The bread was beautiful, expertly crafted by artisan baker. A gruff man with the beard and crows eye. The kind of dark eye that dares you to ask a stupid question about his creations.
“Do you have croissants?”
“No I’m out.” I could almost hear his mind go, “Duh, do you see any here?
I’m not a bread sort of girl. Gluten intolerant, and the high processing of it these days didn’t appeal to me. Especially since I started my simple food plan.
Simple, non processed food from farmers markets. Clean eating.
But this bread was different. I could tell it was well made, cared for. From good soil made by a good hearted person, even if he did have crow eyes.
The country French please. He handed the loaf to me, I placed it in my canvas tote, handed him my card.
“We don’t take cards.”
“Oh…I’ll go get some cash.” He looked at me and said, “No, no…”. Looked me square in the face with his dark eyes. “No…you take it. Pay me next week. I trust ya. Come back next week.” His grumpy disposition crumbled into a smile.
That’s how it is in my small town. People trust each other, I can walk one block to a farmers market and get fresh food while my daughter plays in the yard with the neighbor children under the watchful eye of 6 different families.
I returned home, my daughter caught dinner with her friend. I took out my fresh bread cut it it up, spread butter and honey on it, and utterly entranced by the simple taste of really good food. Food you can’t get from a shelf. Food that wasn’t wrapped in plastic. Honey and fresh soft bread.
Some lettuce, some blue berries. Blue and green. And sweetness honest to goodness sweetness.