Since I have declared myself to be living a gluten-free life, I have craved (almost daily) a slice of sourdough toast. Oh to have the crunchy texture of the bread dripping with butter, smothered with a slice of white, cheddar cheese, and crowned with a cool, crisp arrangement of sliced bread-n-butter pickles on top… The thought of this particular concoction has been calling to me. And while I’m sure there are sourdough recipes out there for the glutenless, I cannot fathom that the texture resembles the San Francisco style treat to which my memory calls. Even to have an elongated slice from an SF round, with only butter, is a treat in and of itself; add in honey from a local hive and Utopia is found–(not that I’m so interested in such a place, but the commonality of the phrase is a useful idiom within the context here).
Sourdough bread is such a favorite of mine that when I was in need of a new toaster, I took careful pains to ensure I only purchased a unit whose slice holders were long enough to support my particular love affair–the long slender slice of a crunchy on the outside yet soft on the inside–loaf. Thankfully Cuisinart provided the match to my specifications.
Why talk sourdough? Truly it is not the bread I am interested in discussing in this moment. It is the longing. The longing for something I have decided is off limits. Now under normal circumstances, or let’s just say within groups where topics of discussion are probable, my desire for buttered toast and my self denial of it would incite the scoffer to aim his or her malice my way. Understandably. It is not as if I suffer a physical or psychological addiction to the favored munchie. No, I am getting along just fine without it, though I smell and touch the loaves as I pass by them in the aisle of the supermarket. I even pause to contemplate purchasing the two large, sliced loaves sold in Costco…but I keep walking, leaving them for another customer to consume. But honestly I have to say, that having the desire for something that is ‘forbidden’ for whatever the reason, just plain stinks. To make matters worse, tonight for dinner I made an old recipe from Bisquick called, “Chicken and Broccoli Impossible Pie”. It is a favorite dish of my son and husband. But tonight instead of using the, ever faithful, I substituted the flour mixture with a new, gluten-free, product. And guess what? My impossible pie was certainly that…impossible to eat! It was awful. And to make matters worse, or add insult to an already bad scenario, my potholder slipped and I burned my hand on the 400 degree, cast iron, pan.
So here I sit longing for something else, something like a real piece of sourdough toast…with butter. But instead I am writing this meaningless fluff while applying and reapplying aloe vera plant to my wound. Aaaahhh, the longing!