As I stood in my kitchen this morning I had a flashback to my youth. Specifically, it was a sunny late afternoon in Sunnyvale, California and a family bar-b-que was underway. Ground beef had been thawed to make some scrupmptious hamburger patties, but alas, a plight arose. There were only hotdog buns… no hamburger buns. I distinctly remember being so proud of my clever mother for shaping the hamburger patties into hotdog bun conforming shapes. Brilliant.
Back to my kitchen, my boys requested French Toast for breakfast so I mixed the magic potion in which to dunk the bread slices. The first four were sizzling with merriment as I dug through the freezer for more bread. There had to be some hiding in there because I just got five free loaves two weeks ago. (Thank you, Coupon $ense!) Nada. I made enough egg-milky goo to dunk half a loaf, so I wandered back to the bread box to find one and a half packages of hotdog buns. Presto! I invented Hot French Dog Toasted Buns. I sliced the top part in half horizontally and got three pieces out of each bun. Wonder of wonders.
I was seriously doubting if the boys would even eat them. But to my sheer delight, they wanted the new fangled French buns instead of the regular slices. As I was nearing the half way mark in the bun bag, one son announced that when he grew up he was only buying hotdog buns. No bread. Why buy bread when everything can be made with hotdog buns? Sandwiches, hotdogs, and Hot French Dog Toasted Buns. I mentally added hamburgers.
My Sister's Jar 