No Longer Food Friday: Moldy Bread.
Look, I know that it is called Food Friday, and that we are expected to write posts that have some delicious aspect to them; but I’m going to go in a slightly different direction this week.
A while ago, I bought some individual bread loaves (because they are cheap and tasty). The only problem is that they tend to go bad before I can eat them all. So, like, maybe, they aren’t that good of a deal.
Anyway, when this bag went bad I decided to take pictures before giving it the old toss. Warning: some species of mold can cause infections and/or respiratory problems; if you handle moldy food wear gloves and a dusk mask. Ok, now with that out of the way, enjoy the fate of my poor bread.
So, next time you find yourself about to discard something “gross”, take a little time and really look at it. You may be surprised at all the wonderful things you never noticed.
Thank you! I think that a lot of things we ignore/discard without a second thought deserve at least a moment of reflection. You can learn a lot if you look a little closer.
One of my favorite quotes (actually a passage from one of my favorite books) has to do with looking at the little overlooked things, and the coming of Spring:
“During this the longest winter, of this the biggest war, in
this the month of the big tax, it is salutary to think upon
Draba, the smallest flower that blows. Within a few weeks now
Draba, oblivious of all bigness, will sprinkle every sandy place
with small blooms.
He who hopes for spring with upturned eye never sees so
small a thing as Draba. He who despairs of spring with downcast
eye steps on it, unknowing. He who searches for spring with
his knees in the mud finds It, in adundance.
Draba asks, and gets, but scant allowance of warmth and
comfort. It grows only on the poorest sands, and only in earliest
spring. In botany books it claims only two or three lines, for
space belongs to bigger better blooms.
Draba plucks no heartstrings. Its perfume, if there is
any, is lost in the gusty winds. Its color is plain white.
Its leaves wear a sensible woolly coat. Nothing eats it; It is
too small. No poets sing of it. Some botanist once gave it a
Latin name, and then forgot it. Altogether it is of no importance,
– Just a small creature that does a small Job quickly and well.”
– Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac