For the love of bread

In the thick of it

June 16, 2012

87 pounds to go

For the love of bread

            Dear Bread, I love you.  xoxo Bonnie

Everyone has the one thing that is their food nemesis.  Maybe nemesis is too strong of a word, it's not necessarily an enemy, a crutch or a burden, but almost like an old friend.  The one thing that you crave the most above all things.  Most people I know have the one of these three: ice cream, candy or chips.  For me, I could really take or leave those things.  Initially when someone asked me what my weakness is I said a hamburger and fries - end a bad day with a big meal.  And it's true, I do get that way frequently.  But even more so than 'big food' is bread.  I fucking love bread - sourdough, challah, rosemary rolls, dinner rolls, focaccia dipped in vinegar and oil, greasy bread buds at the restaurant.  I've been eating toast for breakfast for longer than I can remember and even growing up my mom said I smelled like toast when I stumbled into the kitchen bleary eyed and mostly asleep.  That's how she knew it was me.  Recently when I moved into my condo I was unpacking my kitchen with my best friend and I got excited when I unpacked my toaster oven, singing "yum yum, yeah toaster oven!"  And she was confused and asked "do you have special recipes that you make with your toaster oven?"  Me: "No, I just really like toast."  She gave me a look like a dog hearing a high whistle: "what the fuck are you talking about?"

I know I love bread, and I went to Jimbo's the other day for lunch and ordered my favorite sandwich - the rancho roast beef - but modified to have 1/2 the meat, no cheese and light vegan mayonnaise to cut out bulk calories so I can eat it.  Knowing what I know now, I sat down on their patio and just took time to eat the sandwich and examine how I felt when I ate it.  The bread was the white-as-can-be sourdough, warm from the oven and sweet jesus I could feel the happiness receptors in my brain click on as I took the first few bites.  It fascinated and alarmed me at the same time: why does it feel like my body is giving a literal, positive chemical reaction to this food?  Is it a longstanding emotional attachment that turned into an endorphin-like high after years of conditioning?

I don't know if my food crutch is unusual, or if I just think of myself as weird so I assume no one would have this same attachment.  After my lunch experience, I started thinking about it even more.  What is my first memory that involves bread?  And then I remembered: when I was about 5 or 6 years old, living in our cavernous house in Scripps Ranch before we moved to Poway, my Dad used to always make bread.  In fact, I think he made it when we were in Mission Valley but it was when we moved to Scripps Ranch that he first let me help him.  I remember standing in the kitchen on a plastic booster stool kneading Challah dough and covered in flour.  It was like a toy -- gooey and fun -- the consistency somewhere between play-doh and ooblech.  (Ooblech came from a Dr. Suess book that I made my parents read to me over and over, about a boy and this green goo - ooblech - that got everywhere.  They would mix cornstarch, water and green food coloring and I would be entertained for hours.) When the dough was ready, my Dad taught me how to braid it, which is where I first learned how to braid.  Then it had to sit for 30 minutes and rise and we would pop it in the oven to bake.  It always tasted amazing - that white egg bread, gooey and warm.  It was a ritual.

I think that was the beginning and from then I discovered all sorts of bread that I liked.  I think it's also why I like craft beer so much - the wheat and the barley taste from bread wrapped up in a bottle.  I feel fortunate that my body picked something that is healthy and I can eat it every day if I want to -- just not the whole loaf.