In our cabin in Big Sur, there was a fireplace, and no toaster, so we began to hack hunks of sourdough and toast them in the fireplace, to then lather hot with butter. Mine and Arran’s techniques I found hilarious, as they said so much about us as people. Arran would take a piece of bread, stab it onto the poker and hold it steadily at a height above the flames the entire time until brown and hot. I, on the other hand, would use the cumbersome but far more satisfying tongs. I would clasp a piece of bread in between the tongs and dance the bread in a figure of 8 above the flames continuously until I deemed the bread perfect to eat. We had a lot of conversation around technique. And what made for better toast.
At the end of the day, there was not much difference in flavour and texture. And there is no better or worse way to toast a bloody piece of bread in a fire. But I was reminded of our ego’s, our insistence that ‘our way of toasting’ is supreme. When it doesn’t matter what so ever. At the end of the day, the bread becomes toast. The whole exercise was harmless but I was reminded just through boredom and solitude in a cabin, that reinforcing that our way of doing anything is the ‘better’ way was a fine way to have this nonsense leak out to other areas of our life. Best stem that flow immediately.
Where in our lives are we insisting that our way is the way, that ‘bread becomes toast’ just one way?
Sent with love,
Jac x