::: I was busy writing, I was overcome by a sudden desparate need to bake a loaf of bread from scratch (a sourdough rye loaf if you’re interested). All that mixing and kneading, getting the hands alternately sticky and flour-covered as I worked the dough, is calm therapy for an overactive mind.
::: I was hungry and the loaf was still warm from the oven, I couldn’t resist accepting the invitation to partake. So (after eating the end crust) I took a knife to that delicious crunchy exterior and cut two thick slices.
::: I am Australian, and it makes perfect sense, I spread one side of those slices first with butter and then with vegemite. It didn’t take me long to fill my stomach and return that plate to empty.
::: I associate this meal with being a child on holidays from primary school, reading a book at the dining room table while waiting patiently for my dad to bring home a fresh loaf of bread (he works for a bakery you see). In thinking of this memory, I felt nourished and comforted in ways that go well beyond the simple act of satisfying a hungry appetite.