You may not have noticed, but I love my daughter very much. I usually make her pancakes on Saturday, but this morning she apologetically asked if I would make French Toast. I allowed that I’d do anything for her, so she volunteered to walk the dog while I cooked, and she fished out our battered copy of The Joy of Cooking to help me with proportions.
“Hey, look at how you make Garlic Bread,” she said, and headed off to leash the dog.
“I don’t understand why you want Garlic Toast for breakfast,” I observed, “but I’ll make it if you want.”
“No, no, I want French Toast,” she emphasized.
“French Toast with Garlic sounds strange to me, honey, but I’ll make it for you.”
“French Toast! French Toast! Anything with garlic is banned!” she called, as she headed out the door.