The Bread I Let Go Of

My relationship with bread was an unusual one.

I loved baking bread. For many years, I treated it as a ritual - something done for the health of my family. I felt almost like a priestess of the domestic hearth, performing something both mystical and deeply meaningful.

I chose my flour carefully - organic, spelt, or rye. I prepared the starter on Thursday evenings. Baking began on Fridays, around six o’clock.

I cannot describe the aromas that filled the house.They were… intoxicating.

And that most beautiful sound - biting into the heel of the loaf. Warm, crisp crust with butter slowly melting into it.

When we decided to change the way we ate, I assumed bread would be the hardest part. I expected that parting from it would be difficult, even painful.

But it wasn’t.

Not for any of us.

We let go of bread without regret.

Surprising? Not really. Bread had only ever been essential at breakfast. We are a sandwich family. It was the morning that demanded its familiar form – something crisp, simple, easy to hold in the hand.

So bread was replaced by waffles.

Just as crisp. Just as suitable as a carrier.

Cheese waffles. Nut waffles. Bacon waffles.

And, importantly, they are quick to make.

That painless farewell made me feel that this change might actually work.

Sometimes our habits, woven into everyday life, and the thoughts we attach to them hold us more tightly than the true needs of our bodies.