Bread Alone

I ate so much bread this weekend. I don't usually write about what I ate, but, really, it was remarkable. It all started with the challah. When I got it from the bakery five blocks from my house (Silver Moon), it was warm. And this challah is, like, the best challah ever. Seriously. Friday night, my husband and I ate half of it. Then Saturday morning rolled around, and I had half a bagel from the best bagel shop in the history of human kind. Why the bagel? So I wouldn't eat the challah. But then I made challah French toast for my son, and he wouldn't eat it, so my husband and I split it. (David saved some for Elliot, our boy, who deigned to try it after downing his fried egg. It didn't even occur to me to do that.) Then, Saturday night I had bread for dinner (along with blue cheese and this garlic spread). Oh, and Saturday for lunch I had pesto and pasta on a playdate, which is kind of like having more bread. And today was like a parade of bagels. Until dinner, when I had a salad, after extensive post-playground noshing. If I hadn't had that salad, I would have simply morphed into a loaf of bread. If that happens, I hope I turn into the round milk bread with raisins from Silver Moon. I love that bread, too. Maybe I'll buy some next week instead of challah. You know, so I won't eat the challah.