My love of bread

I have always been excited by a bread basket on the table. I didn’t need Oprah’s Weight Watchers tagline to normalize my love, but it’s good for some laughs. My love does not make me a rare bird. I would think there are very few who grew up in gluten-friendly cultures who do not enjoy the aroma of fresh bread, the pleasure of tearing off a piece, or the yeasty chew. Despite how often it may appear in my Instagram feed, I really don’t eat it that often. Not having any in the house means my diet is largely bread-free. Thus, maybe it’s the more purposeful eating of it that crystallizes why it’s been a life-long love.

First, bread at the table represents a special meal for me. The foil-wrapped IGA garlic bread on lasagna nights. The Safeway tray buns at holiday meals. The cornetti loaf at Old Spaghetti Factory. Crazy Bread at Little Caesars. Breadsticks at the Olive Garden.  Warm sourdough at The Keg. The levain at Semilla. The little boules at Contra. The bread signals that my meal is not of the everyday sort. I am out for dinner or it’s a special occasion or more concerted effort was put into the meal or company is coming over. I didn’t grow up in a house where French bread was picked up for a regular Wednesday night dinner. The presence of bread at a meal means it’s more, it’s better, it’s special. I like that feeling—I love bread.

Second, it represents safety. Even now as a much less picky eater, knowing that there’s bread available means I don’t have to worry about starving if I don’t like anything. Which is important when you also have a big appetite. When I didn’t like pizza, I could eat garlic bread at Pizza Hut or fill up on that Crazy Bread. When there were too many unknown vegetable concoctions at family gatherings, I could fill up on tray buns. At the Mongolian BBQ restaurant, I could supplement my rice with steamed mantou. The presence of bread meant there would be something for me, something to fill me up.  The presence of bread at a meal removes any anxiety about not having enough to eat. I like not being anxious—I love bread.

Especially with butter and salt.

Contra’s bread service

Semilla

Olmsted

Pear, vanilla, and buckwheat roll from Arcade Bakery. (They buttered it for me; left to my own devices, there would have been twice that amount of fat.)

Wildair

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