White Bread

White bread, is it evil or good? Hmmm the health food folks would say eat multi grain, eat whole wheat, eat organic. I say eat white.

I never really understood why people called comfort food, comfort food. It never made me feel comfortable. I enjoy most comfort food, but it doesn’t make me feel good. I typically don’t get a rush of comfort from eating, so called comfort food. How about you? Does “comfort food” make you comfortable? Warm inside? Relaxed?

There are probably a set of foods that would show up in the “Family Feud” top 5 comfort foods. One thing I know is that it would vary with certain ethnic favorites. Can you name a food that makes you feel better when you eat it? Really feel better. Certain foods can indeed trigger good memories, but can they really give you comfort? Trish says comfort food is bad. She says it makes you feel good and you tend to eat too much of it. I am banned from eating comfort food. I must admit, that when presented with a perfect piece of Lasagna – the corner piece, with edges slightly darkened and crispy – I would tend to look for one of the other three corners to follow-up before considering heading to the dishwasher with my plate. I would agree with Trish that this practice might easily add a few pounds to me, but I don’t walk away feeling any better – just fuller.

Many of us, as we grew up, got dosed with the B-R-A-T diet when we were sick. If I remember this right, it stands for Bananas, Rice, Apple sauce, Toast. We were given each of these in succession as our stomach grew stronger and we could “stomach” our food better. I’m not sure if parents still follow this prescription or if doctors still prescribe it. I do have fond memories of highly buttered white rice, simple white toast. I didn’t realize how important these simple foods were until recently.

Each day after Trish’s IPOP treatments, I would make a single piece of white toast for her in the pantry of the hospital ward. I would clean my hands with Purell. I would carefully unwrap the individually wrapped single piece of white bread, trying not to touch it. I would gingerly drop it into the toaster. While it toasted, I pulled out two individually sealed tiny tubs of butter. I would pull out a clean plastic plate – from the middle of the plate stack to insure maximum cleanliness.

I than found the cleanest plastic knife in the drawer. I held the plastic knife over the toaster, because the first time I used the toaster the toast leaped to freedom and on to the counter – I threw that piece away. I waved the knife over the opening in the toaster, rotating the knife. My thinking was that in this way the knife wouldn’t get too hot and possibly release toxins in the plastic. Ok, Trish (and several others) would tell you I was paranoid – I’d like to think of it as protecting the one I love. The toast would pop, be saved from freedom by my waving knife and I would place it safely on the clean plate. I than buttered the toast carefully.

I had to walk anywhere from 10 feet to 50 feet depending upon where Trish’s treatment was that day to safely bring her a single piece of toast for lunch. In order to insure, no dust or an errant sneeze or anything else, landed on that single piece of toast, I would pull out four clean paper towels and cover the toast with all four pieces. I would wrap the corners of the towels under the plate and hold them down tightly. As I arrived bedside to deliver the toast, I would quickly remove the top and bottom paper towels and discard them. The bottom was likely contaminated with butter residue and the top was exposed to the HEPA filtered air in the hallway on my walk. I would give Trish the two middle paper towels to use as a napkin.

Despite my paranoid preparation, there was something special about that toast. The butter melting on the warm bread filled my nose with a smell of comfort. It triggered something in my brain that brought not only good comfortable memories to the surface, but it made me truly comfortable, relaxed.

Funny thing. Later, after I had been doing this about a week, Trish told me that she was surprised how good a piece of white toast can taste. It made her feel good.

Comfort food, indeed.

White bread toasted, lightly buttered.

Try some today.
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Wednesday is a big day. We expect to find out the results of Trish's bone marrow biopsy of last Thursday. We are hopeful it will be good and we will be on our way home (probably on Sunday). If it is bad, we may not be leaving at all. I won't be leaving Trish's side until we get some news -- even if it is just to wait to be told we will get no news. As soon as I am able I will make a posting and if we get significant news, as expected, I will send out the email blast. Make some white toast while you wait.