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CAUGHT IN THE ACT
‘Femi Adekunle on Parenting
On this day, I longed to eat bread after a fairly long time. My taste buds just longed for it; and not just bread, but bread and tea. So, I got bread from a bakery, oven-hot, and fresh as rose, just one loaf. I settled in my dining area in the house and reached for the accompaniment, just as my taste bud wanted it – hot chocolate and nothing more.
I made the hot chocolate myself. The beauty of it was that the weather was just right as it had just rained and it was cold. Before taking a sip of the lovely drink, its aroma filled the room with the steam wafting into the air from the sturdy teacup in a gentle, gyrating spin like a tender baby whirlwind rising from a tea cup.
I took a glance at my loaf, and the mist already beginning to form in the transparent plastic with which it was wrapped reminded me of its warmth and freshness. However, it’s not just any type of bread. It’s the magical, sacred, and eminent ‘agege bread’, distinguished in the comity of confectioneries. There is something venerable and admirable about the agege bread, and unfortunately, only Lagosians who experienced it first-hand in the eighties and nineties will understand its mystical culinary allure. I quickly unwrapped the loaf and dipped my eager claws into its edges, tearing it apart gently and with clemency as though I didn’t want it hurt. Its belly revealed the snow-white, fluffy, and silky intestine that tore apart delightfully, letting out its own unique aroma that smacked of an excellent bake.
By now, I was salivating. I could hardly wait as I further tore off a shred, as I took another glance at my steaming chocolate drink. I dipped the shred into the cup, and, masterfully, I brought it out. I had the skills that ensured that the shred I brought out from the cup was not too soaked with the delectable liquid to be messy, not too scanty to be bland. It’s an artistry that people of my generation possess. By this time, the whitish substance had turned golden brown and fascinating to the eyes, ready to be crushed in between my eager jaws.
The combination of the bread and chocolate let out another captivating aroma that sent me longing even the more. I admired the sightly ration for a few seconds and, opening my mouth, I dropped it in there as I masticated delicately but mercilessly, enjoying every gentle chew which released the near-intoxicating pleasantness that assuaged my rampaging taste buds.
In my state of fantasy, I didn’t know my son was watching from across the room as he jolted me back to consciousness, “Daddy”! He blurted. “What”? I replied, knowing spontaneously why he was calling me out. “It’s not nice to dip your bread in tea”. Honestly, I didn’t immediately know the response to give him, as this was being caught in the act. I decided to use some boldness as I switched to my grit and took hold of my nerves. I told him this was just one off, and as he knows it’s what I often corrected them about when they were younger. I didn’t know if he was satisfied with my spurious answer and can’t even remember if I cared.
Happily, my children are all adults. I had, when they were younger, taught them several things and tried to model them, including table manners. This was one of the things I taught and showed them. But to be honest, this is my favourite way of taking tea and bread, which I suspended because I needed to teach my kids. Now that they are grown and have learnt the lessons, will I be allowed some indulgence, please?
You may not agree with me or may even dislike my style of taking my tea and bread. Mind you, this is my house, my own dining table, not yours. When I come to your house or you take me out for breakfast, trust me to be prim and proper, but for now, inside my own house and on my dining table, cut me some slack and allow me to self-pamper.