bread sex

There’s titillating sex bubbling and rising in your kitchen.

I hope. But maybe not. I’ll tell you why in just a minute.

Look at that picture above.

It caused a controversy about 40 years ago, almost as if Hugh Hefner had splayed a *blush* buck-naked Centrefold Playmate across your child’s Grade 1 Reader.

Look closely again, what do you think? If you see (and maybe smell) the delicious sight and wafting aroma of freshly-baked bread just pulled from the oven… well… I’m applauding your Victorian mores and approach to life.

Jane Austen has taught you well.

But maybe… just maybe… like so many of the time this was published (I was an avid reader of Harrowsmith magazine in the early 1980’s), you look a bit more deeply and visualize a young, heaving-bosomed lass with a sexually-charged come-hither look and signs of post-coital flush in her cheeks – and is that truly a loaf of steaming bread cupped lovingly in her hands? – well… now you’re COOKING!

Soon, a flood of complaint letters got dumped on the doorstep of the humble Canadian publisher … “how dare you put such filth on the cover of a magazine that arrives in our mailbox for all the children to see… not even wrapped in kraft paper for modesty. Unfettered pornography!

hidden porn

Ah yes… we all know that sex sells. I’ll bet this was the magazine’s bestselling edition ever.

Now in today’s soc-iso world, it’s not only sex that sells (porn sites are overloaded… I’m told!)… but to my unprepared surprise, so does YEAST. Seductive whor’ish yeast.

SCENE: Inside local supermarket, weekday morning, 8 am….. only busy parking lot within 20 kilometres (OK, the Cannabis Store was doing alright too).

While other delicate shoppers socially-distanced-crammed into the toilet paper, sanitizer, and face mask aisles (there’s a face mask aisle?)…

… I cleverly, devilishly … snuck away to the far reaches of the store and the baking section where I knew no one … no one… would be congregating, much less mobbing.

I just needed to grab a small jar of yeast for my pizza doughs, cinnamon buns, hot cross buns, and the occasional loaf of bread I feel inspired to muck up … routine stuff I do on any given week ever… dum de dum…

Perfect… no congregation, no crowd, no throngs …

Holy Cabbage Patch Dolls!!! …

NO YEAST! WTF!

Four more supermarket stores later (I know… why was I not in an isolation chamber at home?)… and the same Sci-Fi story…

YEAST… SOLD RIGHT OUT!

empty shelf

I had naively figured that with all this isolation, much more yeast (Saccharomyces cerevisiae, to us lab nerds) would be irritatingly ensconced in the below-the-waist internal workings of overrun ladies locked away with laid-off lads and their overcharged libidos (a bit of liberal blog fibbing here, the yeast normally found in vaginal itch is of the Candida variety).

There could easily be a foreseeable glut of baby bellies in 9 months under these circumstances… the COVID KIDS… but “bread bellies”? Where are all the gluten-free crowds now?

The global and local ripples of the CORONAVIRUS are and will be felt in countless areas that no one would have ever dreamed. The school bell has decisively rung and the next classroom we enter in life will be quite different.

And sadly too, perhaps one day in the not-too-distant future, counselling office waiting rooms will be overfilled with adolescents and young adults… searching for ways of coping with their childhood traumas – the sweat-drenched nightmares of days and weeks spent with no homemade breads or buns, the heartfelt sorrow-soaked memory of their mother’s and father’s faces as they tell their young charges that because of the Great Yeast Famine, there will be no cinnamon buns today, and maybe not tomorrow or next week either.

The good news ending here (for me at least, it’s all about ME, right?) comes when I spotted my wife running out the front doors of a local WalMart store… jumping up and down, arms raised in a V of jubilation… a small jar of Fleischmann’s “fungal gold” clenched in each hand… START THE CAR!

Have I mentioned my charitable side lately? I would never stoop to hawking tiny envelopes of yeast to you online at exorbitant prices… no Sirree!

But I can offer a special deal to you on a 6-pack of my delicious Hot Cross Buns this Easter weekend at the low low price of just $69.69 (any subliminal sexual message there is in your dirty little mind).

More yummy fun than finding your happy ending while ogling the cover of Harrowsmith mag…

*apologies to the hordes of English teachers and other language buffs for the endless run-on sentences in today’s post. Difficult times bring on disastrous grammar gaffes.

buns bunny