Loved reading this gorgeous peek into the Berkshires that I miss so much. Now I'm craving fresh bread and sambar from the Haymarket, and a hot chai to wash it down.
That was going ok until I got to the section about the bread-buying woman in line ahead of the author. All those assumptions and editorial comments about what was happening. Sheesh. Maybe the woman saves for months to be able to come buy one of everything. Maybe the woman lives far away and is buying for her entire neighborhood. Maybe the woman has eight foster children and they eat that much bread over the week. Who knows? All I know is that the author somehow managed to steal all the joy from the entire affair and then on top of that claimed both resentment and pity over somebody buying bread at a bakery. That was overwrought, self-righteous, and awful. No thanks.
A lovely prose poem to freshly baked bread. I can smell and taste it.
Loved reading this gorgeous peek into the Berkshires that I miss so much. Now I'm craving fresh bread and sambar from the Haymarket, and a hot chai to wash it down.
That was going ok until I got to the section about the bread-buying woman in line ahead of the author. All those assumptions and editorial comments about what was happening. Sheesh. Maybe the woman saves for months to be able to come buy one of everything. Maybe the woman lives far away and is buying for her entire neighborhood. Maybe the woman has eight foster children and they eat that much bread over the week. Who knows? All I know is that the author somehow managed to steal all the joy from the entire affair and then on top of that claimed both resentment and pity over somebody buying bread at a bakery. That was overwrought, self-righteous, and awful. No thanks.
“as easy going as incense” ❤️