Worshiping our daily bread

It's Sunday and this title seems appropriate. This is about my recent separation from white bread and our touching reconciliation this morning.

Of the many "poisons"we are warned about (like sugar, white flour-based foods,salt, partially hydrogenated oils, trans fats and anything made at a fast food joint or by my aunt Max) my estrangement from white bread began shortly after my November attack of diverticulitis.  Vowing to eat even more fiber, I dispatched my husband to the local healthy bakery and asked him to bring home whole wheat bread.  I'm not a big fan of ww (or of that "W" president either) but I knew it wouldn't kill me. I assumed that this bakery was capable of producing an edible loaf. It was (if you like that sort of thing).  So for months, when bread was required, it was ww.  I am convinced that ww and the bag it comes in taste about the same - but it's easier to spread something on the bread than on the bag.

This morning my husband made one of his OCD trips to the grocery store.  (He makes weekly decisions about when he is going and never breaks that vow.  He had vowed that today was the day.)  He brought back the few items I had managed to scratch onto the list AND he improvised and bought a loaf of Italian bread. My heart stopped.

I walked slowly towards the bag ( in case it was an apparition and would vanish if I moved too quickly). I reached out my right hand and rested it on the store bakery plastic bag.. (Plastic bags  cover white bread). I applied a little pressure to the bag. The loaf depressed and snapped back.  The crust felt, well crusty...a whiff of freshly baked bread escaped..  I whispered, "Holy shit...Italian bread..."

My fingers found the twisty tie and I fumbled trying to unwind it. Once undone, the bag popped open and the end pieces fell over. Like dominoes. Chewy, yummy crusty dominoes.  I reached inside and grabbed the 2 smallest pieces.  My fingers automatically went to the white part because I wanted to be sure it was soft.  It was. I pulled them out and leaned in to smell them because bread only smells good like this when it's fresh.  I reached for the butter dish and the knife leaning against it. I shaved off several strips and slowly spread it across every possible bread cell. Right up to the edge of the crust. Popped it in my mouth, chewed slowly, enjoying the crunchiness of the crust and the softness of the insides (not to mention the greasiness of the butter).  I washed it down with cold tea. Smiled smugly. And as I walked away I spied a hunk of milk (not dark) chocolate sitting next to the microwave. A left over valentine token from another husband. I broke off a piece and ate it.

It was a good morning.