Don’t Eat that Bread

Mother’s Day brings with it a host of memories. I remember all the homemade gifts, beautiful cards and poems created just for me, from the children I love so much. I remember my wonderful mother and how special she has been throughout my life. I celebrate when reading the touching words from my grown children. I love any and all things that come out of my grandchildren’s mouth.

As I was deep in these memories this past Sunday, I was struck with yet another memory. Years ago, these was a brunch served at the Hyatt Regency, in Knoxville, on Sundays. Being Mother’s Day, my husband and teenage children decided it would be the perfect beginning to a magical day for me. I certainly did not object and off we went. The brunch was scrumptiously laid out to please the eye. Different types of food was displayed in different rooms, nooks and corners. It was quite high end in service and flavor. There were stations for waffles and crepes, prime rib, seafood dishes, omelets of all varieties, vegetables, desserts, and even breads.

I must say it was definitely an eating extravaganza, as we went to each station to tease our pallet. The meal was meant to be a long enjoyable event, and we did not rush, but ate at a leisurely pace, allowing time for digestion between eating sessions. My husband loves breads of all kinds,, but especially hard rolls, thus he made several trips to the table stacked with all kinds of wonderful bread. He had just left the table for a return trip, when a waiter approached our table. He apologized for the interruption, but felt a need to inform me that my husband had been eating bread that was used for decorating the table, as it had been shellacked. It seems, they watched him get one roll, saying nothing, but when he returned for a second, they feared he might get sick and hesitantly decided to tell me. I thanked them and when he returned to the table I told him what the waiter had said. My husband replied, “Well, I thought they were awfully hard.” We all got a good laugh and enjoyed retelling the story often in years to come. It became one of my favorite Mother’s Day stories.

Source: K. P. Guessen