Hi Everyone,
My friend Patricia on the telephone: “Do you want me to slice the bread or leave it whole?” Silence. I was thinking. Before I could respond, Pat continued, “I know some people prefer their Coconut Bread to remain whole so that they can break off pieces instead of having it sliced.” “Sliced,” I said. We were going on a tour around the island with colleagues so sliced was the best option for sharing.
About 20 minutes after we had settled in and the bus drove off, I leaned over to enquire from Pat if the Coconut (sweet) Bread was in the bag on her lap or in the one overhead. It was in the bag overhead. Retrieving the bag, I rested it on my lap sliding the zipper open. I could feel the warmth of the tinned loaf on my lap. I parted the bag and the sweet smell of spice, essence, and the indescribable aroma that fills the air as you pass by a bakery slowly rose and spread like smoke wafting through the air. Heads turned, someone whispered over our shoulders, “Is that bread?” They did not need to define ‘bread’ we knew they meant Coconut Bread. Before I knew it, I’d shared the entire pan of sliced Coconut Bread and there was none left for me. Everyone eating the bread was praising its taste.
Pat tilted her head to one side and looked at me. I stared at the empty pan, a light coating of crust bordering the insides where the bread lay as it baked. I ached on the inside. I so had my mind set on a slice of the bread ever since the night before. Then I heard a conspiratorial whisper: “Well it’s a good thing I have another loaf in this bag”. Pat was referring to the bag on her lap. I laughed, hugged, and thanked her.
