The Poetry Of Buttermilk Toast

Dear Saverde,

Please don’t make your buttermilk toast taste so heavenly. It’s like the condensed form of everything good in the world, and I can’t help but eat one after the other, and another, and another.

It makes me feel foolish because it seems your buttermilk toast wastes all my backbreaking effort at the gym. I try really hard to resist but at Php 20 per piece, I am but weak and hooked like crazy. Are you sure there is no LSD on your buttermilk toast to cause this madness? πŸ˜†

Sometimes it can get difficult, when I want to eat your buttermilk toast but you are far from me, very far, and until My Man drives me to your place over the weekend, I am forced to dream about your buttermilk toast… and it does appear floating in my dreams, like a crusted and golden moon, or maybe a soft, chewy, and aromatic bed, which is edible, because it is in my dreams.

So I hope you understand. I also have to stop now because there is only so much I can do to think about your buttermilk toast and not drool on my laptop, so see ya! πŸ˜€

You rock,



Please don’t think I am being unfaithful to your beef tapa. I love it equally well but in a different way.

On the photo: (L-R) naked nachos, beef tapa, latte, cafe mocha, buttermilk toasts (center) all for around Php 250. I don’t know if you can see there is an assault being done to the beef tapa due to the bad BB photo, but in case you do, that is My Man forking his plate.

28 thoughts on “The Poetry Of Buttermilk Toast

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