How to Make Toast

Since both my sister and my sister-in-law have popular cooking blogs, I thought I'd boost my readership by offering a recipe too. Thus, today’s post:

“How to Make Toast”

The key component to creating a great slice of toast involves bread selection. If you plop a stale, moldy slice into the toaster, don’t expect partakers of your culinary creations to request seconds. I suggest whole-grain, not just because the Illuminati uses enriched flour to malign the health of the masses as part of their depopulation agenda, but because I prefer the all-natural taste. Whole grains taste better than agent orange. I recommend a brand which wraps its bread in two bags. Makes for a little bit of extra work, but certainly feels fancy-schmancy.

The second key component involves toaster choice. You can buy a cheaper toaster, but you’ll end up eating cheaper-tasting toast. You don’t need the Mercedes Benz of toasters, but do avoid the Yugo too.

Now that you've taken care of the two key components, here is the recipe for toast:

1. Remove a slice or two of bread from the, hopefully double-wrapped, bag of bread. (If you bought the stretch Hummer of toasters, you may remove up to sixteen slices.)

2. Place the slice(s) of bread into the individual slot(s) of the toaster. (If you want only one slice of toast, choose wisely. Or why not skip toast all together and have a bowl of cereal. You’re in such a big hurry you can’t eat two slices? Organize your appointments. Take some time for yourself. Learn to say no.)

3. Select your desired setting. (The third key component!) I suggest starting with 2.4. You can toast again if that’s not toasty enough, but you can’t untoast if you burn your bread. (1.8 wastes everyone’s time. Might as well eat a stale slice of raw toast, ‘cause that’s what it’ll taste like. Sans the moldy hue. 3.3 is preferable, but with your first slice, you want to make sure your model of toaster doesn’t scorch at that setting.)

4. Pull down the starter latch. This is when the culinary magic happens!

5. Wait for the toast to cook. Waiting doesn’t have to be passive. You can finally get to work on cleaning the knickknack drawer. Seriously, how many rubber bands do you need? Are you expecting a rubber famine? Forget the drawer, what you need with all those rubber bands and paper clips is none of my business. Instead, use the toasting time to prepare a tasty beverage to accompany your forthcoming serving of toast. I suggest a tasty hot tea. Fruit juice seems like a logical choice, but juice and dairy are more means used by the Illuminati to weaken the masses. The juice leads to diabetes; and the dairy, to heart disease. If you enjoy unsweetened herbal tea, the Illuminati won’t be able to profit from your ill health. Unless you smoke, drink, or drive like a maniac.

6. Ding! Remove the toast from the toaster. Butter and jelly to taste. (The fourth and fifth key components.) Don’t overdo either the butter or the jelly, or the Illuminati wins.

7. Serve warm.

Enjoy!

If you try this recipe, please leave a comment to let me know how your toast turns out.

For French folks wanting to make eggy toast, disregard this recipe, since following these instructions will ruin the toaster and may short-circuit the house. Or so I’ve heard.

Obviously, any references to the Illuminati are fictional, since they do not exist. Right guys? So there’s no need for a fictional group to send an assassin squad to shut me up like you did with JFK and MJ, or you’ll only prove your existence. Thus, your best bet is to protect me. Preferably with a bodyguard who looks likes the brunette from that skin cream commercial.

And remember, eat toast responsibly. Don’t blame me if the carbs inflate you like a balloon or the crumbs on the kitchen floor attract rodents and other unwanted pests, like bill collectors and assassin squads.

Blessings & Joy,
Dean
(Or Max Burnbottom if you’re part of an assassin squad;
Max is the one you want, not me!)