Today I was enjoying the last of my Thanksgiving Dinner leftovers — for breakfast — bread pudding. After I woofed it down, I stopped for a moment to think that I should be thankful for every bite, for everything about my simple bread pudding meal.
Take for example, the bread. I made a special effort to choose that specific bread at Mr. Gaffier’s corner grocery store. There were many choices, but this loaf of sliced white bread was specially recommended by the young woman behind the counter.
“It will be perfect for croutons for your soup” she said in her perfect French.
The raisins in the bread pudding were given to me by my dear friends, Paula and Rich, when they left Uzes for the States. White raisins. Just right for bread pudding.
The eggs in the pudding came from the young man at the Saturday Market in Uzes. He picked out the perfect fresh eggs and delicately placed them into a small box for me.
The sugar was left over in the sugar “pot” from Thanksgiving dinner. I purchased the sugar and creamer in the tiny village of Najac on my trip back from the Dordogne.
The milk came from Carrefour, the large supermarket I visited a few weeks ago to stock up on basic essentials.
Walnuts and pecans were in my freezer, leftover from aperos I’d made for friends when my son was visiting in October.
The baking dish was from IKEA, reminding me of the day I was lost trying to find the store in Avignon.
Along with the bread pudding, I had tea in a “proper” teapot that I purchased on my way from France to the US last year on a stopover in the British Cotswolds.
The tea cup was from my favorite potter in St. Siffret. I bought it in the summer at a “pottery marche” in Collias.
When was the last time you looked at your meal and took into consideration every item on the table. Where did it come from? How much effort went into putting it in front of you?
It was a small lesson in humility for me. Just a simple bowl of bread pudding.
So much to be thankful for.