Sometimes the simplest things are the best.
Last night's dinner was thin slices of a rustic multigrain bread smeared with sweet fresh butter from the farmers' market and sprinkled with sea salt I brought back from Paris last spring.
Slice, spread, sprinkle, fold, eat. Repeat.
I pretty much stuffed myself on it, but I always only made up one slice at a time. The chewiness of the bread, the sweet creamy butter and the liveliness of the salt on my tongue all came together in a way my body seemed to crave. Afterwards, I thought some of the young red onions or green garlic or fresh herbs I also bought at the market would have gone nicely, but at the time bread, butter and salt were all I needed.
It was a soul satisfying experience and probably a cholesterol raising one, so luckily eating a whole meal of bread and butter isn't something I crave often.
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