Think of the best thing ever.
Is it sliced bread?
Since it was first sold in 1928, sliced bread has been the veritable gold standard to which every other great thing has been compared. Sliced bread is pretty cool … but the coolest?
It seems odd, not to mention uniquely American, to so strongly champion something that's actually just an old thing with a little change. And yet it's done all the time: new models of cars, each generation of the iPod, the 50 state quarters, the Super Bowl. The list goes on. It should come as no surprise, then, that a loaf of bread would cause a major uproar when pre−cut into homogenous pieces.
It's been nearly a century since Otto Frederick Rohwedder invented the machine that shaves 15 seconds off the preparation of toast, but I'd bet that since he, and every other baker ever, started offering pre−sliced bread, the quality of the bread has gone down. Most sliced breads are roughly the same: a poor excuse for a crust that's little more than a thin, brownish, bad−tasting strip around the outside, and a doughy expanse of white between said brown borders.
While various types such as whole grain, cinnamon raisin, potato, "rye" (don't even get me started on mass produced rye bread), pumpernickel and the rest might vary in flavor, appearance and price, the texture more or less remains the same.
The structural integrity of sliced bread is appalling. A loaf of said bread is apt to be crushed, mushed and generally destroyed by anything and everything it comes in contact with: other groceries, heavy lunch meats, fumbling hands, etc.
Fresh baked bread — even if it's baked by a supermarket or food chain — is infinitely better than Wonder Bread any day. A real loaf of bread is a fulfilling experience, from ripping off the first piping hot, crusty chunk to eating the last crumbs of a delicious sandwich.
Each year those of the Jewish faith avoid leavened bread — both sliced and otherwise — for the eight days of Passover, and every year they survive. We as a society do not need sliced bread.
If sliced bread were a person, it would eat only boiled chicken, and mayonnaise would be its favorite condiment; it would put mayonnaise on everything. It would wear sports goggles and a full sweat suit to go speed walking. It wouldn't believe in ice cream or water parks. Sliced bread would advocate the banning of books. Sliced bread would not sleep in the same bed as its wife.
It seems that the phrase, "the greatest thing since sliced bread," is supposed to be ironic. The phrase has clearly been taken out of its original context, which probably went something like this:
"I just got back from the doctors: I have an ulcer!"
"Oy!"
"It's the greatest thing since sliced bread!... Phooey."
In a pinch, sliced bread will work. It's perfect for a quick piece of toast or a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but it isn't all it's cracked up to be.
This Pesach, which starts tonight at sundown, Jewish people observing the holiday, don't feel bad about giving up sliced bread; you're not really missing out on anything except the culinary equivalent of an ulcer. And to the non−Jews, don't eat the matzah and talk about how much you love it. That's just ridiculous.
Sliced Bread: 2 out of 5 stars.
--
Mitchell Geller is a junior majoring in psychology and English. He can be reached at Mitchell.Geller@tufts.edu.
