I Don't Think I Can Think of a Title for This One
I refuse to throw the loaves away. What a waste. I can't bear the thought.
If I pulverize the bread and funnel the crumbs into pretty glass bottles, they might make a nice gift of bath salts. What do you think? A steaming tub, redolent with the aroma of freshly baked bread. When I was enrolled in one of the big mistakes of my life called Architectural Assocation in London, our end-of-term project was "Breakfast"--don't ask; I'm still bewildered to this day--and I envisioned people steeping in giant cups of tea. I think it was a rather superb idea: tea baths. I'm sorry, we were heavily pressured to be absurd at that school. One of my teachers had neon pink hair and often taught class in a lederhose/barmaid outfit that kind of looked like a combination of these--she was forever exasperated with us and her favorite invective to bellow at our heads was that we were a bloody dull lot.
There was one redeeming point to my time at the AA. It was there that for the first time, I fell in lust with a man's single body part.
I'm referring to his neck. Oh dear god above, this senior student had the most sexy neck I have ever laid eyes on. The rest of him--eh. But with his back turned to me, I could not tear my eyes away from his nape. It was a sickness. It was beautiful. Elegant but strong, smooth, and curved just so, in a way that said "Hello!" to me quite distinctly. Hey, is a girl not allowed to have a few cherished memories from her youth?
Special note to husband: Honey, if you're reading this, the rest of him did nothing for me. Nothing! In fact, I found him decidedly unappealing when he opened his mouth and spoke.
I did come up with one solution to make my bread more endurable: For lunch, I soaked a few slices in a generous egg bath (no extra salt added!...Hmm, egg bath) and then made french toast with my Vitantonio hot sandwich maker, which is hands down the simplest, least messy way to make perfect french toast--i.e., puffed, crisp, and golden on the outside, tender inside. Not bad, except that I actually find fluffy white bread makes the best french toast--crusty, hearty whole wheat does not.
Still, it wasn't awful. But can a person really eat two entire loaves of savory french toast? And despite the salt being diluted by the egg, would I still technically be consuming an alarming amount of sodium that might lead to a severe stroke 40 years down the road? And if I continue in this delirious, pointless fashion, will I lose you, dear reader, forever? Perhaps I could wheedle a little tolerance from you with the admission that I missed two nights of sleep this week working overtime. I think I'm going to stop now.
I leave you with a closing image of tonight's dinner: natto makizushi. Fermented, slimy, gossamer thread streaming goodness. Drool--oh wait, no, that's the natto.