When I mock/obsess over bread bowls, I’m speaking from experience. Yes, I’m showing my age…age 14 to be exact. While recently pawing through a tiny box of old photos, I discovered this gem capturing a Christmas Eve dinner from 1986. Ignore my hair (and dad and grandpa–I always want to type grandfather because it sounds better but that word has never come out of my mouth) and focus on the hollowed-out sourdough loaf abutting a red Jello salad. This delicacy filled with spinach dip made from one of those dressing packets mixed with mayonnaise was my aunt Kim’s specialty. The bread guts, meant to be dipped back into their former host, appear to be sitting on a metal baking dish in the background.
So, can I pen one of those ubiquitous getting in touch with my culinary roots essays now? If I only had another pic showing taco salad in a fried shell.
Sadly, I’ve come down off of my San Sebastián high, but I pepped right back up after seeing this artichoke and bone marrow course at Mugaritz served to the author of the blog, blank palate. I would’ve literally (no metaphors here) shit myself if presented with a bread bowl during my lunch there.
Mugaritz bread bowl photo from blank palate