Awareness

The bread shelf at the Italian Bakery was empty, but by now I know how the system works. I asked if she had any in the back, and she said she would go check. She returned with a good half dozen large loaves, not in a basket, but piled in her bare hands with 2 or 3 resting on her bosom. She set them down and dusted the flour off her sweater, then bagged one and rang me up. While I'm more used to wax paper, gloves, hairnets and tongs to provide that barrier between what I eat and who makes it for me, I found myself quite ok with it all. But I noticed that I noticed, and it made me think of small children who are not aware of things we have not taught them yet.

Chinese throwing stars

That's how I ordered it. She just smiled, but then again she always smiles, so it's hard to say if she even noticed my joke. We call her "the smiley one". She used to work for the french lady, who I just found out sold the place. No wonder she hasn't been around. I'm gonna miss her crooked smile. And her razzings. And her buns. Oh, wait, those are still on the menu.

Bread upgrade

This morning's breakfast was in a desperate need for an upgrade. I won't point out the obvious by indicating which toast I bought and which I made, but instead tell you where my bread snobbery comes from; it's my mother. It might be genetic. Once we were out to dinner and when her food arrived she opened up her purse and produced some mamica bread. She must have known the place had crappy bread and planned ahead. I thought it a bit tacky and was slightly embarrassed. I'm 37 now and finally understand. As we get older our tolerance for crap shrinks, and that includes tolerance for crappy bread. Kids, don't judge your parents!