The Best Breakfast Sammich Ever...besides the Cooper Pooper

So we all slept in until way past 9 am...all of us. That's what you get when you spend the day in a ghetto hospital and totally bugger up whatever semblance of a schedule your daughter had going...not to mention that no tunnel on the planet earth has ever been more backed up than the Lincoln Tunnel early this morning. We were at least an hour getting out of Jersey and back into Manhattan. An ordeal like that deserves one helluva breakfast sammich. Like June's soon-to-be-famous Brooklyn Dodger.



It's french toast with cinnamon, with peanut butter slather in between and then doused with a liberal splattering of honey. Sounds like something Elvis would have loved, the only thing missing was bananas, but we made that mistake once with Scott Cooper. That bugger cooked up a batch of Cooper Poopers that nearly killed our colons. Ask him to make it for you sometime...he will, gladly, but you'll hate him for the rest of your life after taking you to such lofty heights of breakfast debauchery. The only thing more indulgent might be steak and eggs at the Flamingo at 3 am...but barely.

Look at that sammich...it's delicious looking, just staring back at you, sticking it's peanut butter tongue out. That's one helluva way to come back to Brooklyn. I woke up singing Welcome Back Kotter and got my day started by mowing down a Brooklyn Dodger and some antibiotics. Sounds like something Howard Hughes would have down...you know, except his infection was syphilis, and mine, you know, isn't.