I was once introduced to a friend of a friend as "the one who loves toast," and I think after that the rest of my life took a sharp turn downhill.
There is absolutely nothing better than a perfectly executed piece of toast. Crunchy, warm, buttery, satisfying—what more could you want from anything? My day doesn't feel complete if I haven't had at least one piece of toast. I had to cut myself off from toast during a cleanse in the beginning of this summer and I truly was not myself that whole month.
Toast's brilliance lies in its simplicity. Nowadays kids are slathering avocado all over toast and squealing "it's a super-food" but I'll hold firm that the best kind of toast is a plain piece of white bread with butter spread on it. In a recent transgression into bougie nonsense I put goat cheese on my toast and could barely gag it down. It just wasn't the same.
I frickin' love toast and I'll scream it from the goddamned rooftops. I'll be eating toast on my deathbed and I want my headstone to read "Here lies Julia, the one who loves toast."