My grandma buttered toast like she had a dairy cow and churn in her backyard. The toast may have popped up dry, but by the time she had her way with it, it was transformed into glistening triangles of temptation. Resistance futile. “Eat, eat. Is everybody happy? Wheeeee!” (My grandmother truly spoke all of these phrases, usually in this order.)
Hot chocolate, made from an envelope of mix with mini marshmallows. The perfect accompaniment. Dunking, soaking the bread, becoming a lifeboat for still-doomed mini-marshmallows, leaving a slick of melted butter behind on the surface.
It’s my go-to comfort snack.