French toast always makes me think of my mom. She introduced me to this delicacy of delicacies, and she will always be my French toast connection. Now, I guess she's my Neosporin connection too. Except that I have no intention of ordering Neosporin whenever I go to breakfast in a restaurant.
The French Toast Connection
sounds like a romantic spy movie from the 1950s, where a man chased all over the globe by foreign agents bent on killing him, must uncover the elusive connection between a fried, egg-covered breakfast bread and a cream "that helps cuts heal four days faster."
And apparently it's also a little bistro in Portland, OR.