bread and milk

fiction story about my aunt Benny and how she loved staled bread and milk, slightly dusted with sugar

It’s a cold winter’s day. The road is frozen outside, it's almost cracked from coldness. Wind is swirling snowflakes furiously. I don’t want to go out. I am not ready to face Mr. Celsius today, not yet. I will stay at home, read newspapers from yesterday, sleep and then read same articles again, than eat what has left or try to make something from leftovers, if there are any.

Noon hours, I'm not doing anything meaningful, just rummaging through drawers and snooping around old family photos.

We all have relatives. Somewhere, far, faraway, there is a blood relative we don’t know much about. Or maybe we do know more than it is needed. My aunt Benny should be now in her eighties. She is smiling on each photo, friendly face, and dark hair.

One day she packed her suitcase and left for good. Rumors say she couldn’t stand the heat and steamy atmosphere. Just too crowded for my taste, she would usually add. So she went to North Pole. I was very young when we saw each other last time. But, she is sending gifts almost every year for New Year’s Eve and what is so exciting about my aunt Benny is her passion for warm bread and milk. That was her favorite dish. As my mother grow up with her, the two of them were eating this on regular basis, with some extras here and there. Over the years my mum got hooked on this dish and it has become my mum’s favorite too. I also like to have a bowl of warm bread and milk.

Another lazy day just perfect for simple, easy and comforting dish.

On the menu today: bread, milk, sugar and hot cooker.

Recipe and directions for how to eat: After you pour almost boiling milk over the staled bread, sprinkled lightly with sugar, pour over a splash of rum, take a spoon and come by the window to watch snow falling. After a while you might hear Ho Ho Ho.