Truly good white bread satisfies, I think, like no other loaf, really like no other food at all. It is the one thing we eat that has been wholly shaped to comfort human hunger. Bringing it to the table, wrapped in a linen napkin, is not unlike holding a small baby—the same hand-filling size, glowing warmth, yielding firmness, and salt-and-sour scent. Here, however, the relationship is exactly inverted: it is the infant who is entirely nurturing—and entirely eaten up.
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