Every second day or so, Danielle bakes ciabatta for lunch. About 15 minutes before they’re ready, this glorious scent wafts upstairs from the kitchen and passes under my closed home office door, completely distracting me from whatever I’m doing.
All I know is that 20 minutes after getting that first sniff—the bread needs to cool at least a little—that hot, fresh ciabatta will be the perfect vehicle for whatever cheese we have in the fridge, gently melting into the air pockets, and making that perfect toothy crunch sound with each bite.
If I’m lucky, some of the bread has survived until the next morning, where it’s a perfect vehicle for Nutella. I’m not often lucky.