I can make the best French toast.

I don't mean to brag, I don't mean to boast, But I'm intercontinental when I eat French toast.

I'm not the bake-sale-mom type - though once in a while, I'll make challah French toast for my sons.

I went to a restaurant that serves 'breakfast at any time'. So I ordered French Toast during the Renaissance.

Bring you comics in bed, scrape the mold off the bread, and serve you French toast again. Okay, I still get stoned.

Even if I'm gone all day, breakfast is the one meal I always cook for my kids. I make French toast, oatmeal, or an egg burrito.

I'm a breakfast type of guy. Don't get me wrong. I can cook, I'm kinda nice on the burner, but I enjoy making breakfast. I do it all... Scrambled eggs... French toast... Pancakes... Breakfast is my thing.

Dip a slice of bread in batter. That's September: yellow, gold, soft and sticky. Fry the bread. Now you have October: chewier, drier, streaked with browns. The day in question fell somewhere in the middle of the french toast process.

I try not to have a lot of sugar in my system. If I have sugar for breakfast, whether that be fruit or some pancakes or French toast, they'll make sure all of the meals for the rest of the day have no sugar in them. I try to take the sugar out of my diet.

So we know she's safe and taken care of?" Daniel asked, and she nodded. "Good. Then why don't we do something that you want to do?" "Like what?" "I don't know. What do you like to do?" "Um...." Her stomach rumbled, since crying always made her hungry. "I like eating breakfast." "That's so weird." Daniel grinned. "Because I like making French toast." "That works out, doesn't it?

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