Olive Bread

I love kalamata olives. Don't remember the first time I tried one, but it was love at first bite.

Last week, Joel came home with Olive bread (didn't know it existed...now my life is changed) and we dipped warm slices in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. It was so good, we were fighting for the crumbs. Olive bread...Olive oil...no wonder I named my first born Olivia.

I digress. We went back to the store and bought another loaf. We decided to pace ourselves and not devour the whole thing in an evening. The next afternoon, when I went to cut it, the crust was distinctively harder. It had hardened overnight, I guess, perhaps because I didn't seal the brown paper bag well enough. As I took my big, serrated bread knife to the thick, rock-hard crust, you can guess what happened. Slip. Knife in hand.

Index finger, to be specific. The kind of slice this is a little too deep and too quick to realize just what you've done. "JOOOELLL!" I scream from the kitchen. He ran to the garage, where we keep the first aid kit.

He helped me with a band-aid as I debated whether or not this was an ER laceration or simply a band-aid-sized-kitchen-mishap. I ask Joel. He says something about "...and why did you do this when there were three seconds left in the game and they were about to kick the field goal?" A response like that generally means I don't need to go to the ER.

Three hours later.

Joel heads into the kitchen. He has Olive bread on his mind. Same knife, same bread....same slip. Same finger.

Bigger cut.

I will not post what he said next.

Good thing the first aid kit was still in the kitchen. The debate about whether this was the time to visit the ER began again. Joel was feeling a little queasy (we think he hit a nerve in his finger) so he went to lay down.

A few minutes later, he returned, holding his finger above his head. I asked if that helped, and why he was doing it. He just looked at me and slowly lowered his hand.

I think the part that bothered us most is that we just wanted a piece of that dang bread. I felt like a mouse reaching for cheese and then SNAP! goes the trap.

This morning, the bread was still on the counter. The crust, a day harder. My will - a bit stronger. I microwaved that thing to "soften" it, and then ripped a chunk off. I took my prize into the living room and sat by Joel.

"You are a brave woman." And he smiled.