Originally published in Duck Ponderings on Tuesday, December 06, 2005

We’re sitting at the dinner table, enjoying some of Mama’s fine spaghetti (no sauce for the Heir Apparent, but complete noodles instead of cut up this time – with butter).

A question comes to my mind that has bothered me since I was Kristofer’s age. It was inspired by the six slices of white bread that had been buttered and garlic powdered to add to our ambiance in lieu of a fresh loaf.

Having worked as a waiter for a total of three days some 17 years ago, I timed my question perfectly. Kristofer’s mouth was full of spaghetti, to the point of hanging off his chin.

“Do you know what the difference is between French bread and Italian bread?” I asked, looking at him sitting there bug-eyed and trying not to appear too desperate for air.

“Snrk.” He nodded.

”I do, too,” Mama said just before she opened wide and cutoff all conversation with a bite of pasta.

“Really? Then whoever gets their mouth empty first can tell me, ‘cause I don’t know.”

Kristofer wasn’t done first, and I think he may still have a rogue strand of spaghetti stuck in his sinuses somewhere, but nonetheless he had an airway clear enough to say, rather matter-of-factly:

“The difference of French bread and Italian bread is French bread is used for French toast and Italian bread is used for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

How could I have been so naïve?

Mama mumbled something about gluten and kneeding and crust crunchiness, and I said something about maybe you didn’t have to wash your hands before making French bread, but Kristofer’s answer seemed the most reasonable.

I grabbed another slice of our homemade garlic toast and Kristofer pipes up, “Daddy, you’re supposed to have toast for breakfast!”

Welcome to Chez Kristofer.

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