Old Bread

Old bread is not hard - no bread is hard ! Such goes the proverb often quoted to me by my dad when I was just a snotty boy reaching for the fresh bread, blithely ignoring the old crusty loaf. My Dad, who rose early every day, used to eat the old crusts and dunk them in a big bowl of morning coffee before he set off for work. I’m somewhat resigned to say I fell into the same mould and it is me now that eats the old crusty end pieces in our house. Klare doesn’t eat a lot of bread and I can only grind up so much for bread crumbs . I don’t really mind, I kind of like any and all bread usually smeared with butter and dunked in coffee. I often get disapproving sideway glances for this ‘old world’ practice, not from Klare anymore since she is used to my tics and tacs but from people that don’t understand a grown man dipping his bread in his cappuccino and leading it dripping to his gaping mouth. Bread is not the only left over that I seem to be taking care off. The same goes for toothpaste and soap. I’m always the one who squeezes the last glob of toothpaste out of the crimped and rolled tube while Klare has no trouble getting her new tube to dispense even and fresh portions of perfect toothpaste and she lathers herself with a new and hefty bar of soap while I try not the drop the left over sliver of soap or loose it in my wash cloth. For me it’s true satisfaction when the last dab of soap emulsifies and miraculously disappears in the suds. “Well done,” I gloat to myself. I’ve caught myself in the bathroom mirror brushing my teeth with the last dab of toothpaste extracted from the crumpled tube rescued from the garbage. I’m also the geeky guy who folds and reuses pieces of tin foil; who recycles plastic bags and who uses every last drop of gas in the car before filling up. That drives Klare crazy and I will concede that point. Yes, it’s stupid to run out of gas on the bridge or in the tunnel but you never know, the price could go down by tomorrow. It never does and I have to accept that fact. Now that Klare left for work I can finally enjoy my hearty breakfast: fresh coffee, old bread and stinky cheese. Another habit that isolates me and banished me from the communal breakfast table. I told Klare that the cheese tastes a lot better then it smells. “Just hold your nose and you’ll agree with me.” “Why would I want to hold my nose when eating. It would be like drinking wine without swallowing. Just wash down the cheese while holding your nose. You’re a real gourmet pet. The art of fine dining, directly from the cave."

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