Lately I’ve been dreaming of having a classic French toast for breakfast; The delay, in the making and having of it, was no doubt thanks to the Cinnamon buns in the fridge. Also, there was glorious brie cheese and buffalo mozzarella (which, of course I used to make myself a roasted red pepper, green onion, and carrot pizza. Mm.)
Today I finally broke the banana bread’s silence: it was the only bread I felt was sturdy enough to handle being dunked and fried with delicious French toast batter. I felt that it was time. The results were this: Me, sobbing on the cold hard floor. Me praying, shaking, crying, and thanking the food gods, for all the glorious flavour rockets that were launched in my mouth.
Look at the banana bread that launched a thousand ships of flavour:
Yes, I surely did sprinkle some turbinado sugar on top. The little crunchy beads made it that much more decadent. I cry.