bread is something special. I do not like to throw it away. Collect the pieces become hard for animals, or I burn them.
My mother - our family was not particularly religious - made with a knife three crosses on the loaf before she broached. Early childhood memories I have of the long road from the bakery, the bread still warm from the oven with the heady scent in the arm. The temptation to walk one end - delicious, soft and fresh - to bite, I could never resist.
knead the dough even in the compact, slightly sour-smelling mass inside access, has something pleasurable, erotic, aroused archaic feelings, connecting with basic facts in life and feels so much sense. Then, when the cheeses arrive steaming and fragrant from the oven, the temptation is invincible to taste the tempting bread the same. Even if the greed behind must pay with stomach ache.
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