This is a tale of deception, love, and intrigue. And breakfast.
As time goes on, I buy less and less stuff at supermarkets. In fact, the only thing I can think of that I still buy that you can only get at a conventional supermarket is the Thomas’ English Muffin.
If I’m going to have starchy white foods on the regular, they better kick some serious tush. Simply put, Thomas’ delivers the goods. Bread gives you something texturally that nothing else does, and Thomas’ English Muffins give you something texturally that few other breads do; toasted properly, no can defense.
But what the hell is that stuff they put on the bottom? I thought about it while watching Angela split a muffin in two a few days ago. Morning sunbeams illuminated a remarkably full cloud of tiny particles that were cascading onto the kitchen floor. You actually can’t handle a Thomas’ at all without these things flying off the bread; when I make two at a time, decades of experience have taught me that my first order of business has got to be to get above the sink and scrape the two together like I’m starting a fire.