It's Official


I can die a happy woman.

Today, Brock and I ran to Ann Sather, a Swedish breakfast place, wanting one last taste of their sumptuous cinnamon rolls before the week (and our stay in Chicago) was over. However, when we got there, something else caught our eye...the "French toast fantasy."

Imagine, if you will, a cinnamon roll. Now put that in French toast batter and warm it on the griddle. Slice the cinnamon roll in half, and fill it with marscapone...a sweet Italian cream cheese. Then, top it with flecks of granola and fresh strawberries and blueberries. Now drizzle it with maple syrup.

What have you now? THE PINNACLE OF FRENCH TOAST PERFECTION. Anybody who knows me well knows that I love breakfast foods. As such, I am a connoisseur of all things drenched in syrup. This, my friends, was divine. This, my friends, could not have possibly been improved upon. This, my friends, was the height of my 21 years of existence.

Our caloric indulgence was made even better by the fact that it was justified: Ann Sather is five miles away from us, so running 10 miles roundtrip for a taste of heaven cancelled out the hell of an artery-clogger it would have otherwise been.


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