The bed is warm, my body is sluggish, and the noise from the window has woken me up. I’m on Via dei Coronari in Rome, at my boyfriend’s place, who’s still blissfully asleep. I’m tragically late, and my day should have started at least two hours ago. I’m still trying to figure out who I am while thinking that I should have skipped those three rounds of amaro that Toni, the owner of the trattoria I frequent, insisted on giving me last night.

You’d think the only cure for this (albeit temporary) agony is a tank of coffee administered intravenously, but you’re wrong. There’s something even better—a simple yet extremely effective invention capable of alleviating any painful hangover (and more): the toast. Though for those outside of the country, this might just refer to browned bread, in Italy “il toast” is a pressed white bread sandwich, filled with a slice of cheese and two slices of ham, usually cotto, but sometimes even crudo. The secret of the toast, beyond the quality of the ingredients, lies in the toasting, which must crisp the bread evenly and melt all the cheese, but without making it too hot. It’s essential that the toast is heated to order—freshly warmed is the key. In fact, once the toast arrives, you have to eat it immediately, with gusto and without hesitation—there’s no time to waste, for they cool down quickly.

I believed this humble but extremely effective culinary creation was something everyone could agree on. Yet, with some surprise, I’ve discovered that many people don’t appreciate these genuine slices of bread filled with ham and cheese. There are even those who are offended by the toast, considering it a brutal dish, so deemed for the absence of sauces and mayonnaise.

It dawns on me that toast is like a creed—something you decide to love unconditionally or not at all, without any middle ground. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m on team pro-toast, always and forever. I specify “always and forever” because, truth be told, like life itself, toast often throws unexpected curveballs that leave you utterly disappointed. But for those like me who practice the toast-religion, il toast never fails me. Let’s see why.

First, we must distinguish between homemade toast and toast at the bar. Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten it at home. It’s one of those things I prefer to have in the morning at a little café, accompanied by a fresh-squeezed juice, a double espresso, and a slightly sparkling water. Now that we’ve established that this is a case study of non-domestic toast, we can continue our deep dive.

There’s bar toast, and then there’s bar toast. From personal experience, I can tell you that I’ve been much more satisfied with the quality of toast in northern Italy than in central and southern regions. I can’t give you a reason why, and I’m hoping some reader will provide me with an explanation. I spent a week in Turin recently, and every toast I tried was incredible—each one better than the last.

On the other hand, in Rome and Florence (where I was born and raised, and where I now live, respectively), it’s a different story. Finding a toast worthy of its name is an arduous task, and if you don’t know where to go, you’re at risk of ending up in one of those many bars that, instead of serving you two warm, enveloping slices of melted bread, hands you a rubbery old slipper.

Remember when, at the beginning of this toast-ramble, I described a hangover I had a few days ago? When I finally mustered the strength to get out of bed, I left the house with a gait that was half Forrest Gump sprint and half the march of a French soldier storming the Bastille. I landed at  a renowned Roman bar to satisfy my hunger. Well, folks, what can I say?

A disaster. I spent €4.50 for a take-away toast. The bread was soggy and rubbery, the cheese didn’t melt, and the ham was flavorless. You’re probably thinking, “And you still ate it?” The answer is yes. Because toast is a full-on creed, a culinary religion. Even when served in a form that borders on inedible, it still has characteristics that make it familiar, homely, comforting. 

I’ll leave you with my two tips for ordering the perfect toast at a café. First, don’t forget to request it extra hot. You’ll need a bit of patience–tough, I know, but it’s worth it–as it usually takes a few minutes to heat properly. Second, if you’re dealing with a hangover, pair it with a Coca-Cola. You’re welcome.