I've Died and Gone to Heaven

On a small shelf in the deli section of the grocery store, I saw a display of German breads, much like these. As always, I idly glanced at the ingredients on the off-chance that they might be made from some ingredient that I'm not allergic to. Wonder Bread gets sooo boring after awhile. I'm always bitterly disappointed; even when the main ingredient is wheat or sunflower seeds or linseed, there's always rye in there somewhere.

Today, I hit pay dirt. 100% organic spelt! I bought a package, which sat in my bag all day, taunting me at work. I could not stop thinking about the taste of a good, solid, dark bread with butter and cheese all afternoon. I rushed home with a singleminded haste. The door-to-door salesman who wanted to give me his spiel probably went away muttering under his breath about the rude woman in the green house. I barely took time to let the dog out and take off my shoes, then I ran into the kitchen and tore open the package.

The smell of the bread instantly transported me back to the Hoffmanns' kitchen. A melancholy wave of homesickness and longing for that moment in time when my nascent sense of self was just starting to blossom and the reality of broken dreams and missed chances hadn't tarnished any of it yet. I spread the slices with real butter (no margarine shall defile this bread) and added sliced meat on one slice, slices of cheese on another. I couldn't resist breaking off the corner for a taste before I even finished putting this simple plate together.

Oh, God.

It was better than I imagined and so satisfying. I ate three slices and then had to talk myself out of eating three more, even though my stomach was distended with good taste. Now I'm in a bread coma, and I'm still thinking about eating another slice.