No Country for Old Bread

With apologies to William Butler Yeats

That is no country for old bread.

The fresh in one another’s mouths, the crumbs on lips

Those dying generations – at their crunch,

The focaccia-loaves, the ciabatta-crowded shelves,

Boule, bun, brioche, commend all summers' brunch,

Whatever is risen, baked and yeasty smells.

Caught in that sensual music all neglect

Monuments of stale rye imperfect.

An aged bread is but a paltry thing,

A tattered coat upon a stick, unless

Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing

For every tatter in its mortal dress

It finds new life in a cubed refresh.

Once out of nature I shall ever take

Such a form as true bakers bake,

And turn this bread to mush

With eggs and cheese and other slush.

And set it upon a wooden board to sing

The praises of a bread pudding.

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This week’s Tuesday’s with Dorie Baking with Julia project, Country Bread, sat on my counter like a Byzantine stone monument until I finally turned it into a savory bread pudding with spinach and a variety of cheeses. (Basic pudding recipe care of Nick Malgieri.) Once the “tattered coat” had a new form, it was commended by all.

Forgive the terrible florid poetry. I never did understand meter. Please check out the original “Sailing to Byzantium” here. And see the other TWD baker’s blogs to learn more about this passable, if not immortally memorable, bread.