The toasted sandwiches were made in the iron frying pan, the wholegrain bread becoming a golden brown. The aroma would make its way through the house, announcing that lunch was ready. Then we'd eat. Warm bread, warm chatter and warm music playing; the cooler seasons never felt so cozy.
The toasties were an eat-right-away food, too good not to eat while hot. So much of their appeal was in that comforting warmth, combined with a strong savoury flavour they were what winter afternoons were made for.
The toasties Matilda served would appear in my dreams at odd moments. I'd be riding a unicorn and then suddenly one would appear in mid-air with wings of its own. Inside would be olives, mushrooms and tuna, all my favourites.
In the summertime the cold sandwiches were all anyone wanted in the cafe, but come winter time it was all about the toasties. It was butter-side out and into the hot press to come out steaming and with a fragrance the air itself appeared to savour.
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