There’s something about sharing a meal with people you love that just makes everything seem, well, right.  This weekend a friend flew in from NYC, Indian spices in tow, and we set to work cooking up an Indian feast.  We donned our aprons (I let Ram have the more “masculine” one), and put in “the Sound of Music” DVD, and sang and chopped and cooked for about 3 hours. When our guests arrived the whole house smelled of curry. As I sat at the table I felt truly blessed to have the good fortune to spend an evening sharing with friends. Breaking Bread.

I googled the term “breaking bread”, to see if there was a story of it’s origin, and was surprised at what i read. The first link that popped up was this Urban Dictionary , that informed me that in some uses, it means sharing-and I quote:

“To share stolen goods amongst your posse.”    It also could refer to exposing yourself or having sex with someone for the 1st time, and I quote again,   “Paulo is going to break bread with that ho he met last night!”  
Hmmmmm..well, I shared some food with people I love, and that, to me, is breaking bread.
Breaking Bread-or not

Breaking Bread-or not

Advertisements