I don’t recall the exact moment that toast became a fancy thing; I do recall hearing of those hipsters up in NYC putting avocado on toast, and while (like most of what the hipsters do) it was initially scoffed at by the general public, it seemed to catch on from there.

Now, there are even entire restaurants devoted to fancy toast. Cookbooks, too. If you think about it, the predecessors of fancy toast have been around for decades. Eggs Benedict. Tuna melts. Open-faced sandwiches.

But there’s a distinct intention behind fancy toast that sets it apart from the others. It’s a comforting concept: take something as simple and foundational as a slice of bread, and make it into a piece of art. Build layers of flavor, color, and texture, so that every bite is a symphony.

That can sound intimidating, though. I hear you. Scoff, scoff.

Let me get this out there right now: my toast isn’t always fancy. Sometimes it isn’t even toast — it’s just room-temperature bread with stuff on it.

And that’s okay.

Because what I’m learning is that any way in which I choose to nourish myself — not just eat, but nourish — is a good way.

I’ve been playing with intuitive eating. I read Evelyn Tribole’s book on it, and I’m practicing the concepts of listening to my body, honoring my hunger, and eschewing ALL forms of dieting or food restriction (aside from actual food sensitivities). I’m realizing that I have a lot to learn about my body’s hunger and satiety signals — I’ve ignored or discounted them for most of my life.

It’s odd to be 42 years old and not really be able to tell when you’re genuinely hungry. But I’m learning. And fancy toast plays very well with intuitive eating.

With fancy toast, I can take my blank canvas — this week, it’s been a slice of rustic sourdough from Whole Foods — and take a moment to consider how I want to paint it. Do I want something sweet, like berries, or something savory, like everything bagel seasoning? Do I want something rich, like avocado, or something light, like honey? Do I want something crunchy, like pumpkin seeds, or something creamy, like pistachio spread?

Lately, most of my fancy toasts are almond butter with raspberries and blueberries on top. I tend to go on “kicks” and eat the same thing for a while until I get tired of it.

And that’s okay.

Intuitive eating can seem scary. What? NO restrictions? EVERYTHING is okay to eat? Doesn’t that mean I’ll just eat said EVERYTHING and become an out-of-control eating machine?

Not according to Evelyn. So I am taking a leap of faith and trusting her expertise and, more importantly, trusting my body to tell me if it feels good. I think that’s why I feel comfortable with intuitive eating as a concept.

Intuitive eating feels soft. Kind. Nurturing. Nourishing. Friendly. Dieting feels cold. Hard. Judgmental.

All signs from the past couple of years, since I broke, have pointed toward kindness and softness being the right direction to go in.

My life coach, Tiffany, said once, “Your intuition is never mean to you,” and that really hit me. Because so many of the voices in my head and heart are so very mean. But those aren’t really me, are they? Those voices were put there by others or experiences — they’re not my intuition.

My intuition is kind. She is so very kind. She is proud of me. She is loving. And I hear her voice more often when I honor my body and what it really needs to feel good. When I tune out everything else, breathe, and ask her what she wants to tell me. And listen.

There’s a difference. You really can feel it.

So I’m going to keep making my fancy toasts, and giving myself that little gift of creating some art on my plate and some fun for my palate. I’m going to keep nourishing myself. I’m going to keep listening to my intuition, in the kitchen and out in the world.