Dad has come home tired, hungry, just as we all are after a long day at school or completing routine house chores. Mom is still flipping the meat on the frying pan, as she tries to keep the hair and sweat off her face, while Lucy -our housekeeper for over 8 years- is mixing sugar and lime juice in a big jar of iced water. Dad settles in and in a blink of an eye appears sitting by the table, opening the brown paper bag to delight us all: freshly baked pan francés. I am sure his sleeves are still warm from holding the treasure from the car to the table.
That kind of bread only deserves the best, the prettiest and softest napkin set on the weaved bamboo basket, anxiously waiting to embrace all seven pieces… but the joy only lasts a moment. Dad, mom, Lucy, and all four children, are just as anxious as the towel. Soon it finds itself empty again, the bread is gone. And only hope, will keep it peacefully resting in the pantry, until the next time Dad walks in holding the newly born or fleshly baked bundle, in a brown paper bag.
© Irene Z, 2019.
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