As Simple as Sliced Bread

When my husband cuts a slice of bread – several slices in fact, one after the other with extreme ease – from an unsliced loaf, every slice is undeniably uniform. Each beautifully manicured layer of bread is near-as-dammit the same thickness as the next, and every edge on every single slice is of similar thickness to its mate within milimetre accuracy, creating a collection of repeating rectangular cuboids, perfect parallelograms of pleasing size and scale.

However, whenever I attempt to cut a slice or two of bread from an uncut loaf, be prepared for a level of randomness in shape and thickness that defies basic geometry. Imagine Pablo Picasso representing sliced bread on canvas and you begin to get the picture. For some reason I seem to be pathalogically incapable of carving any kind of straight line through bread. I usually end up with a couple of rough-hewn irregular rhomboids – no right angles, sides of unequal length, erratic edges on a sliding thickness scale of emaciated to obese.

But I don’t really mind. Bread is bread, however you want to slice it, and I have to say I find my rustic doorstop slices bring a creative uniqueness to my sandwiches or to my toast that I am extemely fond of… Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it! 🙂

Fandango’s One Word Challenge: Uniform

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