One idiom that I’ve always found, well, odd, is this: “That’s the greatest thing since sliced bread!”
To me, going back to unsliced bread after years of Wonder Bread was a revelation. It has taste! It doesn’t dissolve in water! It is something on which I could actually subsist. Well, with a little water thrown in.
Sliced bread? Mostly I think of that white spongy crap, although nowadays the mega-bakeries are trying to actually make bread that tastes good. But there is a ways to go.
Me, I don’t bake bread; my husband did back in the day when we had time and smaller waistlines. Me, I bake other stuff. My carrot cake recipe is to die for (with so much butter that is literally true) but I don’t make it very often because, well, when we celebrate birthdays we would prefer not to expire before the next.
But I do like to cook, and mostly it is from scratch when I have the time and energy. And while those are often in short supply those days, well, I do enjoy whipping up a meal without opening a box, without opening a can, and without pulling something pre-made out of the freezer.
Someday when I retire, I expect to do more cooking, more experimenting with world cuisines, the way I used to when I was home with my son when he was a child. We had a blast, made messes and cleaned them up. Discovered delicious and not so delicious dishes.
But sometimes a girl must draw the line. And I found the exact location for that line today in the Williams-Sonoma catalog. Because today Williams-Sonoma has gone too far. Or it wants me to go too far. Or maybe they just think that I have unlimited counter-space.
Today, they not only want me to make absolutely everything from scratch, but they want me to grind my own grain with which to make it. And there are different types of grain grinders to choose from!
Or for the ones who want full convenience while grinding their own grain, there is this one:
Why not choose them all!
But you know, still I wonder.
My ancestors were farmers, and even they didn’t grind their own grain. They took the grain they grew to a mill where it was ground for them by the miller. That was considered progress from the days where my ancestors’ ancestors had to pulverize the grain on rocks, scrape it up and figure out how to get it into the crock pot.
I’m just worried that the next step in being the perfect chef will force me back in time even further.
I fear I will have to revert into a hunter-gatherer. Otherwise I will not be able to keep up with the neighbors. Sigh.
Good thing there is a magazine that’ll help me get there.