hoffing and puffing

I lived in Wales from January 10 to May 24, 2006. I was the resident director for eight study abroad students at the University of Wales, Swansea. In addition, I taught a class, “America’s Core Political Ideas: Views from the Margins,” for the Department of American Studies. My class consisted of 21 British students and 10 American students. My wife and I lived in the Mumbles on a hill overlooking the Village Inn (our favorite pub) and the Swansea Bay (our inspiring view). Life was simple and good. These writings, ultimately, are conversations with myself. I apologize for such unrestrained self-indulgence. At the same time, they are conversations about realities of everyday life we share with each other. I offer no apologies for that. I will post a new entry from this thirty item series about every two weeks.

5. Welsh Bread

Welsh bread: I don’t like it! I feel bad that I don’t, but I really don’t. This makes me struggle with my responsibilities as a grateful and gracious guest. Shouldn’t I learn to like it, or give it more time to like me? Even guilt doesn’t lessen my reaction. Worst of all, the nicest people we’ve met in Mumbles are Diana and Al, owners of the local bakery. They’re delightful and warmly greet me even as I walk past their shop, but their bread is still not good. Even friendliness doesn’t discipline my taste buds.

Welsh bread is seductive in the manner of attractions and desires you need to resist. It looks good, even wholesome, but beware. In Davies’, Diana and Al’s shop, it comes in a great variety of types. But after five tries I haven’t been able to fine any essential differences among them. They taste the same – not good. In terms of taste and texture, Welsh bread is a bad complement to an egg and consistently fails the “coffee test.” I know these claims sound like exaggerations, but they have a clear basis in repeated taste tests. Welsh eggs (they’re great) always taste better without Welsh bread than with it. And you can’t dunk Welsh bread in your coffee. Toasted or not, it collapses. It’s like eating a black hole – it’s there but you can’t tell it’s there.

The really bad thing about Welsh bread is that all bread made in Wales becomes Welsh bread. That’s when you really feel trapped. Maureen has made two of our favorite breads from home – honey wheat and onion, dill rye. There were faint echoes of the tastes embedded in my bank of fond memories, but mostly they seemed to taste Welsh. Even they have egg and coffee issues here although they were perfect companions at home. What’s going on here?

Bread’s a funny thing. Almost every human culture regards it as the staff of life. It has such a compelling role that the Christian Bible uses it to describe the gospel itself, the “bread of life.” It’s made from similar ingredients, simple ingredients – no truffles or Sichuan peppercorns needed – mostly just flour, oil or butter, milk or water, and salt, unless you try to get fancy. Given such a common base, why do the results vary so much? Why is there Welsh bread at all and not just good bread?

Is this another perspective problem? Are all things universal also particular? Do things we have in common separate us as well as bring us together? Whatever happened to the good guys versus “axis of evil” model? That was much easier to understand and seemed to make sense. This bread problem is enough to make you think.

This bread problem also is enough to make me remember. It’s all coming back to me now with great clarity. I was raised on Welsh bread and until now never realized it. You know, Sunbeam bread, the standard American marshmallow bread. I love my Grandma Barndt for many reasons (mostly because she gave her love so freely and with such joy), but until now I never realized that long ago, when I was a child, she was the one who rescued me from Welsh bread.

Note: After I wrote this I discovered “multi-grain” bread at the Davies’ bakery. I found it to be acceptable.

February 2006