Growing up, we used to devour this stuff. I can remember my younger brother popping two slices into the toaster, waiting for that mechanical “pop,” and then throwing a slab of butter between the warm slices as he placed them on his plate. After which, he put two more slices into the toaster.
This past Thanksgiving, I showed my youngest brother how to make scrambled eggs. Saturday night we went to the Kroger, picked up a pan, a whisk, a dozen eggs, and a DVD from the Red Box. After a quick tutorial, we settled down on his dorm couch to scrambled eggs, raisin bread, and The Girl Who Played with Fire.
My mind must have wandered to that night. That, combined with my love of bread-baking, inspired me …