gratitude-a-thon day 346: that bread

IMG_6499The Rye Bread from Rein’s Deli in Vernon, Connecticut is like crack cocaine, heroin and meth mixed up into a loaf of addictive heaven. I tell you, this stuff is impossible for me to resist if it is anywhere in my vicinity, which is why I’m glad I only encounter it a few times a year when I go visit relatives. At least it’s not readily available, taunting me 24/7. Truth: if it were, you could count on me to do pretty much anything for a piece. I would be in the Tab Incident Reports. I might even make something like People magazine. Yeah, that bad.

I don’t have celiac, but I have a gluten sensitivity. So basically, I mostly try not to eat gluten, but it won’t hurt me if I do, except I might get a stomach ache if I’ve had too much. I try and keep it out of my diet, but all bets are off, and stay outta my way if the Rye Bread from Rein’s Deli in Vernon, Connecticut is nearby. Honestly, lock up your young.

When it’s fresh, you can practically eat the whole loaf in a sitting. It’s firm, but chewy, and like the most luxurious summer day. After that, you need to toast it for maximum enjoyment, and slather it in butter for optimal results. This is a sensory experience of such gustatory joy, there are really no words that have yet been invented to properly express what happens when this bread meets your taste buds.

I am grateful for the maker, the baker, the people who cut these loaves in their fancy bread cutting machine so that I may place a piece in my mouth and create a parade. I like those people. A lot. Like, really a lot.

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