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.


  1. Your words leave me sitting with baited breath - I can just see the whisper and the strong coffee. It seems almost rude to intrude on such moments. Pure poetry and that banana bread, wow.


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