Ah, the beauty of a spring day. Windows and doors open, gentle breezes floating though the house, fire detectors going off in alarming blasts…oh wait, did I mention the fire in the oven? It wasn’t really a big fire, but it gave off enough smoke that the detectors thought they should attract the attention of everyone in our neighborhood and having the doors and windows open was such a help. The wailing of the siren was bad enough, but the phone rang with the eager voice of our home protection company on the other end. “Do you need a firetruck?”
“No,” said I. “The bruchetta is burning.” The dog was howling, my husband was trying to get the alarm to quit being so alarming and I had forgotten our password and was scrambling to find it so that I could get rid of the security lady and get the charred bread out to the garage. She was kind and I heard her saying something about a “good day” as I hurridly ditched the phone and grabbed the cookie sheet with the bread on it. Did I mention that I grabbed it without a potholder? Is it butter or cold water you’re supposed to apply to burns? I can never remember.
The bread resembled those little briquets we used to buy before we got a gas grill. Very very black, and very very hard. And then it dawned on me that I may have found a breadcrumb story with no redeeming value. I’m pretty sure that even the birds would turn up their little beaks at the thought of munching on the crumbs of my bread offering. So, I’ll leave you with a life lesson. No one will want your breadcrumbs if you don’t pay attention to what you’re doing when you make them. Oh, and don’t blame anyone else if you grab a hot cookie sheet and burn your fingers.