Category Archives: Toast Poast

2BToast Poast Number Out-of-Our-Price-Range

“This painting made me think of you,” said Suits-Herself-Cindy. “I love Rosenquist, but I don’t think I have ever seen this painting before. I wish I owned it. Yum. Butter.”

         WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING 

I  am approaching the pulpit.

I am the decider here on this web log and, as the decider, I have decided that because we – humans – have the ability to discern beauty, it is our responsibility/gift to look for and find it.  Everywhere. Even in bologna. There, I said it. And yes, this is a absolutely new and original thought. True story.

Toast Poast Number 16th Century

Minale Maeda MadeA Somuchmorethan Minimal Toast

Delftware


Minale Maeda

Next up, a large, round Delft pattern rubber stamp to transform simple paper plates into Delftware. 

Along-for-the-Ride Heidi sent this along and I thank her.

Toast Poast Number WE HAVE A WINNER!!


If you lean close and squint, you will see that the toast reads:

Dear Paula,

I am pleased to announce that you are the WINNER of the Sticky Fingers contest. You and a guest will be spending the evening of March 1, 2012 with Doron Petersan at Sixth and I.

Congratulations! Well done.

Are we out of butter?

xo
Snack

Food porn? Design porn? Food porn? Design porn?

Toast Poast Number Oun

A toast of one’s oun.

All properly raised children should take (and fill) orders for breakfast from parents still cover-nestled. Our manual failed to include this imperative. Should I want a toast of my oun, I am on my oun.

 If you look closely, you can see that the clipboard says “oun toast.” (It’s part of Dad’s order. One toast.  I am getting a bagel with cc).

Thank you, Suits-Herself-Cindy.

Toast Poast # Googleplex: To make a cheese sandwich from scratch, first create your universe.

with apologies to Carl Sagan.

The Toaster Project

Thanks a million slices of buttered toast, Liz!

Toast Poast Number 3618

Embracing Home

I race home to embrace home every chance I get. There’s no place like it. Home is where my heart is, my heart at its most aching, and my heart at its most thumping. We are sandwiched between safe walls here, with a large tree looming, the tree that may ultimately come down and split this house in two.

We are sandwiched here between exultation and knock-down-drag-outs. Sometimes thick as thieves, sometimes split in two.

He pushed a note under his slammed door once, “I hate you, mom. For now.” “For now” is key. His “now” one second later had forgotten the note. We are safe between these walls for now. Warming the walls with the heat of the oven and the toaster and our hearts.

Warm thanks to Bird-n-Butterfly Betty for this illustration. Corby Kummer’s accompanying piece on recently released books on home cooking is an excellent read.

Toast Poast Number Automatic Beyond Belief

There is something indescribably warming about being closely associated with toasters.  Close friends Sorry-Birds-Ellen and Suits-Herself-Cindy sent me the following, thoughtful women that they are, and well read.

Why Is My Toaster So Bad?
By Julie Lasky
New York Times, October 2, 2011

In terms of aesthetics and performance, the toaster has been devolving for a generation. According to Eric A. Murrell of the Toaster Collectors Association, the Toastmaster 1B14, a handsome hunk of chrome and steel discontinued in 1960, remains “absolutely the end-all-and-be-all toaster there ever was.” Among its charms was a patented timing system that didn’t tick off seconds but used its internal heating mechanism to gauge the bread and produce a consistent shade of brown. Collectors also dote on the Sunbeam T-20 Radiant Control model, which was introduced in 1949 with the slogan “Automatic beyond belief” — a reference to its ability to automatically lower and cook the bread. “It’s still one of the most elegant inventions in the household,” laments the technology-and-design historian Edward Tenner, of the machine that was discontinued in the mid-’90s. Asked to choose between the T-20 and 1B14, Michael Sheafe, a New York dealer of vintage appliances,
said, “It’s like asking which child you love more.” What doomed these classic designs was cost. The original Sunbeam T-20 cost more than $22.50 when it was introduced in 1949, about a third of a week’s wages for the average family. The dark age of the toaster began when consumers started choosing price over functionality, particularly during the 1980s. The market is now glutted with machines that toast unevenly and retail for less than $10. “Mind you,” Sheafe added, “that’s what they’re worth.”

“I am going to try to use the phrase “automatic beyond belief” at some point today,” said Suits-Herself-Cindy.

Reading about old toasters causes me to mourn the 20-or-so beauties that used to hang around this place before they were donated to the Toaster Museum Foundation.
Here’s one now, from the Cyber Toaster Museum. What a beloved beaut.

Manufacturer: Chicago Flexible Shaft Co
Brand Name: Sunbeam
Model Number: T9

Details:
The T-9 Half-Round Sunbeam.

Produced from the late-1930s through the 40s, The lovely oval design (is) the last word in modern styling by George Scharfenberg (from an advertisement).

Sometimes called the World’s Fair toaster as this toaster was first made in 1939 – the date of the 1939 New York World’s Fair – and some find the etched designs on the T-9 to be symbolic of the Fair’s logo.

This toaster was generously donated by Lisa Cherkasky, Arlington, VA.
As much as I loved ’em, I was happy to place them in a good home.

Toast Poast Number Median/Central/Mean


Toaster Central

My toaster (oven) (ahem) was purchased as new-old-stock. It looks new, but has emotional baggage. When left alone it cries, in a high-pitched, even singing, sounding like a mosquito who never pauses for air. Am I surprised? Nah.

Identity crisis seems apropos for a small appliance whose use is unspecialized. Spork, anyone? If you’ve seen Wall-E, you will recognize the sorting dilemma of which I write. As if you can’t see it with your own two eyes. The very eyes that look at just ONE thing at a time. Toaster ovens, poor things, are wall-eyed, peering out at the world through the tribulation of bake vs. toast.

We all try to wobble back to our center, our mean, our median, the grassy stretch that grows between the good and evil within. That nice, toasty, sun-warmed strip that runs straight to the heavenly horizon.

           

Mimi Harrison sent me the link to Toast Central, and Mimi understands the high-pitched mosquito song that says

HEAT.
ROBERT SIEGEL, host: When we asked you, our listeners, to tell us about your personal summer sounds, we found that most of you savored the pleasant ones, but not all of you.
(SOUNDBITES OF VARIOUS THINGS)
MIMI HARRISON: My name is Mimi Harrison. My summer sound is the sound of mosquitoes.
(SOUNDBITE OF MOSQUITO)
HARRISON: When I was in my 30s, I lived on Water Street, one of the oldest streets in Manhattan. The Fulton Fish Market was around the corner and the whole neighborhood was full of dilapidated brick buildings and the constant smell of decaying seafood. My boyfriend and I lived in a great loft in an old cracker factory. No one lived where we did except romantics like ourselves who loved coming home to the cobblestone street and the ghosts of our ancient neighbors. The whole neighborhood was built on flotsam and oyster shells with standing water in every basement.
When summer came and the street heated up like a kiln, it bred lethal swarms of mosquitoes.
(SOUNDBITE OF MOSQUITOES)
HARRISON: So every summer night after the fans were turned on, after the cold shower and the light toweling off, we’d dive onto the bed, turn off the lights and hope to stay cool long enough to fall asleep. Within seconds, we’d hear the whine.
(SOUNDBITE OF MOSQUITO)
HARRISON: And then came the slaps.
(SOUNDBITE OF SLAPPING)
(SOUNDBITE OF MOSQUITO)
(SOUNDBITE OF SLAPPING)
HARRISON: Our heads, our necks, arms, ankles, any meat that was hanging outside the sweaty sheet was devoured. Whine, slap, whine, slap, whine, slap. We moved to Washington eventually to an air conditioned place with quiet nights. Much of the old New York neighborhood has been gentrified. The fish market moved to the Bronx and I like to think that down in the putrid pools beneath those renovations, those little suckers are multiplying and treating the new residents to a true summer sound.
(SOUNDBITE OF MOSQUITOES)
(SOUNDBITE OF SLAPPING)
SIEGEL: That’s Mimi Harrison with the latest in our series on the sounds of summer.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

Toast Poast Number 7 Is the Toastiest Number That You’ll Ever Do

Along-for-the-Ride Hei7di (the 7 is silent) made me some swanky toasty notes.

For those of us suffering from MAAA (Mail Arrival Anticipation Anxiety), a snail toast poast is therapeutic – building self-control and warm, inner calm. That email stuff is just too fast. In! Out! Whip! Whoosh! Brain spin!

Q: What did the snail say when he took a ride on a turtle?

A: Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee

All about perspective. Ex.act.ly.


If you’ve looked at the other illustration note cards in my shop, you may have noticed that, over the years, Lisa has commissioned quite a few illustrations from me to adorn blank note cards. To thank her, I did a drawing of an item that is close to her heart (i.e. personally iconic): a toaster.           

You too can calligraph with pure, poignant panache on toasty notes of your own. Click on the link and seek the thrill of purchase.

Toaster cards on Etsy

Toast Poast Number A Perfect 10

Suits-Herself Cindy, who was apparently “working from home” – browsing illustration sites – tells me she may change her handle to I’m-No-Role-Model. Double-clutching is the only way I might be able to adjust to her switcheroo. Pedaling steadily in the direction of suiting myself, the destination still eludes me. Dang, steady on Cindy. I’m drafting on you. Doing my dangedest to leap up onto your tall shoulders and get a load of the view.

The view from down here is this: if you think you are a role model, well…you might need your inner modeling clay rolled and molded.