Things are going well. Mostly. But I feel very deprived of bread. There is no bread at all in my meal plans. Everything else is pretty taken care of: proteins, vegetables, milk; I do not find that sweets are my greatest temptation anyway (in the absence of Mom's baking). But bread! I find myself dreaming not just of bread, but specifically my memories of bread and sandwich bliss through time.
Specifically, a slice of my Mom's sourdough, toasted, and dripping with butter. I don't know that my Mom makes sourdough the way she used to anymore. She used to make these really super-sour round loaves, with wonderful chewy crusts. This bread prepared in this way was one of my first moments of gustatory bliss.
Also, a slice of my Mom's dark rye bread, spread with cream cheese, and topped with cucumber. A humble and quite perfect trio that I could eat for hours.
I reminisce too about BLT's, which I was always a little skeptical of (it was the 'tomato' part, I think) until I tried it late in high school.
In college I spent a summer in St. Louis, where I tried another sandwich with no small dose of skepticism: the St. Paul Sandwich, Wonder bread, mayo, tomato, lettuce, and an egg foo yung patty. Someday, when I'm allowed to try, and not scared of cooking eggs anymore, I will make myself St. Paul sandwiches.
My first year in medical school I was delighted to see at all the local delis the fabled bagel and lox, and I gave it a go. I had to trim down the lox a bit, but I understood entirely why it was a classic. And now (I confess!) I'll get it in the airport on long layovers.
And lastly, so recently: just last fall I invented a sandwich for myself that I probably ate 20 pounds of (although, in retrospect, the poor thing needs some crunch): nutella and lemon curd (or marmalade).
Ah, bread! Bread.