It had flavours you never knew
before, flavours true to origins
concealed by the flippant wave of
a hand; you wouldn’t understand,
you say – best it remain a mystery.
But it was rye bread mixed with
whole grain and baked yesterday?
Why yes, there’s no denying that.
But I wont make it that way again
– unless conditions conspire, which
they can, need I say with a hint of
despair, there is no way of knowing
the when and where of that. But
be assured it was not my original
intent. The fact is it started out a
quite conventional loaf of bread.
So why the disingenuous act, why
the secrecy? Rye bread is surely rye
bread no matter what didact, how is
that loaf so unique, so different?
Its savor you say, quite – to coin a
phrase, unusual? A smokey taste,
wood-oven perhaps? And the crust,
thick, resiliant – a crumb exact like
a country loaf, moist inside, of a fine
temperament. And you wont relent?
Okay, a power outage one hour into
the knead, death of dough imminent,
sought another out. Barbeque baked,
hood down, that explains the taste,
only it could leave a smokey hint
of delightfully char grilled meat.
© 24 August 2007, I.D. Carswell