I just spent a fat chunk of today’s thin time in the bread aisle.
I needed a basic loaf of bread. That’s all.
The doughnut case called to me with its array of warm-glazed oily cakes melting puddles on parchment. I pressed nose to glass and drooled. But the mood quickly passed when I spied fruit (?) flies hovering over the lemon-frosted bismarcks.
Yes, I told them.
Anyway, back to the bread.
Buying bread is hard.
I knew what I wanted, but the myriad of colors and shapes dazzled me.
I picked up loaf after loaf of molasses-browned, oatmeal-sprinkled, flour-dusted, seed-threaded and wheatberry-laden loaves. I checked the calories, fiber, protein, fat, and sugar contents and compared. I read ingredient lists (I automatically eliminated anything with more than 30) and wish I’d brought a magnifying glass. I’m afraid now of seeds, so I put those back. I analyzed prices and savored tantalizing titles.
Have you noticed how fat the shelves are with thin options? I never noticed that before. Skinny buns and thin English muffins and smart bagels and flat breads. Multigrain and blueberry and raisin and plain and onion and cinnamon and garlic and herb.
I wanted to scream.
And I wanted to try them all.
I finally chose a basic whole grain white because that’s all that Gracee will eat anyway.
And I sighed.
God rained bread on Israel.
Gather and eat. Morning fresh. No stress. Simple.
But they cried for the complicated. They wanted more choices.
Most of us are hungry for the simple.
I know I’m starving for it.
Yet we’re fat with complicated choices.
Even in the bread aisle.
I used to bake a simple sourdough and a fresh herb and a Swedish rye and a Norwegian raisin and a honey wheat.
I think it’s time to take up breadmaking again.
Linking up to On, In and Around Mondays at Seedlings in Stone with L.L. Barkat.
Photo courtesy of morgueFile.