I never thought Kerry Altiero was a mean person. A fabulous cook, yes. But mean? No.
He could not know about my (also mean) doctor’s pronouncement last week. Could he? No bread. No pasta. That blood sugar has been too high for too long and he was threatening that bad word. Insulin.
Why doesn’t he just finish me off? No bread and pasta? Why don’t I live in a world where the diet was ONLY bread and pasta? I would be a happy man.
When in doubt, I always opt for Altiero’s Cafe Miranda Restaurant in Rockland, especially when Blue Eyes is buying. Many (most) of the insane menu items are much too spicy for my delicate Irish tastes. I usually settle for an order of roasted vegetables with a dollop of ricotta. It may sound mundane, but it is delicious.
When I opened the to-go bag Saturday night I could smell those fabulous veggies. But what was in that bag behind the order?
Bread. Cafe Miranda bread. Cafe Miranda wood-oven-baked focaccia bread. A reason to live.
I think it was Oscar Wilde who said, “the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” I did. But only one piece instead of the whole bag. It sufficed, but only for the moment. Did Kerry add the bread just to torture me?
I am in bread hell. It is everywhere. I have two frozen loaves in my fridge, a donation from John and Linda Yanowicz, famed Connecticut bakers. I have never found better bread anywhere. What am I supposed to do, throw those frozen loaves away? Give them to the crows?
If I drive downtown to the post office, I have to go by the Camden Bagel Cafe. I can smell the bakery even with the windows closed. All right, they are not New York bagels, but they are the best in the area. They sell veggie cream cheese to melt on their onion bagels. (I am drooling).
If I drive to Rockland on Route 1, I have to drive past the Market Basket, which has fabulous bread, piled right by the cash register. Whole wheat? Sliced? No problem.
It’s hard to avoid downtown Rockland in my shabby, sheltered little life. I find it hard, practically impossible to drive by the Atlantic Baking Co. without buying a loaf of sourdough or country wheat bread. I buy so much bread that I have a card which will give me a free loaf out of every 10. I have brought home many free loaves.
I am in bread hell. If there was a tabulation, I believe that I have eaten more English muffins than any person alive. I once gave a St. Patrick’s Day party when everyone planned to come dressed as English muffins. There were a couple of murders that canceled that party, but that is another story.
Now when I visit the neighborhood grocery store, Thomas English Muffins are on sale, two for one. I have a hoarder’s delight of Irish butter intended for a freshly toasted muffin. Now what am I going to put it on?
You can’t have coffee for breakfast without toast. You can’t have an omelet without toast. You can’t have a sandwich without bread, as far as I can tell.
What do I eat for my customary 10 p.m. nosh? Fruit?
Do I eat hot dogs without a roll? A hamburger without a bun? A bowl of tuna fish with no soggy white bread? Un-American! How long do I want to live, anyway? It might be time for a second opinion.
I am in bread hell.
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the BDN in Rockland for 30 years.