I acquired this plate of deliciousness in ‘da hood. You know, that part of town where gunshots are fired and drug deals are done out in the open.
Yet Saturday mornings in this particular part of town are pretty quiet — it’s that time of day when thugs are too hungry to be committing their crimes and pimpin’ is kept to a minimum. Totally safe, right?
The hubs and I ventured in to grab us a plate of morning time glory. It’s the best damn French toast on the planet! With a side of sausages, of course.
I’m a low carb kida gal. It’s working out well for me. But can’t nothing keep me from a plate of French toast when it’s time for carbification to be allowed on the menu.
Not even a minor technicality like drive by shootings can hold me back. Pretty sure I’m related to Superman. You can catch me leaping ‘hood buildings in a single bound to grab me a plate.