laughed and laughed. (How silly; how twee; how San Francisco.) But my bet is that artisanal toast is going national. I’ve already heard reports of sightings in the West Village.
Again, if I relate it to the idlis back in India, I can visualize how a simple idli shop that sells nothing but plain old idli--but the tastiest idlis ever--and no fancy coffee will be a huge hit among city slickers used to highfalutin talk and food. The humble toast is that same way. When traveling, sometimes I long for a simple toast and coffee when I wake up. But, of course, getting that toast is almost always next to impossible.
The complaint about the difficulty in getting a decent toast of bread is not anything new. Remember that wonderful scene with Jack Nicholson?
The complaint about the difficulty in getting a decent toast of bread is not anything new. Remember that wonderful scene with Jack Nicholson?
3 comments:
Are you going to admit to the wide world in public and in writing that you paid $3 for a slice of toast ?????????
Yes, there is the appeal of the pure idly shop - there is a shop inside Hyderabad airport which does precisely that. But your prescription of no coffee ??? Sacrilege !!
If I get to San Fran, and get to taste the toast, and if I like it, yes, I will admit to the world that I paid $3 or $4 for a slice of toast. Especially when I travel, I miss having toast ...
Don't jump here, old man. I didn't say no coffee. Apparently I hadn't articulated my idea of "no frills coffee" as in no fancy-shmancy big machine coffee but a simple cup of good coffee. Just like you had at my place. Wait, so, what I really want when I travel is the toast and coffee from my kitchen???
BTW, so it is "idly" and not "idli"? "Idly" makes me want to pronounce that as "eyedly" that then reminds me of idle, which is what we become after one too many idlis ... hehehehe ;)
our friend sudha sent me this:
http://cooks.ndtv.com/article/show/the-posh-toast-that-costs-2-50-a-slice-472144
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