excerpt:
Since the late 1980s, the Acme Bread Company’s pain au levain has been among my life’s constants. The white bag, soft like cheap notepad paper, is one of the first things I feel most mornings. The drag of the round loaf leaving the bag and thunk of it landing on the cutting board; the grind of the knife as I saw two thick slices; the squeak of the toaster-oven door as I open it to slide them onto the wire shelf — I’ve heard them so many times, they register as ambient, barely heard under NPR’s burble and jingles from the radio on the counter, and the echoing scrabble of scarfed kibble, as the dog noses her metal bowl across the floor.