BREAD AS OFFERING

February 24, 2023

I sat in the small office with the chef.  I told him “we can’t ask twelve dollars for one piece of naan.”  He stressed that it takes three days to make the naan and I nodded my head, “yes”.  I told him that of all people I understood, I bake bread, for a living not necessarily a livelihood.  I understood the hours, days, pre dawn, day break, all day time it took to mix, ferment, shape and bake bread.  The exhaustion, like water being sucked down the drain all the while spinning delirium on a mug of hot chocolate and the butt end of a burnt baguette scraped with cold butter.  I knew the repetition of shaping boule after boule of dough to line the sheets and wrap in plastic for the long slow fridge rest before the next day’s bake.  But still, I told him we can’t ask twelve dollars for one piece of naan.

The community had mentioned the hefty price for a piece of bread in the our small town.  They had mentioned treating their families to our eatery only to leave with rather empty stomachs and an eight hundred dollar hole in their pockets.  Not really what I had in mind when I signed up for the project.  Feeding the village was my intent, feeding it hardy, feeding it well.  I was aware that my bread was not the money maker.  That I could not ask much more than twelve dollars for my bread, a large batard, enough to feed a family for a week, never mind asking that for a piece of naan.  People are willing to pay nearly that much money every morning for a fancy foam art cappuccino that they swig down in seconds flat, but sustenance for a week from a loaf of good wholesome bread doesn’t warrant the same worth.  It’s mind boggling, truly.

So, I reiterated, “we can’t ask twelve dollars for a piece of naan.  Bread is our offering.  It is what brings people in our door.”

He didn’t agree.  He had a very valid point that the naan should cost that much if not more.  The labor alone is enough to set that piece of bread at maybe thirty dollars.  Add cost of supplies and the margin of making money becomes narrower and narrower to almost nothing.  But alas that is the conundrum.  You can’t make money off of bread.

My head swirled around the idea of bread as offering.  That is what bread is isn’t it?  That is what bread has always been.  Our society, our communities, our homes revolve around the ever cultural importance of food and at it’s core has always been that warm loaf of bread in the center of the table.  It is the first course offered as we sit to a table, it is the start, the side, the finish as we slop up the sauce from the plate.  It is torn, and buttered and passed around.  It is broken between family members, friends, acquaintances and strangers.  With bread we sit and commune.

The origin of the word companion derives from the Latin words “com” ( together, with) and “panis” ( bread ).  In old French “compaignon” is one who breaks bread with another.  The fundamental idea of time spent with another as a companion or friend is based on sharing bread with them.  We welcome people into our homes with loaves of bread, the smell alone elicits a welcoming, a homecoming, back to the hearth.

In some form or another bread is found all over the world.  The environment, ingredients, climate all contribute to the style of bread made.  So many variations on the theme but the theme remains the same and the fundamental practice of flour, water, yeast and salt mixed and kneaded into dough and baked on a warmed hearth remains one of our oldest and most important alchemic discoveries.  I am pretty positive we don’t go through a single day without a reference to bread….the bread winner, my bread and butter, making enough dough, the best thing since sliced bread, a bun in the oven, loafing around.  Wars have been fought over bread, bread lines as long as city blocks, bread and water in prisons, bread and wine in church, traditions of holiday breads and the simple everyday custom of making a piece of toast in the morning with a cup of coffee or sandwich for mid day lunch.  It is ever present.  It is our sustenance.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe that the bread I bake is worth fifty dollars a loaf at least!  It deserves it’s worth!  But I am also in awe of its humble place in our lives.  I am taken in by its reserve, it’s peace, it’s quiet and unrewarded beauty, its nature to give so much from so little.  Bread is the Mother Teresa of food.  And it’s bakers, a damn crazy type of people in it for the unrelentless romance of a loaf of bread fresh out of the oven.