The Shelf In My Fridge

“What type of bread do you want with your cheese?” I asked my aunt as I searched my tiny kitchen for breakfast items. “Oh, any thing you have will be fine sweetie.” She said.

While she sat at in the other room and began telling me stories of her life in Tucson, I suddenly realized I wasn’t listening. Instead my sole focus became the entire bottom shelf of my fridge. It was filled with bread. “Wow! What a revelation!” you are probably saying to yourself. But no, this was not just any bread. These breads represented the sites and smells of the world; India, Former Yugoslavia, Iran, Mexico, Greece and yes, the USA. But how did they get there? I’m just a seemingly average girl, from a small town in Washington State, with a safe job at the local library, the same friends I’ve had for the last 15 years and a dog named Mush. How did I come to have six different cultures in the shape of bread in my fridge?

Was the Pita (considered in Greece a pie or bread) on my shelf because of my longing to visit this most picturesque of countries and if I kept it as a reminder in my fridge long enough I would finally buy a plane ticket? Or was it there as a memento of that cute guy with the dark curly hair and olive skin I met at my first dance who swore he would call, but never did- instead he told my friend to let me know he had the mumps and couldn’t go out. Permanently?

And the Tortillas, (unleavened flat bread for those of you have just recently arrived on Earth)…They seem to have become the replacement for wonder bread. Most every American refrigerator that I know of has a package somewhere. Is it just me that thinks it’s easier and safer on the clothes to eat peanut butter and jelly rolled up tight, rather than oozing through the pores of the bread or out the sides? I think the 10 years I spent in Texas near the Mexican border, eating burritos in taquerias at 4 in the morning after being out at dance clubs all night might have something to do with my adoration. By the way, after years of heating them via microwave or with grease in a pan, my new favorite is holding them over a stove’s gas flame for about 10 seconds on each side. A Bunsen burner will also do the trick just fine.

Now the Kakooli (a sweet round bread) - that’s an easy one. I know why it’s there. I may not be able to spell it right or make it, but Majid’s sisters introduced it to me last week while they sat cross-legged on top of the kitchen counter pounding out the dough and folding it into little balls before covering it with yogurt and then baking it in the oven. They were making enough to feed seven families, so I ended up with a few. Who is Majid and what does he have to do with bread, you ask? He’s my Persian boyfriend who brings me to meals with his family every week where I get to eat things called Gorme-sabzi (spinach, meat and beans), Shirazi salad (finely chopped cucumbers, onions, tomatoes and parsley), and Fesenjoon (ground walnuts, pomegranate juice, beef and spices). However, I am a vegetarian so the sisters are not exactly sure what to do with me, and since I don’t speak Farsi and they don’t speak English, we just smile at each other and I sneak in a bean burrito before I come over.

The Potiča (Slovenian holiday cake) is actually an experiment. It has been sitting in my refrigerator for over 3 weeks now and I have been afraid to open it. My best friend Renee made it and sent it to me as a Christmas present, but when it arrived it was wrapped in tinfoil, weighed at least 5 pounds and resembled a deflated football. This is quite normal though, not the Potiča or its interesting shape, but the sending of experiments that we try out on each other, year after year. We started out baking the simple things like banana and short bread and eventually got bold and made hand-dipped chocolate truffles and home-made cheese. Anyway, back to the Potiča, I have decided to try it out with our other breakfast items this morning and see how it fares. As far as its shape, I think I’ll reform it into something recognizable once I heat it up. Presentation is everything! (Oh, and I do have a story about my senior trip to Yugoslavia, falling in love with Dubrvnik and my more recent excursion to Bosnia with a military general, but I’ll save that for my next short story.)

Naan- now that’s a harder one to trace back to its original journey into my grocery bag. I do remember my friend Tamiza when I was working at Peace Corps who held a party at her house after coming back from India and creating this huge feast while she told us stories and passed around pictures. Or was it my summer spent in DC, asking cab drivers from all over the world for good food recommendations and eating at every ethnic restaurant in town? Actually, now I remember. It was a friend who had heard I was going camping with a bunch of non-vegetarians who gave me some packets of Indian Food and Naan as an alternative to the standard beef jerky and hotdogs that the rest of the crew were going to feast on. The Naan and the packets worked out so well on the camping trip I decided to make them a part of my regular grocery shopping and now eat it at least once a week.

The sixth and final bread item in my refrigerator is a 7 grain wheat bread, made in California. It is the most commonly associated as an American staple in the bunch. I don’t really have a story for it except that I do love a good grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup on a cold day and cheddar cheese seems to melt the best on bread like this. The top gets all crispy/golden brown and it holds up well when you dip it. I could also make something up about how when the pilgrims first arrived at Plymouth Rock, they fervently strew these luscious grains of…No, we know how it really went. Not good, even for a story about bread.

So, as I write this and think back on memories of food, cultures and other experiences I conclude that I am not as conservative as I thought, that I am more adventurous than I appear, not only with food, but with people, and places I travel as well. Oops, there’s a knock at the door. Oh, it’s Majid with his hands full, carrying bags from In & Out burger. “Come on hunny-bunny”, he says. " I’ve got a double-double in here for myself and some rabbit food for you. Let’s eat!”