“Whipped ricotta toast for Ellie?” said my waitress, putting a plate of toast – but not as I know it – on the table in front of me. It was a work of food art: a double-doorstop-thick slice of buttermilk bread, slathered in soft white ricotta cheese, topped with glossy orange marmalade, a drizzle of lavender honey, a handful of purply-green pistachios and some edible nasturtium leaves. I took in its beauty for a moment before tucking in, tentatively, not wanting to disturb the creation. It was surprisingly spongy and more cake-like than I’d imagined, the golden crusts ever so slightly crispy. The tangy sweetness of the marmalade and slight sourness of the ricotta complemented each other beautifully. This is toast at its most decadent, putting the usual waify, done-to-a-crisp, British offering to shame (and, at $14 a slice, giving my wallet a run for its money, too). It was 9.30am on a Saturday morning and I was in one of San Francisco’s legendary artisan bakeries, Tartine Manufactory, in the eclectic Mission D