Breaking Up With Bread
by Christy Sillman
It’s not you, it’s totally me. I hate to do this and it’s breaking my heart, but I need space. I’m going to miss you more than you can even imagine, and I’m still not sure if this is the right thing to do, but I have to give it a try.
I have to see if I can be a better version of myself without you.
It’s been a little over a week since I cut you out of my life, but it feels like an eternity. I never knew how much you were a part of my life, until I couldn’t have you.
I don’t know if you knew this, but I have a reputation for being a bread-o-holic. My family makes extra rolls at holiday dinners — just for me. When I was dangerously low-weight as a child, I relied on croissants to build my strength. Throughout all the turmoils I’ve encountered, I’ve always turned to you. Forget tubs of ice cream – I emotionally binged with a fist full of hot buttered bread.
Once — maybe twice — a year, I get to indulge in the Mecca of bread heaven. The one bread product that makes Christmas, well, Christmas in my eyes. I’m talking about my Godmother’s rolls.
These are not ordinary rolls. These are ROLLS. Made from scratch, raised twice, and when served piping hot, these rolls will give you whole body goosebumps of joy.
My Godmother was an amazing woman. She would bake dozens of rolls every day and give out baskets of her famous rolls as Christmas presents. She was my childcare when my mom worked, and the smell of her house while she was baking overwhelmed all my senses. I dare say her house was the birth of my bread-o-holism. She was my bread pusher, my enabler, and probably the best cook I know. My Mom comes in second, only because she learned from the best.
When we moved away to northern California, I remember crying that we wouldn’t be able to get “the rolls” but my Godmother shared her recipe with my mom, and although they will never be the same as when they were made by her hands, our rolls come mighty close to the real deal.
My Godmother tragically passed away too soon, sending Scripps Ranch in San Diego into a post-roll withdrawal I’m sure we’ll never recover from. I miss her a lot — and not because of her rolls.
I know it’s May, and I’m not saying this is the end, but if it is, how the hell am I supposed to have Christmas without you???
So, why in the world would I break up with you, my dearest bread? A friend talked me into it. I know, I know — if my friend jumped off a bridge blah, blah, blah. After reading many articles about gluten intolerance, I realized my friend may be right, and the toxicity of our relationship hit me like a ton of bricks.
To be blunt — I feel like shit. After years of undiagnosed abdominal pain, diarrhea and general malaise, I’m experimenting with finding a cure. It would be a whole lot easier to leave you if I knew there was a definitive problem, but I was negative for Celiac disease. So I just have to follow my gut and try this trial separation.
One month. That’s all I’m asking. I know we secretly met yesterday during lunch, and I didn’t mean to confuse you — we just have so much history. It felt really good to be with you again. I’m so sorry. The month trial starts today.
After a month, we’ll try to share a few meals and see if we can’t rekindle our love affair and put all the nastiness behind us.
I know this is a lot to ask, and I am so appreciative of your understanding. I’m not too worried about you though — millions of other people love you like I do. Just know I’ll miss you, even if it is just for a month.