Bread
12/24/2008
If only this were a sweet juicy fish, she thought and passed the bread to her sister.
If only this were a steaming piece of pumpkin pie, thought her sister and passed the loaf to her other sister.
If only this were the wateriest most delectable piece of watermelon, thought the third sister and passed it to the youngest sister.
I like bread, thought the youngest sister, and ate her fill. The bread was freshly made that morning by their maid, Anna. Anna had been their maid since before they were born, and had always baked them bread that was just soft enough, just sweet enough, and very filling. Over the years, the girls' family had entreated her to make new dishes, but after burnt pot roast, lumpy raw mashed potatoes (Unmashed potatoes, one of the sisters had said despondently.), a pheasant that seemed altogether too corpse-like to be edible, and something that tasted strange and came only a day after the death of the family dog Padro (He was a good dog, said the second youngest sister, but not a good dish.), they gave up entirely, and either cooked for themselves, or just ate bread.
Of course, after decades of Anna's lone dish, the sisters yearned desperately for other food, and often hardly pecked at the latest loaf. They pined and whined, and bartered at every opportunity with the men who came by with carts laden with gastronomic delights. But the youngest sister, though she would barter and cook alongside her sisters, would always eat Anna's bread. Because of this, she grew stronger than her sisters (though never portly), and also had more money as she was not in the habit of trying every new food that came past their house.
If only this were a sweet juicy fish, she thought and passed the bread to her sister.
If only this were a steaming piece of pumpkin pie, thought her sister and passed the loaf to her other sister.
If only this were the wateriest most delectable piece of watermelon, thought the third sister and passed it to the youngest sister.
I like bread, thought the youngest sister, and ate her fill. The bread was freshly made that morning by their maid, Anna. Anna had been their maid since before they were born, and had always baked them bread that was just soft enough, just sweet enough, and very filling. Over the years, the girls' family had entreated her to make new dishes, but after burnt pot roast, lumpy raw mashed potatoes (Unmashed potatoes, one of the sisters had said despondently.), a pheasant that seemed altogether too corpse-like to be edible, and something that tasted strange and came only a day after the death of the family dog Padro (He was a good dog, said the second youngest sister, but not a good dish.), they gave up entirely, and either cooked for themselves, or just ate bread.
Of course, after decades of Anna's lone dish, the sisters yearned desperately for other food, and often hardly pecked at the latest loaf. They pined and whined, and bartered at every opportunity with the men who came by with carts laden with gastronomic delights. But the youngest sister, though she would barter and cook alongside her sisters, would always eat Anna's bread. Because of this, she grew stronger than her sisters (though never portly), and also had more money as she was not in the habit of trying every new food that came past their house.
posted by Rosie Cotton | 9:10 PM
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