November 30, 2012
The other day I made a bread. A banana bread. Of whole wheat, olive oil and dark chocolate (85%).
The sugar, raw. The eggs, local. A siren of a cake. I mean, a bread. A loaf?
When it had finished baking I placed it on a towel to cool next to a bowl of clementines and a triage of honey and sugar.
That evening we both took a whisper of a slice with our espresso. The kind of espresso that most Americans call short, but in Italy would be considered rather long. A double, at minimum.
The next morning we both took another slice, a hunk. Not a whisper to be a heard. It had cured nicely. The raw sugar and dark chocolate seemed to find one another well. Leaving me feeling clever, once again.