Wednesday, August 27, 2014

The architecture of toast

I'll say it again, I always burn the first slice of toast.

Though not so thoroughly it can't be resolved by a quick and firm knock against the kitchen counter to remove the carbon crumbs. Never apologize, Julia Child would say, just serve it forth proudly.

I often want to start over. To dismantle the beginnings of this blog, retract older, published pieces, forget past relationships, and begin entirely anew on the sketch that, erased too many times, inevitably shows phantom pencil lines etched behind the finished portrait. I might want to waste that first slice of toast in the name of a more golden hue. Except all of these are an essential imprint of the work it took to build the better, perhaps more polished, current state.

I'll decide it's not the perfectly browned bread that makes the day, but rather the spread, piled confidently on top.


Today's spread: Great Hills blue, sourwood honey, fresh black figs, whole-grain toast--burnt, of course.

2 comments:

  1. Beautiful tryptic, my friend.

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  2. Jess-- it's Sarah (from North Carolina). Your writing is so beautiful. I feel like binge reading your entire blog. I could not be more excited for you for getting into grad school. Yay yay yay!!! I love getting updates from my mom as your story continue to unfold. Best wishes.

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