Opsom

In ancient Greece there were two words for food. One, "maza" meaning bread and another "opsom" literally translating to "things eaten with bread" or "everything else". Cheese, proteins, plants, tubers; All opsom.

I prefer opsom.

Actually, I just don't care for the bread. Maza, maybe. If ancient Greece's little mounded flatbreads were our staple then fine. Really, in a perfect world, all bread would be artisan and cooked off in a wood-fired oven.  But bread-in-a-bag? Really? Barring hangover-induced sandwich cravings, it's just not worth the gastric saga. 

And so I focus on the opsom.

I can lick the last in my soup bowl, eat peanut butter on a spoon and wrap thin little cured proteins beautifully around my cheeses and never miss the "vehicle". I love a hearty salad, prefer to conserve my appetite and just don't find the crispy bag of frozen toast very appealing. There are so many delicious and nutritious foods in the world, ones that I love, that life just seems to be too short for subpar bread.


So, unless it's full of love, still warm, or I'm trying to be polite, I'll stick to the opsom.