Bread. Could there be anything better? Four basic ingredients of flour, salt, yeast and water come together to make something larger than themselves. It’s this simplicity that makes it so fantastically hard to resist. They bring out that basket before the meal along with butter or some seasoned olive oil and all bets are off. Civil, peace-loving people are willing to duel over the last piece. Okay, “duel” might be a bit strong, but certainly they’re willing to arm wrestle or do rock-paper-scissors for it.
As far as I’m concerned, if the restaurant has fresh bread, who needs the rest of the menu? Just plop down a loaf with some soft butter and maybe a little honey. That’s all you need.
My sixth-grade classroom was directly over the cafeteria. In the warmer months, our teacher would open the windows allowing some fresh air into the room. Often that air was heavily scented with the smell of homemade yeast rolls baking in the kitchen below. Kids at that age have a hard enough time concentrating on fun things like math and grammar without the scented hand of bread trying to pull them through a second story window. I can’t be sure, but I think our teacher was just as distracted and attracted by it as we were. Seems like on the days when the scent was especially alluring, she would break for lunch just a little early. No complaints from us.
Bread is so good that other foods are made better just by it being on the table. Without bread, you wouldn’t have a sandwich. It would just be a fist full of meat. Messy. Making a grilled cheese would be impossible unless you wanted to fry your hand in the process. Bread makes a loaf of meat into a meatloaf. You can’t make stuffing without bread. Without bread, pizza would be just a plate of melted cheese, meat and sauce. You would have a hard time eating that with your hands. Can you imagine how much dirtier your dishes would be if there wasn’t bread to soak up the last drops of gravy? It’s not only a good compliment to a meal, it is also the original “quicker picker upper.”
One thing I’ve never understood is cutting the crust off a sandwich. It’s the crust working in concert with the softness that it frames that makes bread truly tasty. You don’t cut the chocolate off a peanut butter cup do you? I see those crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the freezer section and I am saddened to think about all that crust that’s being sent to the island of misfit foods. A good loaf of bread is like your grandpa. Crusty on the outside and soft on the inside. That’s what makes him so loveable.
There are enough variations on this theme of yeasty goodness to satisfy just about every taste. White, wheat, rye (you can’t make a proper Ruben without it) and one of my favorites, pumpernickel. Let’s not forget bagels and the king of breads in the South: biscuits. Whether grandma made them from scratch or you shoved the Pillsbury Doughboy into the oven, there’s nothing like a good biscuit to start the day.
I enjoy baking—mostly cookies--but I’ve never really tried bread making. The closest I’ve come is a simple pretzel recipe that I used to bake years ago. When the children were in middle and high school, I would whip up a batch. The kids loved them. What’s not to love? Served hot with mustard and that chunky Kosher salt on top, it was a great way to bring us all to the table for a little family feasting.
My mother was known to bake a loaf from time to time. It was always good, but I have to admit it was our neighbor who really showed us all what homemade bread should be.
Kelly lived in the house behind ours. Our backyards butted against each other. Her oldest son and I used to play together and spent many an hour playing baseball games in the cul-de-sac, riding bikes and roller skating. That’s back when the skates had metal wheels and you clamped on them on to your shoes hoping for the best. Occasionally, the front clamps would lose their grip and I’d take a tumble. That’s why my trusty skate key was on a string around my neck. Additionally, the metal wheels rolling noisily on the pavement offered no cushion resulting in an odd vibration sensation in my calves and the feeling my teeth would rattle out of my head. Ah, youth!
Often, but not often enough for my tastebuds, Kelly would bake bread. Usually several loaves at a time. One for her home and some to give away. I recall with great fondness (and hunger) those knocks on the door late in the afternoon. Kelly would be there with a loaf of bread fresh from the oven. After the thankyous, we nearly slammed the door in her face so that we could rush back to the table for a slice before it cooled to room temperature. That this usually happened in fall and winter made it doubly good. Mom would pull out the butter and we would eat almost all of it before supper. There aren’t many beds cozier than a slice of warm bread.
It was more than the bread. It was the conversations around the table while munching. Everyone was in a good mood. All seemed right with the world. I’m convinced that if some of our world leaders would sit down at the table with a freshly baked loaf of bread from Kelly’s kitchen, they’d find a way to work things out.
We all need food to survive. Our daily bread, as the prayer says. I think the fellowship that often surrounds a freshly baked loaf is as much our daily bread as the loaf itself. Perhaps that’s the real reason they call it the Staff of Life.
And that time at table with family and friends is truly the best slice of all.
