Bread and Milk ...pan y leche

Isn't it curious and amazing how a scent or a song or a taste can transport us to another place in time?  And isn't it equally as wondrous how something one person may not give a second thought, can in turn make another weep with emotion?  Growing up, we often had toasted white bread, spread with a pat of butter and layered with a good coating of cinnamon and sugar.  But we never, ever put it in a bowl and saturated it with milk.  Even now it makes me wince a teeny-tiny bit.  I'm just not one for soggy bread.  Yet, I do love French Toast.  I suppose that's because it's not so much soggy as permeated...and it's only good if it has that crisp outer crust.  So, that point is moot.  But.  Soggy bread.  An idea I may not have entertained a mere 10 or so years ago, is now something I make on occasion.  For my man.  Because it brings him back to being a niño.  A time without fuss or extravagance or money.  It was a happy day when his mami was able to tear up some slightly hard pan, sprinkle it all with sugar and pour some fresh milk over the whole thing.

I like to add tiny variations to bring it to the present...like using Vanilla Sugar instead of plain.  Or occasionally sprinkling in some cinnamon with the sugar.  Or perhaps using a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread in place of plain.  Either way, the little flutter of excitement when I set the bowl in front of him...or the far-off look in his eyes while he's eating it...or the full-belly pat of satisfaction when he's finished?  It's totally worth it.  Food is a powerful drug, my friends.

Now.  Go make some memories.