My dear sweet crisp bread,
How I long for you inside me. Your warm flakes floating to my lap as I gently tug you apart and reveal your soft, fluffy center. Your scent filling my nostrils with the sweet nectar of the bakers devotion; warming my face as your steam dances across my cheek in a passionate waltz. And then the butter. Soft, creamy, melting butter. Cascading upon your nooks and crannies – oozing with delight, melding with you so seamlessly in a whirlwind of savor. Tickling my palette with your coalescence of texture. This is no ordinary first course. This is heaven showing us a glimpse of the light through carbs. (Inspiration: Marshall’s monologue on the perfect burger in How I Met Your Mother 00:40)
I recently went on a mini vaca to LA and NO ONE eats bread there. I realize I’m writing a blog post about delicious carbohydrates, but what I encountered in LA left me so deeply offended I deemed it internet-worthy. No one in LA will touch the stuff. I’m talking boys, girls, that person on the corner on the unicycle you’re not exactly sure about – no one.
I ordered a croissant for breakfast one morning, and everyone stopped and stared at me like I went against the architecture of the dream in Inception – only Joseph Gordon Levitt didn’t kiss me. They all order their burgers wrapped in lettuce aka “Adam and Eve style.” Gross. Call me crazy but if I wanted a lettuce wrap, I’d be at the Cheesecake Factory.
I don’t even know how they do it. I caved on Passover before we got to drink the first glass of wine.
If you’re willing to go to such extremes for abs you deserve them.