The Joy of Bread

My husband and I spent Saturday morning with my in-laws, helping them work out a few issues and running a few errands.  My mother-in-law is, sadly, falling deeper into her Alzheimer’s abyss.  She can’t seem to remember, from one moment to the next, where she’s going and why, although she does still know who everyone is and how we are all connected. 

We met them in their old apartment building’s parking lot.  Unfortunately, that really threw her.  “Did she still live here?” “ Where did she live now?”  These questions kept her going for well over a half an hour.  In retrospect, we should have met them someplace else.  The problem was, we were running errands in their old neighborhood.  As it was, my father-in-law parked on the opposite side from where we asked him to park.  This mild confusion caused us to sit and wait for 15 minutes looking for them, when they were already there!  Finally, we became concerned and called them only to find they were already parked close by, just out of sight.

Due to reading the book, “Still Alice”, I believe I could, at times, see my mother-in-law’s inner frustration at her own confusion.  It must be similar to the feeling we all get when something is “on the tip of our tongue” yet you just can’t seem to retrieve it.  Only in her case, two minutes later, she forgets that she’s even trying to access anything.  My father-in-law is at his wits end, and it is completely understandable.  It must be torture to watch someone you love drifting away right in front of you, with no way to throw a lifeline. 

The four of us ran errands, then my husband and I wanted to take my in-laws for lunch.  It was finally Saturday, the day bread; crusty, delicious, teeth-sinking, comforting bread, could re-enter my diet after 8 days of Passover.   A restaurant in the area, Tomatoes, sat tantalizingly in a strip shopping center, it was calling to me.  My husband and I have eaten there before and they have an amazing roast beef sandwich on crusty bread with caramelized onions and the most wonderful horseradish sauce you can imagine. My mouth was watering just thinking of the deliciousness to come!

A young woman, who had no idea how thrilled I was to have reached this point in the day, led us to our table.  I took a look at the menu basically to reinforce my previous decision concerning the roast beef lusciousness.  We ordered and chatted while waiting for lunch to arrive.  Over my father-in-law’s shoulder I could watch the Ottawa/New York playoff game, which was a very good thing. 

Amidst the sounds of fanfare, (in my head), the waiter arrived with our lunches precariously perched on his arms.  Without hesitation, perhaps sensing my urgency, he placed my plate in front of me, the roast beef sandwich sitting majestically on the plate.  If it had been socially acceptable in any form, I would have devoured it before he even began to place the other entrees on the table.

My father-in-law had ordered the same sandwich I did, but he is a “plain Jane” eater and refused to try either the au jus gravy or the horseradish sauce, removing them from his plate and placing them on the table in between us, as if their simple existence was abhorrent.  To me, the placement of the additional sauces was a joyful insurance…in case I spilled mine or for some other reason (gluttony) needed more!!

In an attempt to be somewhat calorie conscious, I carefully scooped the roll on both sides of the sandwich, then without any delicacy at all, poured the horseradish sauce into the cavity formed by my scooping on the top half.  I suppose that totally negated my calorie consciousness!  But that sauce, that amazing, wonderful sauce, is completely irresistible with its delicate balance of creaminess and its soft touch of horseradish heaven.

Replacing the cavity filled top of the roll, enabling the sauce to comingle with the caramelized onions and perfectly cooked roast beef, I took my knife and with the lady-like precision of an ice sculptor, I cut the sandwich into magnificent halves oozing with messy delightfulness.   Full fat, salty potato chips and two pickle slices finished the perfection of what I was about to devour.  With no further thought to calories or being “lady-like”, I took my first bite! 

The mixture of textures, taste, and relief at being free again to eat what I had been craving filled my senses.  Savoring each tantalizing bite, speaking little, I was lost in the moment; sheer, pure enjoyment encompassed my being.

Perhaps this is the meaning of Passover.  Only through the forced denial to eat bread could I fully appreciate and take complete delight in the joy of bread and the joy of the freedom to eat bread.  Life is full of opposites; hot opposed to cold, sickness opposed to health, light opposed to darkness. Perhaps the meaning of Passover, the freedom that it celebrates, can only truly be enjoyed at the joyful completion of the denial of that freedom in a simple, ordinary way.  Just as it is easier to appreciate the importance of memory and good health through spending the day with my mother-in-law as she is now.

Never underestimate the joy of bread…never underestimate the blessing of good health.