In which a Scene is set, a Problem is asserted, and a Solution proposed.
We have all been there before, or as the adage would have it "I have both Been There, and Done That." After a night of carousing about at fine dineries, imbibing intoxicating libations, and general roustabouting you have enticed the interests of a young lady to such a degree that she returns to your domicile. After the passing of several tastefully applied ellipses, Helios chains his horses to his solar chariot and begins his westerly journey across the sky, sending the first tawny fingered rays of dawn into your abode. The exertions of the evening have taken their toll upon yourself and your companion both, leaving you in a state of simultaneous famishment and exhaustion. It is apparent to all that some form of nourishment is at hand, but the question remains: How best to maximize the twin ideals of nutrition and aesthetics at a minimum expenditure of exertions? Ordinarily one would resort to multivariate calculus to answer a problem of this degree, but allow your faithful scribe to assist you at this venture. Clearly such efforts as quiche, strata, fritata, and omelette all require a keen eye and quick hand, both of which have been wearied at this crossroads in your life. The pan cake, pain grille aux francais, waffle, and dutch baby are all mere sugared pastries, unfit for the beginning of a new day. No, there is only one meal that is appropriate to the situation at hand and that dish is The Toad in the Hole.
One begins by lightly toasting the right amount of slices of bread. The slice should be thicker than your least finger, but not exceeding the width of your thumb at the knuckle. Do not heat past the point of coloration, one wants only to dry the bread and ready it for the task at hand. You may remove the crusts if such is your wont, but be forewarned, this action may affect both the integrity of your Hole, and your companion's estimation of your character. Next, you take a biscuit cutter, or a glass who's rim has pleasant proportions and you remove a circular section of the toast from the center. You may nibble on this section when you companion has her eyes averted, or is otherwise indisposed. At this point, a lightly buttered cast iron skillet warmed at a medium low heat must be obtained. Do so. Apply the Holed toast to the skillet. For each Holed toast, in one smooth and virtuous motion, crack an egg and pour it's contents into the Hole. The egg must be cracked with an absolute minimum of eggshell debris resulting. Do not break the yolk, as that would displease the eye. Now cook until you are satisfied with the progress. A rasher of bacon and a plate of perfectly crisped hash browns may be served near the side for a Full Breakfast, but choose this path wisely as the stench of burned pig's fat and a sodden batch of discolored starch ridden potatoes can result in scorn.
A note of warning: Do not be misled into preparing the dish of the same name adopted by our trans-Atlantic cousins from the Isle of Albion. This False Toad in the Hole follows the trend of the greater part of English breakfasts in that it is a nauseating pile of custards and sausage, unfit for even the lowest mongrel of the alleys.
