Cardbread
In my flighty fascination for freeing breakfast of gluten, I asked Joe to pick up some gluten-free bread. And here it is: a tragedy. Gluten, apparently, is that ingredient which makes bread edible. (Breadible?) See, even the butter refuses to be absorbed. “It’s not bread!” it cried. “Whoever heard of cardboard and butter??”
I tried both peanut butter and blueberry jam, one slice at a time. The jammed one was kinda better but only slightly because of how dry the bread is, and not in a burnt toast kind of way. More like the spongy fill in a 50-year-old couch. The bread just breaks apart on its own, you have to be careful lifting it from plate to mouth. Heck, you can just let it sit in your mouth, and it’ll digest itself. So, this will be one long week of dreading breakfast. Who dreads breakfast?? It’s just wrong.
Hmm. Strange ingredients as well. Surely something homemade should have some taste, no? But I’ve attempted (normal) bread before, and it was just a fiasco: the more I practiced, the worse it got. So I’m not going there. Maybe with a breadmaker, but that’s another small appliance. Maybe I’ll start with cookies.