Toast

Besides twice-cooked pork (回鍋肉) and schweinehaxe, another dish of obsession of mine is, or, to say the least, used to be, French toast.

To be specific, I mean the French toast in Hong Kong-style: twice slices of bread with a butter filling, dipped in beaten egg, deep-fried, and then served with a thick slab of butter and topped with syrup. Yes, it is evil, dangerous, harmful, poisonous, and often lethal - but it tastes good. I love it because, although it is merely twice slices of bread, it gives my stomach a sensation of fullness and satisfaction.

You know, for a whole month when I was a house officer of a neonatal intensive care unit, I could only have lunch after 2 PM (the time when the two shifts of nurses did hand-over and there's nobody asking me to do this and that) and, after an entire morning of exertion (and the time of serving regular lunch by the hospital canteen had passed), I always ordered this tasty treat. It gives more than enough calorie, and I would not have to worry about eating until supper. I actually said to myself French toast is good for health: No one ever die of cancer after eating French toast regularly.

They all have heart attack.