Yesterday at the market I picked up a loaf of sourdough bread, happy that they had put one aside for me as I asked. Disappointed the week before as they had forgotten to save me one. Having arrived too late on occasion, I asked the favour of having one saved for me each week. The loaf has always been the best sourdough I have tasted and just about lasts me the week. It keeps quite well in the fridge for that time.
Alas, on arriving home I discovered that the loaf had been in the oven a tad long and had a hard crust. Moreover, it was quite dry and possibly was not from that day's baking. Could this be their way of telling me they really didn't want the bother of remembering to put one aside each week? Or perhaps this was another indication of young'uns who can't be bothered with wrinklies. I consulted with my daughter and we discussed a few possibilities and then she said: It's only a loaf of bread, Mum. Why don't you just make croutons and forget about it. Oh how easily we slip into self-indulgent mode and think the world is against us, imagining all sorts of slights. Thank God someone is around who can smarten me up and set me straight. Croutons anyone?