Sustinance

I have not had a piece of buttered toast in nearly 15 years.
Or, rather, perhaps I should say a properly buttered piece of toast.

My mother is the only person who can properly butter toast. I know. I know. This sounds fanciful, but still. My mother's buttered toast is second to none.

Lest you think I am alone in this personality quirk, I present to you the story of my grandfather. Poppy Stan never ate a single fried egg after 23 December 1965. Heart condition? Premature concern over his cholesterol? Nein. It was simply that the only person, to his mind, who could properly fry an egg was his mother-in-law, Big Nanny. And, Big Nanny, the former Martha Josephine Maxcy of Manhattan and Upper Montclair, went on to her great reward shortly before Christmas 1965. Thus, as she sloughed off her mortal coil so did my grandfather give up fried eggs.

Waffles, to me, remain the domain of my second brother, David. Perhaps it's because Eggo waffles constituted fully 1/5 of his diet for the first decade of his life (along with french fries, chicken fingers, pizza and "little rolls").Whatever the reason, no one, not a single person, can make waffles like the D-Man.