Death By Bread. What a Way to Go

  • Blog Post by: Nancy Wurtzel
  • May 21, 2013 - 11:47 PM

It started innocently enough.  I was shopping at an upscale grocery chain that specializes in organic kumquats, exotic juices and a salad bar that doesn't seem to end.

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.  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 and seeds, very possibly by Trappist monks who live in the back of the bakery section, it was being sampled still warm from the oven.

With butter.

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.  These food decisions usually lead to the drinking of red wine followed by napping during the middle of the day.  I never reach the "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 looked around.  The coast was clear.  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 24 hours.  I was going on a bread binge and it wouldn't be pretty.

As soon as I arrived home, I started slicing, buttering and eating.  Then, I sliced, toasted and topped.  All I could think about was the bread.  I was one with the loaf.

By evening, there were crumbs and seeds everywhere.  It was a mess, but a glorious one.  Then, all too soon, the loaf was gone and I was left with the wilted plastic bag, sticky from butter applications gone awry.  

Of course, I now want more and I won't be denied.  I know where to find it, and I am willing to pay the price.

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 an Ancient Grain loaf. 

I want to be buried with the bread.

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