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Even
before the bread came out of the oven, the house was filled with familiar
mouth-watering smell of heavenly yumminess. When the slender loaves popped onto
the kitchen counter, they were absolutely gorgeous. Beautifully shaped with maidenly
blush along their gently rounded tops.
Before
we could dig in, we had to wait for the results of our usual crust-crunchiness test,
monitored by the only musician in the family. He gave his thumbs up to an
already drooling crew. We were bowl-full of expectations that the taste would
if not exceed, at least meet the excellence standard of all the other
measurements.
We
all got our first bite around the same time.
In
an instant, all the crunch-crunching of the crust was stopped. And there was deafly
silence.
We
looked at each other, unsure how to respond… somewhat like the stunned crowd
in the Emperor’s New Clothes.
It’s… it’s so… so… bland.
The first polite
comment opened up the dam and picturesque realty flowed in.
Bleuh! This taste like warmed-up sea foam
sponge!
Or baked chalk and plaster…
I never tasted warmed up sea foam sponge and never had baked chalk and plaster. But, the piece of my mouth... I
roll it around, waiting for some magical improvement. But, there is
no magic and no improvement. I am so
confused. How could something that smells
so good, and looks so good, and sounds so
good taste so awful?!!!
Salt! No salt at all. You left the salt out.
It was just a tiny teaspoon of salt… I mutter. A
negligible smudge on the page I swiftly ignored. … Who would have guessed that
it could make such a big difference?
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