Stale Bread = Love

This is a love letter to bread pudding.

Random gluttony isn't what's motivating me in writing this, however. For me, bread pudding represents something much more important and satisfying: my mom.

My mom and I have always been very close. Almost insanely so. Of course, I don't tell her absolutely everything, and I know that there are things she won't understand about me. But I know that, even if I were to bone up and share every little thing about me, she would continue to accept me for who I am and love me as her own.

So where does bread pudding come in? My mom came to visit me for a few weeks (she lives on the other side of the country boo), and we decided to just take the car and drive south, along the coastline. We love to do that: no set itinerary, with just a list of a couple coffee shops we might hit up if we happen to pass by. This time, we took a pit stop at this local coffee shop in a small beach town, and while I concentrated on the drink menu (cappuccino? mocha? chai?), she suggested we order something to eat as well. My evil twin immediately repulsed at the idea - those lovely pastries in the glass case were mere facades for what they really symbolized: my weakness. And I could not give in. I've learned over the years to tame the voice that, just a few months ago even would have blurted forth with a resounding "No." I didn't say anything. But soon enough, I gave in. The bread pudding with our coffee please. Thank you.

I've never told my mom the extent of my disordered eating. Of course she's seen the external manifestations - my whittling down. She's seen me struggle with food at the dinner table. She may even be aware of my bingeing. (She's a mom - she has that censor, no?) To be able to sit there and share that luscious, massive hunk of honey-sweet bread pudding, studded with chocolate chips...I didn't think about how it would go to my hips, my thighs, my arms. Rather, I realized how happy I was to be sitting in that random coffee shop, my latte in front of me, cafe au lait in front of her. The glorious bread pudding in between us. Sharing a newspaper, and me...happy.