Food Writing, French Toast

My Dad and I's French Toast.

Here's what you're going to need:

1 Tsp. Real Vanilla
1 Tbsp. Sugar
4 slices of Texas Toast
4 Eggs
1/4 cup of 2% Milk
Someone you love to share it with

            Yes, french toast may be simple, and just about everyone can make it, but the simple-sweet way we make it., is my favorite. This is just one of the breakfast foods we've perfected. I love being able to show off how good I can make breakfast too. This of course is not meant in a puny way, it's just that I love breakfast. Those draggy mornings trying to get out of bed for college and work before five, just keep flying by. It's so much better when I get to share the morning with my father. Just those 30mins or more of us chatting, cooking, over a pot of coffee are the best. I wouldn't trade these days with him for all the riches in the world.
            We'd start by saying good morning in the half light living area. He'd be sitting in his chair checking his email. I'd be across the island pouring my cup of hot Colombian coffee I had preset the night before. Then either there'd be the question of what we make for breakfast or the suggestion and no argument ever in the matter. He'd climb out of his chair pause in the kitchen to stretch and yawn. Lucy our black cat rubbing against his leg and then staring up at him with those eyes of  "Don't forget my breakfast too." she may even mew at him as he looks to her. He'd smile and laugh and say something small to her like "Oh yeah?" or "You too?" . Toshiba our other grey dilute calico would chime in out of no where with a sort of rolling meow similar to a bird sound. "We won't forget ya." he'd say as he heads to the cabinet we keep the frying pans in. 
         Then we become a team, know each step and working together to speed the process. I'd have a shallow bowl as he turns the stove on to heat up to med-high. He'd be collecting the eggs and milk, as I got out the sugar and vanilla. Sometimes we alternate jobs, its just whatever one can do to help. More than half the time though I'd be watching him. He'd crack the eggs open one by one, and stack the shells and toss them in the compost. Rinse his hands off then pour in the milk. We don't really even measure just whatever looks about right. I'd dribble in the vanilla, then thickly dash over the sugar into the batter. We always whisk it with a fork, not that we don't have whisks it's just the old style we like, or something, I never asked. Then I'd usually take over, bring the bowl over to the Texas Toast that sits next to our stove.

...To be continued