Is there anything more comforting that toast? Whether you like yours smothered in butter (or the decadent Irish butter in the photo above) or with almond butter and apricot jam and a hot cup of tea, as I do, isn't it just the ultimate in quick comfort? In my novel, The Violets of March, I included a passage about toast. But what might pass as simple little description actually was rooted in a meaningful memory from my life. I'll get to that in sec, but first, I wanted to share that Dawn, the lovely blogger over at She Is Too Fond of Books, began reading an advance copy of Violets over the weekend, and wrote to see if she could share an exceprt from the book with her blog readers. (Of course, I said yes, and here's the post---thank you Dawn!) The passage? Yep, the bit on toast! Let me share it with you: "Bee. I could picture her immediately at her Bainbridge Island kitchen table. For every day I have known her, she has eaten the same breakfast: sourdough toast with butter and whipped honey. She slices the golden brown toasted bread into four small squares and places them on a paper towel she has folded in half. A generous smear of softened butter goes on each piece, as thick as frosting on a cupcake, and each is then topped by a good-size dollop of whipped honey. As a child, I watched her do this hundreds of times, and now, when I’m sick, sourdough toast with butter and honey is like medicine." While my book is a work of fiction, of course, I certainly borrowed from the details of my life, and that sourdough toast? It's exactly the way my late grandmother Cecelia ate her breakfast for decades. I co-dedicated the book to her, and I only wish she could be here now to read Violets, and maybe have a slice of toast with me. What's your favorite comfort breakfast? [Photo: Jules: Stonesoup]