Adventures in “adulthood”: The joy of toast



I write about food and restaurants pretty much all day. Through my (often admittedly pretty jammy) job, I sometimes get to eat some of the best restaurant cuisine in the UK, from the hands of some of the best and most-lauded chefs.

I watch TV programmes about cooking and restaurants until I can predict what the judges are going to say before they say it. I have strong opinions on the recent, lacklustre series of The Taste, and have cooking books and recipes lining my shelves and bedroom floor.

And yet. When I come home – late of an evening, damp, tired, with nothing planned for dinner and no-one to answer to – there is little better in the world than some hot, buttered toast. There are, however, pitfalls even here. ESPECIALLY when you’re using the last of the loaf. BE WARNED, twenty-somethings with nothing in the fridge. BE WARNED.

Through extensive yet not-strictly-scientific testing I have come to the following conclusions:



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