Saying Grace: An introduction

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Tod Kelly

Tod is a writer from the Pacific Northwest. He is also serves as Executive Producer and host of both the 7 Deadly Sins Show at Portland's historic Mission Theatre and 7DS: Pants On Fire! at the White Eagle Hotel & Saloon. He is  a regular inactive for Marie Claire International and the Daily Beast, and is currently writing a book on the sudden rise of exorcisms in the United States. Follow him on Twitter.

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4 Responses

  1. Avatar Damon
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    says:

    I love bread. Sadly I can’t each as much as I would like. Damn carbs. It has a long history, although we might not recognize “bread” in the ancient world compared to what we make now. My family didn’t make bread when I was growing up, but we did make chili-usually out of venison.

    But I grew up in a place and time, Pacific Northwest, in a small town, where, pretty much, if you didn’t make it, you weren’t getting it at a restaurant. Yes, we had restaurants, but we went out for King Crab Claws. Hell, can you even get those anymore?

    Anyway, I think that my upbringing: rural, mom making home made food, and being a damn good cook to boot, the local resources-fruit, wild game, etc. contributed to my views, respect, and appreciation for food-and my skills in the kitchen.

    “food is a doorway to the most pleasurable and carnal of our sensual pleasures”. If you ever saw the scene in the movie “Chef” with Scarlet Johanssen (sp) where the chef fixes her a meal and she watches anticipating it, you know what it’s like for me to cook for a woman I’m interested in. That scene had more “sex” than hard core porn. 🙂Report

    • Avatar Burt Likko in reply to Damon
      Ignored
      says:

      I, too, found at an early age that preparing and serving good food was a powerful way to advance my romantic interest with an oft-delighted date. I’ve never stopped: each meal I make for my wife is a bid to express deeper appreciation for her.Report

  2. Avatar Citizen
    Ignored
    says:

    As a young man my family produced tons of wheat. Sow in the cold, harvest in the heat, and in that toil rye would sprout natural year after year. Always at the field edges, toying with the psyche, nearly taunting as the final plow blade passed.

    Those years are a distant memory now, and as hard as I may search there is no rye in the area I have settled. Can only imagine the laughter of ancestors as I received the seed through the mail.

    So the thin green leaves will flow from the ground in the depths of winter to see the stalks form in spring. By June the barbed tops of an old friend will be waving in the winds of summer. Not taunting anymore, but welcoming a kindred spirit to a few morsels of bread that few appreciate.Report

  3. Avatar dragonfrog
    Ignored
    says:

    I used to make bread pretty often, until Fledermaus discovered she’s allergic to wheat. Now I just buy it – we go through way less, and handling a bunch of flour in the house might be irritating (dermally as well as emotionally) to her.

    My parents always did, and still do, make bread weekly. It was mostly my mom when I was growing up, and has gradually shifted to being mostly my dad who makes bread now. I learned from my mom, though I never got as good at it as either of them are – my bread was alright, but theirs was and is consistently great. There’s a photo of me at maybe five years old, standing on a chair in the kitchen kneading the dough. I suspect I was more “helping” than helping with the chore at that point.Report

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