A fellow classmate, Jia, and I decided to grab brunch at a local cafe a couple of blocks down from the Cathedral. It was a random choice influenced by convenience of its distance from the cathedral and the line of people that stood outside the cafe before it opened.
We sat at the bar to get fast service, and that we did, plus more. I ordered what appeared to be a common breakfast platter: French toast, fruit, side of scrambled eggs, and a glass of orange juice. Jia ordered the same, but got bacon instead of eggs. In about ten minutes, Electra, our waitress, slid our plates in front of us, and before me were four slices of the thickest, most perfectly-browned French toasts I’d seen. It was surrounded with fresh slices of sweet strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries. Electra also gave me a small cup of lightly whipped butter and a jar of syrup.
After I took my first bite, I almost fell out of my seat. No exaggeration included: it was the best French toast I have ever eaten in my life – and I’ve had plenty from different cities, different states, and even different continents. These French toasts were masterpieces: Thick toasts, browned and seasoned, soft with slightly crispy edges. The whipped butter mixed well with the warm syrup, and was enlightened with bursts of flavors from the various fresh fruits. I’d almost forgotten about my eggs – almost.