let's break it -- sunday bread

bread

the surface of bread is marvelous first of all because of this quasi-panoramic impression it gives: as if one had at one's disposition, ready to hand, the Alps, the Taurus range, or the Andean Cordillera.

thus an amorphous, burping mass was slid for us in the stellar oven, where hardening it formed itself into valleys, crests, undulations, crevasses... and all these maps from now on so cleanly articulated, these thin slabs where the light with care puts out its fires, -- without one look at the ignoble, underlying flabbiness.

this lax and cold substrate that is called the mie [the soft interior of bread] has the same tissue as that of sponges: leaves or flowers are its siamese twins, joined at all the elbows at the same time. when bread goes stale these flowers fade and shrink: they detach from each other, and the whole mass becomes crumbly...

but let's break it: because bread must be in our mouths less an object of respect than of consummation.