Death by Bread
It started innocently enough. I was shopping at an upscale grocery chain that specializes in organic kumquats and high prices.
Strolling through produce, I picked out some berries. Next, I selected a small wedge of cheese and then a container of the prepared mixed veggies that I so love. Breezing past the bakery, I almost made it to the checker without stopping. That’s when I smelled it.
Not just any bread. This lofty, artisan loaf had its own name, “Ancient Grain.” Made with twelve grains & seeds, very possibly by Trappist monks who live in the back of the bakery section, it was being sampled still warm from the oven.
I buttered up and tasted. It. Was. Incredible. Inside my head, a bread symphony was playing and all I could hear was music and my accompanying chewing chorus.
Usually, I don’t buy bread. From experience, I know bread can lead to dangerous food decisions that often involve red wine and napping during the middle of the day. I never reach that “I’ve had enough” threshold with bread. I can just keep going and then I want even more. Great bread is like the crack of the carbohydrate food group. There are simply no good outcomes when it comes to bread.
Even so, I wanted it.
With an innocent look on my face, I took a third sample.
It was beyond delicious. It was made with great ingredients. It was on sale.
Snatching up a loaf, I knew I had sealed my fate for the next few days. I was going on a bread binge and it wouldn’t be pretty.
As soon as I arrived home, I started slicing, buttering, eating. Then, I sliced, toasted and topped. There were crumbs and seeds everywhere. It was glorious. Then, all too soon, it was gone. Of course, I want more and I shall have it.
Yes, this bread may indeed be the death of me. However, at least I’ll go with a smile on my lips, a butter knife in my hand and a bread symphony playing in my head. Oh, and I’ll be clutching the remnants of a loaf of Ancient Grain. I want to be buried with the bread.
Nancy Wurtzel writes about making big changes at midlife in her blog Dating Dementia. Read about Nancy’s often humorous and sometimes twisted journey as a baby boomer, single woman, empty nester, feminist and caregiver.