Anytime anyone asks me what my favorite food is, I always respond, “Toast.”
Anytime anyone asks me what my favorite food is, I always respond, “Toast.” And then people look at me all weird and I, of course, have to explain myself. I can handle that. The problem is that the question can come in different forms. Like, it might not just be “What’s your favorite food, Casey?” but “What food would you choose if you were stranded on a desert island and could only choose one food for the rest of you life?” Well, I still say proudly, “Toast.” Because you can make it a million different ways—with honey, butter; butter and cinnamon and sugar (which is awesome); peanut butter; jelly; peanut butter and jelly. And it’s all great. Because of the miraculous power of toast.
Of course, although I’m very proud of my reasoning here, I have to admit my answer is also a total cop out. Because the question wasn’t, “What one food plus an infinite supply of various condiments and spices would you bring to a desert island?” So what does that say about me?
Well, maybe it says that I’m practical. Because, okay, realistically my favorite food—meaning a meal—would be lamb with mint jelly (and that answer gets some weird looks itself, trust me). And I suppose, even with that answer, there’s still that stipulation about the condiments, but at least I’ve resigned myself to just one here. But, when asked, I don’t say “Lamb with mint jelly,” because, see, I’m not stupid. Anyone, myself included, would get sick of lamb with mint jelly, I’m guessing pretty quickly. But toast—toast has longevity, staying power, because it’s more open to possibilities. Despite its ability to mesh with a very limited variety of jellies, lamb does not, for example, play well with peanut butter.
So toast. Because I’m practical. And so my choice of toast, in a way, is a mature one, not at all decadent like a choice of lamb and mint jelly. Then again, with the way I’m rationalizing my answer, at some point, I have to admit to myself that what I’m doing is pretty much cheating at a kids’ game. And what does that say about me? That I’m a control freak? Probably. That I’ve never gotten over my adolescent need to rebel against authority even it it’s only the make believe authority of the made up and really only implied, not even really steadfast rules of a kids’ game? Definitely. And that’s the opposite of maturity.
To sum up…Toast: practical, loaded with possibilities, and pathetic.
