Bread . . . Reformed

Twice a week, and sometimes more, the wonderful aroma of freshly-baked bread wafted through the Stringam home.

Magic.

Often, it was followed, almost immediately, by the sight of children munching thick slices of fresh yumminess, thickly spread with fresh butter.

Mmmmm.

I wasn't one of them.

Oh, I loved Mom's bread.

It was amazing.

And I definitely was munching.

But I chose a unique - ie. weird - way of doing it.

Often to be followed by my Mom saying, “Diane! I work hard to make perfectly good, soft bread! Why do you do that to it?!”

She said this because . . . I squished it.

Squished.

Into a tight little ball.

Which I . . . then . . . ate.

Really.

Mom would watch, in disgust, as I took my slice of freshly-baked awesomeness.

Quickly peeled off and ate the crust.

And pressed and moulded the rest.

Then nibbled.

I have no idea why I did this.

Maybe it was because I had seen the screen cowboys eating little balls of bread out of their saddlebags.

Okay, it looked like little balls of bread.

I didn't realize that what they were eating was, in fact, biscuits.

I wasn't known for my powers of observation and deduction.

Moving on . . .

I no longer eat bread this way.

There are a couple of drawbacks.

The biggest one being that it's rather hard to spread any significant amount of peanut butter or nutella on a tightly pressed ball of dough.

And, let's face it, bread is just the medium by which such things are ingested.

And, in a choice between eating balls of dough or getting nutella to the mouth?

Even the cowboys would agree with me.