Monday, September 27, 2021
Here's a recent memory from just the other day when I was dipping the heel of my Italian bread in the red sauce we call gravy. It summoned memories of the days when I stood by my grandmother’s side as she was making ‘her’ gravy for the Sunday pasta. On tiptoes and shifting my weight, I looked up at her when she said, “Itsa OK now to dunka you bread.” And that I did, with anticipation, and haste.
I swiped my Italian corner through the gravy, watched the steam swirl, blew on it, and finally bit in. Warm and tasty, it softened even more before I swallowed. I would later enjoy that same wholesome taste over pasta at our Sunday dinner table. In later years, I remember dipping a corner of Italian bread into hot coffee. I love bread.
It wasn’t just Italian bread in my life. I also grew up on white bread, as in Wonder Bread, the one that “helped build strong bodies in eight ways.” That’s what Mom gave me for lunch; baloney jammed between two slices and loaded with French’s mustard. She was in a hurry, heading to work.
GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLASTBread and butter was a great after-school snack. And morning toast with butter and jam often supplanted the snap, crackle, and pop of those Rice Crispie guys. No wonder (hmmm) the phrase “It’s the greatest thing since sliced bread,” is a way to show enthusiasm and appreciation for something or someone.
One year, I purchased a bread-making machine. Initially, it was worth the effort. The smell of browning loaves permeated our home with a unique bakery fragrance that made you want to eat, a lot. It didn’t take long to get over the novelty. There were just too many good breads made by local artisans. So, the bread machine went the way of the egg incubator (quails), the ant farm, the rock tumbler, and the grow lights.
Bakers now make several varieties of shapes and tastes. In the grocery store alone, I can find Italian, French, Irish (love soda bread) sourdough, rye, wheat, cinnamon raisin, gluten free (necessary, eh?) and multigrain loaves. Wonder Bread is still around.
But it is the simple Italian loaf that summons me. We once bought a huge round, huggable loaf on a chilly day in Rome. Diane held it close as we walked along with friends; breaking off tempting pieces while enjoying history. But nothing was as alluring as the bread in the lovely, southern town of Altamura, Italy.
There, the loaves, weighing about half a kilo, have a crisp dark crust. Aromas of hazelnut, coffee and vanilla arise from its warmth. Doughy when chewed, a slice of toasted bread seasoned with sea salt, Apulian oil and a hint of rubbed garlic is a step away from bread heaven.
In 37 B.C. the Roman lyric poet, Horace, called Altamura bread the best in the world.
No matter the era, bread is that satisfying something that should be an integral part of every day. It is mine.
Dr. Ed Iannuccilli is the author of three popular memoirs, “Growing up Italian; Grandfather’s Fig Tree and Other Stories”, “What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner” and “My Story Continues: From Neighborhood to Junior High.” Learn more HERE.
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