Lately, my go-to breakfast has been one I thought I created myself: a slice of homemade sourdough toast, a smear of burrata, and a pile of local peach slices topped with just a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar. The invention is heavenly; each bite tastes like summer itself.
This morning, as I prepared my usual meal, I realized that the dish was just a slightly elevated version of a classic sandwich my mom made for us when we were kids. Hers was cream cheese on white bread with peach jam made from fruit we had picked ourselves at a nearby orchard.
Good stuff then, good stuff now.
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