A simple man's supper

   Ever have a day when, after running a jillion errands and realizing the to-do list just isn't getting smaller, you just want to go home? And just stay there.  Relaxation in your favorite chair is your refuge.  I was like that today.  Walking into the supermarket -- for the second time because I forgot the urgently needed toilet paper the first four times I walked into a store-- I spotted a store bakery worker with many batards in a baker's trolley near a display table.  She was bagging them as fast as she could to an advancing crowd of customers.
   In a heartbeat I was transported back to Korea.  If I was late returning home from my morning classes I would stop in at the bakery in my alley.  The baguettes would be coming out of the oven. Hot, yummy baguettes. Normally I would only get one of her narrow, 15-inch loaves as I am not a big bread eater.  But if they were hot, and she would make me wait a few seconds to be sure I got one just out of the oven, I bought two. I would then race home and eat one right away. As fast as I could tear a piece off and put a dab of butter on it.  Not just delicious but soul anchoring goodness. Feeding not just a body but a psyche. Like being warmed by your own personal ray of sunshine with a rainbow chaser.
   Back to Coles.  I race walked to the baker trolley. The batards- 11 inches long and maybe three inches wide-  are very hot. A buck a piece.  I'll take two! She gets them into a bag and I race to get the t.p. (was this really that urgent?) pay and race home. Broke speed limits and chased pokey women to the curb. I didn't unload the car, just the important stuff. Bread still hot. Grab some butter. Tear the bread. A thin shave  of butter on top...the whole thing melts in your mouth.
   I could have wept.
   A few more bites. Are my hands shaking? Then I remember I have triple-cream Brie from Tasmania (at a huge discount,of course). The bread has cooled to merely warm. The brie, spread only slightly thicker than the butter, works very well.  The heels of the batard never got cold or I might have slowed down enough to cut up an apple.  Mom says that bread, cheese and apple is a "simple man's supper"  although how simple can a person be if she is eating an oven-hot batard (or baguette) and triple-cream brie? But how can a person be so homesick and so at home at the same moment?
   The second loaf has now thoroughly cooled.        Kev can have it.