Not often, but every now and then – once in a moon’s turn, when the yeast is at its silliest – the heel actually becomes the best piece of bread in the loaf. I know, I know, “How can that be?!” Well be it can!
You see, I was putting some leftover chili in the microwave, and I went to get a piece of bread to butter up and dip in my bowl.
So I reached in, well past the first few slices, and picked out a usual, middle piece, one of the sexy ones – the Matthew David McConaugheys of bread, if you will.
But then, I got to thinking about the heels, these neglected ends on either side of the loaf, never given a fair chance, only getting eaten when the bread’s getting half stale. If they’re lucky. Most get moldy and thrown away with the bag, the owner afraid to even touch them, like they’re some kind of leper slices.
Now I always root for the underdog, and I got to feeling bad for the heel. So I switched my desired piece. And you know what? It was fine.
[Editor’s note: The birthday greeter would like to clarify he actually selected the one next to the heel, that’s only half crusty. Not the actual heel. That would be madness.]