A few days ago I chose a Bauernbrot loaf of bread from the bakery. Once the bread was purchased and placed into a bag and handed to me, I immediately began to regret the purchase. I have never carried such a heavy loaf of bread home before.
But being that time travel machines don't actually exist (or - at least not that I know of), and therefore, going back in time and choosing a different loaf of bread was out of the question, I figured I would give this extremely dense bread a chance.
I plunked the loaf on a tray and placed it in a hot oven. I gathered the butter dish and knives, a clementine, and made my coffee while the bread got nice and hot in the oven.
Once that brot was warm, I sliced it into a hunk so big and chunky that it can only rightfully be called a slab. I smeared it generously with some butter and sprinkled a bit of salt. Then I gathered my coffee and clementine, and slab of bread and headed a table to eat.
On the face of it, it sounds like a boring breakfast - perhaps veering into the austere side - and at best, unassuming.
But boring it was not. In fact, it could even be considered transcendent. That bread, that inelegant and heavy Bauernbrot, was actually so full of delicious sourdough flavor that I could feel my face pucker. That sour flavor played so very very well with the sweet creamy butter and sprinkle of sea salt. The clementine was one of those perfect ones - plump and juicy, with the right balance of sweet and sour. The sweetness of that clementine was a beautiful antidote to the bitterness of the coffee and the sour of the bread. All these flavor notes coming together in a joyous symphony of taste. How could such a simple breakfast be so beautiful?
Somehow, I was able to experience a serendipitous coming together of the right food at the right time. Perhaps, one day, I will even be able to recreate it.