When life’s slings and arrows seem too many, and its happy fortunes too few, I usually bake a chocolate cake. But then again, nothing says comfort quite like hot buttery toast, does it? (I would bet a hundred bucks that no one brought up in the good ole USA can hear “nothin says lovin” without mentally responding “like somethin from the oven,” while picturing gooey cinnamon rolls, poppin’ fresh biscuits, rolls of chocolate chip cookie dough, and the giggly Pillsbury Dough Boy getting his belly poked. If you are not American, this may make no sense to you, but you can see what I mean here.) We are taking a brief respite from our usual posts – fiction, poetry, personal essays, etc. – in…