Geology In A Loaf Of Bread

I had a bunch of books to take to the used bookstore today, so after walking the dogs in bitterly cold fog, I drove to While Away--the only bookstore in town.  I've bitched enough about the fact I can buy a gun at the grocery store,  yet can't buy a book, so won't go into all that again.  I'll just happily thank the book gods that at least there's one shop, even if it's used.

Anyway.

Fridays are also when Lighthouse Bakery drop off their delicious breads at the bookstore. Today I was drawn to one called Ancient, based on an old-time recipe and grains that are...well, ancient.

The loaf is solid, dense, and smells like honey on a hot Summer's day; ripe wheat fields in August; old wood-fired baking ovens.  It is a thousand miles and several centuries removed from grocery store breads.

The organic grains are grown locally by the Lighthouse monastery/commune and milled by hand...and I've never heard of three of the four grains.  Seriously.  Spelt I know, but red fife, emmer and kamut? Not a clue. The other ingredients are sea salt and water, with sunflower seeds on the top.  Can't get much more basic than that.

Doesn't this look like rock strata?  Look at those layers...the geology of bread.  Who knew?

So for lunch I cut two thin slices.  The aroma wafting out of my toaster as the different flours heated was amazing.  Hard to describe, but when I closed my eyes I got dark honey, malt and molasses, though none of those things are actually in the bread.

Toasted, with just a scrape of butter, it was truly good.  Almost a meal in itself.  It would be great with soup or stew...or just plain with honey.

Ancient bread.  Totally cool...