I'm the designated "nurse" today--Anna caught a flu bug or something, and keeps a stainless steel bowl ready beside the couch for her next stomach upheaval. No fun, for her. I have to make sure the dog doesn't jump on her in his exuberance. He doesn't seem to understand the concept of sickness or being quiet.
Today, I remembered what Mom used to do when I was sick. She'd toast a piece of white bread, butter it, and float it in warm milk. Then she served me "milk toast," guaranteed to warm the body and spirit.
Wonder if that's where the phrase "milque-toast" originated. Must google it. Hmmm...this sounds like the same dish, but not with such fond memories.