Bread crusts and other musings

I woke up this morning thinking about bread crusts. No, I don't recall what I was dreaming, but I suspect it was related to the baby shower I attended Saturday.

It was a delightful if somewhat unusual shower. The guests included adult males and children, instead of just women. We didn't have to play any of those silly shower games I was dreading. Just lots of good conversation and wonderful food.

The buffet had plenty of sweets--little cakes, cookies, tarts--offset by plenty of veggies and cheese. But I really chowed down on the little sandwiches. There were cucumbers, chicken with cranberries, and many other tasty fillings, nicely presented in little crustless bits of bread. That got me thinking about the sandwiches my grandma used to serve.

Of course all proper kids detest crusts and only eat them under duress. My siblings, cousins, and I were no exception. It didn't help that the grownups insisted they were good for us or even that they'd make our hair curly. But Grandma trimmed off the crusts. I don't know if she always did that, or if it was special for company, but I remember watching her trimming the sandwiches.

And then the miracle happened. Once those detested crusts were removed from the sandwiches and lying in a growing pile on the breadboard, they somehow were transformed into interesting little bread sticks; all the grandchildren clustered around to beg for the treat. Of course, Grandma always shared them with us. I wonder if she found our sudden yen for crusts as amusing as I do now.