No, not bread as in money. Bread as in bread! You know, the good stuff. That crusty loaf of wonder that calls to you at three a.m. and tugs you from your warm bed into the kitchen. I may have a deep spiritual relationship with cheese, but I also have a an ongoing lusty affair with bread.  I have always loved bread, even when I REALLY didn’t know much about it, meaning I thought there were two kinds: white and wheat. Then as I got older I discovered a whole world of bread and have made it my life’s mission to eat as many different varieties as I can…

Even as a child I was passionate about bread. I would go to my friends’ house and beg for a slice of their Wonder bread (we only ate wheat). I would marvel in its pillowy, white softness and how it was almost sweet. At home, I couldn’t wait for my parents to have an evening out. Why? So my sisters and I could eat my Dad’s bread. Oh yes, while we got wheat, he had his own personal stash of Sourdough. The minute we would hear the car pull out of the driveway, we would rush, en masse (there were four of us!), to the kitchen. Once there, my sister Judy, on her tip toes, would reach into the back of the top cabinet and pull out the sourdough. I swear that when it came out it was bathed in a golden light and I heard angels sing. She would put it on the counter and we would greedily fight to get our share. My sisters would eat it un-toasted with tons of butter and jam. They would devour their slices while still standing in the kitchen.  I would toast mine and lovingly put just enough butter to make it glisten. Then I would take it into my bedroom, curl up on my bed and slowly eat it. I wanted to savor every moment.

Sourdough raids aside, it wasn’t until I got out on my own that I really started experiencing different types of bread. I was a manager at a bakery while in college, so I happily ate every bread we served.  My first bread obsession was a Rosemary/Garlic Italian white. It was soft with roasted cloves of garlic and specked with rosemary. I think I must have eaten thirty loves of it in a matter of two months. Next I became obsessed with a sturdy whole wheat that had raisins and walnuts. I would bring it home from the bakery, toast it , slather it in butter and then apricot jam. Heaven. Then I couldn’t get enough Kalamata Olive bread. Huge Kalamata olives encased in a soft wheat center with a fantastically crunchy crust. This I would dip in olive oil, balsamic vinegar and Parmesan cheese.  Then came the Ciabatta months, followed by the Sourdough roll weeks… I ate it all!

After the bakery, I continued my bread affair. I would drive 20 minutes just to get bread from La Brea Bakery in L.A. (before they were in every store). I went once a week and tried all their breads. I was fascinated by the artisanal quality (remember, this was back when artisanal was NOT a buzz word). I always had one of their sourdough baguettes in my house. I would eat it with all types of cheeses, but I would also cradle it in my arms and savagely tear off chunks, devouring the entire baguette in one sitting.

I even went through a phase where I was making my own bread! Yes, making it and without a bread machine. I loved the way the yeast was alive and the development of the gluten as I kneaded it. I made all types of breads: focaccia, pizza dough, whole wheat, black olive/cheddar, apricot/pecan, etc. I would give home-made loaves as gifts and would spend entire weekends baking. I once even tried to teach my sister how to make bread, but that didn’t go over too well. To me, making a loaf of bread was a transcendent thing. To her, it was just bread…

To this day, I am always looking to try a new bread. I love the mini baguettes. My new favorites are the multi-grain seeded variety and the cheddar jalapeno. Because they are “mini” I don’t feel so guilty when I find that I have eaten the entire thing in less than one day. For health reasons I try to stick to whole wheat/multi-grain varieties, but am known to sneak in a good Italian white every now and then. And yes, when I have an especially delicious bread in the house, I do awaken from sleep, stumble into the kitchen and eat a slice (or two!).