The ability to make real bread from something other than wheat flour eludes me. It's impossible. When you think of bread, you don't think of cornmeal. Corn bread is its own category. Bread means wheat flour, leavened, kneaded, crusty, fluffy, with a hint of chewiness. Sure, there are delicious flat breads. You'll get no argument from me about it. But that's not what I think of when I think BREAD. Yes, there is rye bread. It is certainly edible and perfect with the right combination of foods. But it's not the thing. Almost sometimes but not.
Maybe this doesn't truly matter. Maybe it is something to fret about so more important issues in the world can be set aside because of their enormity.
An enormous loaf of bread that you cannot eat. So large yet tasteless and unappetizing. A loaf of bread lacking in any amount of nourishment. You take one bite of the towering wall of bread and feel only regret. You expel it from your mouth like a bug that has somehow found its way in there while you were frolicking on a summer evening.
A hideous bread. Frankenstein's loaf. The Grendel of baguettes. The Horla of dinner rolls. The Morlock of sandwich slices.
You cannot read bread unless it is arranged in such a manner to form letters. Bread might save you, but it doesn't care whether or not you are saved. On the shore of time, thousands of loaves are arranged to spell the word HELP, but it's barely discernible as you fly overhead since the hue of the sand and the bread are so similar. Bread is not a great medium for rescue messaging. And then the birds find it. Next time, try rocks or something.
A grilled cheese sandwich.
Toast with butter.
That last bit of the Italian loaf to slide across the plate so you may savor the lingering olive oil and garlicky sauce on your plate.
Sorry. I'm not even hungry right now. This is avoidance.