French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby AmyEileen » Wed Jul 14, 2010 11:27 am

“What’s that smell?” I asked Tim, my 13 pound orange tabby. He blinked twice. He didn’t know.

I walked to the window and inhaled deeply. I could smell the fallen leaves decaying on the cement. I could see the blue jays making their final nests before winter. Again the warm scent of cinnamon and maple syrup wafted into my nostrils. My mouth got wet. Mrs. Kinkade was making her world famous French toast.

I turned on the coffee pot and headed out to the patio. The smell enraptured me. Mrs. Kinkade was known as the best breakfast maker in our small town. She had been on Martha Stewart, The Today Show, and highlighted on the Food Network. Her cooking was world famous.

However, her attitude was also well known in town. She was not a warm and fuzzy old lady who invited you over for tea. No, she was the type who swore under her breath when your leaves blew into her yard. She turned off her light on Halloween so no children would disturb her. Family did not visit her, nor were there many people who would go over without leaving within an hour. She kept to herself and liked it that way.

One day I asked Mrs. Kinkade if she needed a hand with mowing the lawn.

“If I needed help with my goddamn lawn then I’d call my son.”

“It’s really no problem, Mrs. Kinkade. I just thought you might want someone to help out.”

“That grass is up to my crotch, but I’m not about to hire you to help me. I’ll let it grow like it’s supposed to. ”

That morning I thought would be different for us. We had been neighbors for five years and had no kind of
working relationship. I decided to pick some strawberries from my garden and bring them over to her in hopes that she’d invite me in. Maybe we could be friends, or at least friendly neighbors.

I chose a pint of the best looking berries, help my breath and pressed the doorbell.

No answer.

Though Mrs. Kinkade was an old crone she always answered the door to let the person on the other side have it. I rang again and waited. Sometimes old people are just slow.

The smell of French toast was stagnant in the air, but started to take on a hint of burning.

In a moment of desperation I tried the front door thinking it may be open and I was right. I called out to her while walking through the front hall. When I reached the dining room I saw her face down on the floor.

I quickly dialed 911 and held her hand. She was still alive.

Above my head on the table sat a plate of toast. It seemed craftily made from bakery made Brioche, local butter and maple syrup.

As I waited I took a bite. She was right. It was delicious.

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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby thewritersblock » Thu Dec 30, 2010 2:25 pm

I wake to the smell of sizzling French toast being cooked in my neighbors apartment. The walls are really thin so even a small smell can travel through it. The French Toast overwhelms me, so I JUST have to have it. Besides, I blew all my money on that sweet new stereo for my Porsche last week.
But ever since I hosted a huge party at my place with all my high school friends, my neighbor hasn't been on speaking terms with me. She called the cops to get even with me and all my friends had to leave.
Still, I am determined to get it, even if it means stealing it.
I get up and out of bed and sit on my old, worn out sofa. As I sit there, I rack my brain for ideas. Suddenly, an idea hits me.
Excitedly, I jump out of the sofa and run to my storage room. As I click open the lights, I see it. The fishing rod my dad gave me for my seventeenth birthday. I grab it and then rummage around for some fishing hooks.
Four minutes later, I am standing on the terrace trying to reel in some French Toast. Her window is open and the aroma of toast is making me more hungrier by the second.
For the fifteenth time, or so I think, I held my breath and reeled in the hook. I gasped quietly; there it was, the French toast I've been yearning so hard to get. Giggling manically, I reeled the toast in and then scurried to my apartment. I made a victory whoop and scrambled to the sofa. Then I enjoyed some hard earned toast. And boy, did that taste delicious.

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Re: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Trissa » Fri Dec 31, 2010 7:37 am

Sunday morning. My favorite day of the week. Greg and I call it "loungeday". We fix a big breakfast and eat it in bed, then we read the paper in bed, or watch Sunday Morning on tv. I roll over and find Greg's spot empty. I inhale and the scent of French Toast and bacon tickles my nose. I start to rise when I remember, Greg had to leave early this morning to drive to his corporate office. He would be out-of-town an entire week and I was alone. So where was this fantastic smell coming from?

I crawl out of bed and follow my nose. It leads me to my apartment door! Sticking my nose to the crack by the door, I inhale deeply. Old Lady Nessman, my nemesis across the hall! Anyone else and I could just knock on their door. In fact, my friend Sudy lived below me and many was the time we invited ourselves to each other's place for coffee. I thought about this and found I was sad. A year ago, Old Lady Nessman and I had a disagreement at an Apartment Association meeting over the color of mums for the flower pots. Like most elderly women, she favored purple. I said something about "granny colors" and it hurt her feelings. Now here I was lusting after her French Toast.

I knew I wasn't getting any French Toast or coffee from her today and who knows how many years we'll have to be neighbors here? How many Sundays would I have to endure that delicious aroma and know I wasn't welcome? The next morning I shoved a note under her door. "I smelled your wonderful French Toast yesterday morning. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for being disagreeable. We're neighbors and I want to get along. Can we have coffee sometime? Stephie, across the hall."

I was surprised to find a yellow sticky note on my apartment door when I got home from work. It said: "I would love the company. My coffee pot is always on. Maybe we'll have French Toast, too. Your neighbor Lydia N." She even drew a smiley face on the bottom.

Well, you can probably guess what I had for supper that night!


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