Get Stuffed was the newest rage around University Square. They billed themselves out as a “fusion bakery” whatever that meant. But the reality was good enough. Jen had been the one to discover it, and then promptly gotten Jessie and I hooked by bringing some to the office. Now we made it a habit of eating their food once a week, usually in the form of takeout brought in by Jen.
Tonight was no different as she walked in with a couple of bags on her arms. Jessie and I helped unload all of the bread. That was all it was, bread. Stuffed bread at that. The whole concept of the restaurant was fruits, veggies, meat, and more stuffed into bread. They didn’t make it up, either. They grabbed the native breads from all over the place. Sure, there were the obvious stuffed sweet pastries such as pain au chocolat, turnovers, and various danishes, but the real treat were in the savory breads. Russian black bread stuffed with potatoes or even caviar. Challah stuffed with hot pastrami, and, my personal favorite of the moment, naan stuffed with ground lamb. The breads stuffed with vegetables and potatoes were good, too. They even had a South American bread with a hearty stew in it.
“What are we celebrating, tonight?” Jessie asked around a mouthful of challah.
“Wednesday, and the fact that we aren’t dead,” I said.
“I’ll eat to that,” Jen said, holding forth the butt of her French loaf stuffed with cheese.
We followed suit, toasting with our own breads.
“We should invite Nikki some time,” Jen said.
And at that I had the image of an entirely different kind of bread, one which turned my stomach as my imagined bread oozed blood.
“I didn’t need that image,” I said, chewing much more slowly.
“She does eat regular food!”
“I know, but I’ve been in this business too long not to go there.”
“You need some therapy,” Jen rolled her eyes.
“After some good bread!” Jessie said.