Breas Tale and Other Stories

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I swear they are dancing as if they are fit for the ball! Gretel knew exactly what Hansel was up to.

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She pieced it together as she watched her mother's face scrunch up. I see no squirrels! I see no dancing! Their mother was going to leave them in the forest. They traveled for a while, Hansel occasionally dropping stones, until they reached a small clearing. Their mad mother ordered Hansel and Gretel to sit on a dead log. The children stayed seated, reluctantly. They waited and waited AND waited, but their mother never returned for them. Hansel began to worry for their safety.

What about wolves? Gretel, oh Gretel — what are we to do? Their flat surfaces shimmered in the moonlit night. Hansel and Gretel finally arrived back home at the break of dawn; however, they were so tired that both immediately fell asleep right in front of their cottage door. There are too many mouths and NOT enough food. Hansel tried to think of a way to get the two of them out of this mess.

He looked all over in search of their skipping rocks. Since they were nowhere to be found, Hansel figured the mischievous bird had stolen them all. Hopeless, Hansel and Gretel went back to their beds and waited for their mother to come and take them to the forest. She ordered Hansel into his walking boots and Gretel into her washing clothes.

Before they left, however, the woodcutter secretly slipped Hansel a small loaf of bread. Hansel slipped the bread in his pocket, crushing it into mostly crumbs and sadly followed behind his mother and beloved sister. Every few feet, he dropped these breadcrumbs on the ground. This gave Hansel time to catch up. Hurry along NOW," their mother grumbled. They travelled for a few more miles until they came to a very small clearing — even smaller than the previous.

I will come back for you shortly," she commanded and declared. So, the children waited and waited AND waited, but their mother never returned for them. Hansel offered Gretel what little bread was left. The breadcrumbs will be here in the morning and we can follow them on our return home," Hansel replied. I will not stay here overnight," Gretel stated. Then thinking about Hansel's panic last night, Gretal began, "What about wolves? What about —" "Okay. No wolves, bears, cougars, raccoons, muskrats, or squirrels will get us. I get. Lets just promise we will get out of here," Hansel said, interrupting his sister.

They promised each other and then relaxed in the very small glade, resting their feet and playing guessing games. Suddenly, their noses were filled with an oddly sweet aroma. The children followed the wonderful scent — it grew stronger and more delicious. In front of their eyes and noses sat a house made entirely out of the most delicious looking sweets. The roof was coated with fluffy white icing; pink, sticky syrup drizzled and dripped along the sides of the dark chocolate exterior; a gum drop door frame was sopping with sparkling icing sugar; a frothy milk chocolate river flowed under a gingerbread bridge that led to a gingerbread door; and a lollipop garden sat in front of a large crystallized sugar window.

Hansel and Gretel stood stunned for a moment, and then, without caution or hesitation, they ran to the house and began stuffing their faces full of candy. Hansel and Gretel stopped short and stared at one another — each was messy and covered in candy.

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Hansel and Gretel turned and stared at a very small woman with scraggly hair wearing a long pink dress. She was very strange looking and smelled quite funny — a little too sweet. A refectory is a communal dining room, often found in monasteries or institutions, where monks traditionally gather for their meals. I imagined the most spectacular refectory ever seen, filled with art and light, cooking, and the theater of life. Later that day, Angelo Scola, the Cardinal of Milan, spoke with us about his vision for the refectory:.

Cooking is part of the human family. To share food together is one of the highest moments of a life lived among others. It is not enough to serve a hot meal in a refectory but we need to serve beauty to feed life. That was exactly it. As the director of the Triennale of Design in Milan, Rampello knew whom to call. The architects and students from the Politecnico of Milano agreed to organize the renovation from theater to dining space, complete with professional kitchen. Several Italian artists were invited to lend beauty to the project, and the space acquired a painted door, a frescoed ceiling, a photograph, and a sculpture.

And perhaps most importantly, the space received the permanent donation of a stone oven. Neighboring women and immigrants will be taught to bake bread, giving them a skill to help them in their daily lives. My direct role in the project was the easiest of all: invite my friends to cook. Each year, a different chef will take residence in the space every day throughout the whole month of May.

Every chef will have the chance to share his or her unique vision with the neighborhood children at lunch, then with the adults at dinner. Too often the gastronomic conferences we all attend speak to the converted.

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In October , my mother, Luisa, was rushed to the hospital. The heart valve that had replaced her own fifteen years earlier had expired. I was anxious about leaving for a scheduled trip to Mexico. She would be home for Christmas. While I was digging in the cupboards for a pan, I came upon the green — rimmed bowl from my childhood. Every morning there was coffee and milk on the kitchen table.

I would add sugar and stir until it was thick. Whenever the conversation turned to the numerous bowls of bread, milk, and sugar I consumed, my mother always laughed out loud. Look at him now. My mother passed away a few weeks later in the ambulance, on her way to the hospital. She dreaded the food.

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The Italian economic crisis is physical and visceral. Storefronts once selling clothing or housewares are now boarded up, while Compro Oro Buy Gold pawnshops invade the landscape. Gold has always been a sign of wealth, especially for the poor. It is the first thing you buy when you have a dime, and the first thing you sell when you have no more. Why do gold teeth and chains make us feel more worthy? Sylvie Fleurie is a contemporary artist who expresses her critical view of society through common objects made out of uncommon materials. This is a posh loaf.

And the last 10 years have been the decade of the posh loaf, a period of disenchantment with the squishy white processed loaf of yesteryear. Poilane opened two stores in London, in upmarket Belgravia and Chelsea. These expensive bread sales are concentrated within London, but the same phenomenon can be seen in instore supermarket bakeries across the country. People are apparently willing to pay more, and sometimes significantly more, for a "luxury" loaf.

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Of course breads come in all shapes, shades and sizes, and there's an extraordinary variance of prices. Go and buy the cheapest pint of milk at your local supermarket. Then have a look at the most expensive organic one.

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The difference isn't huge. You only have to watch the Great British Bake Off to notice the sea-change in the way we buy bread. But there is something strange about bread - always a staple food - being transformed into a luxury item. History has told us time and time again bread is a basic. Give us this day our daily bread, the Lord's Prayer asks.

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Man cannot live by bread alone, the saying goes. And it was only 15 years ago that supermarket price wars saw chains such as Asda and Tesco slash their own-brand g white sliced loaf to as little as 9p. In , Kwiksave sold its "no frills" loaf for 7p.

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Gordon Polson, the director of the Federation of Bakers, says the biggest boost to the bread market has been its variety. Now there are all kinds of bread, not just in bakeries, but on supermarket shelves," he says.

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There are crusty baguettes and bagels.