Rising From The Mold Of Expectation

I am a piece of dough waiting to be kneaded and molded, but one that never even gets close to the oven to be baked, smelling so fresh, and warm, and inviting when it is done. So rich. Then sliced and lathered in butter--while it is still hot--irresistible to most. Instead, I remain a soft mound, one that seems too sticky, to some, to touch. Even though, if I were to be touched, and kneaded and molded, I would have all that is needed to provide sustenance to any who would take the time to see me through the process. I know this is true.

Yet, I wait: for the oven to be lit, for the hands to be ready, and for the baker who understands just how delectable this loaf would be. Not store bought. Not white bread. Nor whole wheat. Never any of the ordinary kinds of bread. I would be delectable. Gourmet. Only in the sense that I would be special, but not so different that most would not like me. I would be a comforting bread, one that sticks to the ribs, just enough to sustain and nourish, but still left for a bit on the taste buds to savor.

After experiencing my loaf, I would be longed for, smiled when thought about that last great sandwich made with me. I would never be franchised, or mass-produced. I would be baked at home by people known for their extraordinary cooking. Someone who holds the most delightful dinner parties--the kind that everyone hopes to be invited to--because every course, every linen, every flower, every wine and every dish is chosen with great care, and always with creativity. Someone who knows how to make her guests happy.

I would surely be expensive if someone were to find me in a small gourmet bakery. Perhaps I would be made only on the first Tuesday of every month. I would never be on sale. People would come early to purchase me because I would run out quickly. I would never be day-old.

I would be the kind of bread that once tasted would cause tasters to look with disdain at the store-bought, mass-produced bread that used to be just fine for their every day needs. Even though they may go back to those familiar loaves because of convenience or habit, they would always know that I was what they craved, if they really took the time to care about what satisfied them, and made them feel luscious, and yummy, and filled up so completely inside.

I would certainly not be lo-carb or diet. I would be much too rich for that. But connoisseurs would give up other things like French fries and store-bought ice cream in order to have me. After having me, they would tell others about me. How my crust was crunchy and nutty and my insides were soft and warm--simply delectable when I kissed the palate and so satisfying once I had been taken in completely, not leaving them hungry, or too full--never taking away from any accompaniment--yet standing on my own as a special treat.

These discerning bakery consumers would long to have me every day, but would worry that they might take me for granted after a while. Would I become Wonder bread someday? No. That could never be true, but they would question if they deserved to have bread so special on a daily basis. They might think themselves too ordinary to have me every day. I know that would certainly not be true, but how would I be able to convince them that we deserve each other? Perhaps they would need to learn that there are no rules when it comes to bread. No one will mock them if they were to see a special loaf in their breadbox, instead of those cardboard slices so uniformly wrapped, made into oblong loaves fitting so perfectly into that square storage space. No one will accuse them of thinking so highly of themselves that they need to have such a special loaf. Instead, the others will question how special bread tastes, what it smells like, and yet they will ask themselves if they are deserving enough to have it too?

After all, does it really matter what other people think? If the bread gives you
sustenance--if you long for and are satisfied by it--then who cares if it is different from the rest? Only your eyes, your nose, your taste buds, your stomach, the smile on your face, and the sigh in your breath, after having it--are truly what you have to live with--or without. It is up to each of us to decide.