Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
I love bread. In fact, I never really met a bread I didn’t like—brown, white, rye, seeded, ciabatta, damper, focaccia, roti, soda, multigrain, pumpernickel, (banana—not sure that counts as a real bread but . . . yum)—the list goes on and on and on. . .
And, although I do agree with James Garfield that bread needs something to go with it, for me it’s not peanut butter. For me it is cheese (any kind of cheese) and ham . . . and chutney . . . and pickles . . . or . . . if it’s toasted, pâté. I could, seriously, live on toast and pâté . . . and red wine . . .
Well—when I say I could live on it, I probably actually couldn’t. My digestive system seems to have much more to say about what I can, and can’t, eat (and drink) these days. Sigh.
Sometimes getting older sucks . . .