I could live on bread

There is nothing like a good loaf of bread.  Nothing.  I repeat, absolutely NOTHING.  

I have been known (ahem...often...) to indulge in an intimate moment with my bread before consumption - a moment that consists of burying my nose in said bread and inhaling deeply.  Some people get high off crack.  Or whatever other drugs you can sniff.  Clearly my expertise is in other things.  I have a thing for bread.

Mama went grocery shopping this morning and called on her way home to warn me that she had been waiting in front of the bakery section for the W bread to come out of the oven, and she now had two fresh hot loaves in her possession (yes, it may be genetic - we both have the creepy bread obsession).  

[Sidenote:  Clearly, this was not just any supermarket, this was Wegmans.  THE supermarket of all supermarkets.  A food haven so wonderful that I have decided that I will refuse to live anywhere more than a 30 minutes from the aforementioned mecca.]

Wegmans has glorious bread.  Truly marvelous fresh-baked bread that can throw the bread-obsessed into a tizzy.  Particularly when it is a plump, simultaneously-dense-and-fluffy loaf of chewy, white W bread.  

And now, a little bread porn for your enjoyment ... 

And though typically I am happiest gnawing at a hunk of bread in its purest, most unadulterated form, Mama and I decided that this afternoon our still-warm W bread would be best accompanied by obscenely crispy bacon in the form of a BLT (or for me, a BLTC - "C" being a single slice of American cheese, which stands in for mayo, because it makes me want to vomit).