The Best Thing I Ever Ate

The Best Thing I Ever Ate

It’s time for an episode of “The Best Thing I Ever Ate!” We’ve all seen the show on the Food Network where celebrity chefs, writers, and professional foodies alike share and describe in the most animated ways their favorite eats. Well, now it’s my turn to share with you the best thing I ever ate, and the theme is… bread!

Blessed with an ethnic heritage that is partly Italian and partly Polish, I have an innate love and taste for bread. A family meal without several hearty loaves to go around the table is sacrilegious, and punishable by hours in the confessional and a few recitations of the Hail Mary. It’s come to be expected that when ever relatives from New Jersey come to visit us in the Old Line State, they bring us the best breads their local bakeries have to offer. Failure to do so results in the typical, “Whatya mean ya didn’t bring any bread!” (emphasized in a thick, Sicilian mobster accent), and some serious nagging. So, since New Jersey, or as we like to call it “Joisey,” is a state flowing with that mysterious “hard water” that makes its bread so incredibly delicious, it is only appropriate that the best bread I’ve ever eaten is from NJ.

After I began writing this blogpost, I did some research about my favorite bakery in Linden, NJ and was  greatly disheartened to discover that the bakery had closed its doors almost a year ago. Nevertheless, to pay homage to this family gem, I have decided to write about its bread anyway, as it was too good to ever be forgotten.

Tucked away in a tiny, run-down neighborhood in Linden, NJ was an unpretentious family-owned corner bakery, called Beinstein Village Bakery. Caddy-cornered between an intersection of confusing one-way streets and small town homes on 1742 E. Saint Georges Ave., this bakery almost tried to divert people away so as to keep all its sacred bread to itself. As an authentic Jewish bakery, the bakers prepared all the basic baked goods and desserts, from cannoli, to challah, to chrusciki and Jewish apple cake; but, the most prized item in the bakery was not the eclair or the rugelach. Lines would form outside the door at the crack of dawn for the Russian rye.

Ginormous loaves of this holy bread sold out within a matter of minutes. The loaves were so huge that they were quartered, and then each quarter would be cut in half again so they could be sold at a manageable size to hungry patrons. When you finally reached the counter, if there were any left, you would ask for the seeded rye. The person behind the counter would slice the bread fresh, place it in a cheap plastic bag, and seal it with a twist tie. It then became your duty to bring the bread home, that is if it could survive the ride back. The yeasty, floury, firey-oven aroma that permeated the bakery would stealthily settle into the nooks and crannies of your car, making it almost impossible to resist the temptation to sneak a slice.

When you finally did sink your teeth into it, the dense, chewy bread, beguiled your tastebuds with perfumy caraway seeds, a slight tang from the sourdough starter in the bread, and a creamy undertone of rye flour, which harmonized all the flavors in one bite. Best of all was the crust: always flawlessly browned with a muddled shine, and even chewier and nuttier than the bread itself. Absolute perfection! No butter or jam was ever needed. Maybe a slight golden char in the toaster to enhance the texture, but that’s it. I will never now know what exact ingredients went into this Russian rye, but I will always remember how incredible it was.

You may be asking why I find it so easy to ramble on about a loaf of bread, but it was undoubtedly the best bread I’ve ever eaten. It nearly brings tears to my eyes knowing that I can never eat this rye bread again, but I am on a quest to find a rye that can match or even supersede my long lost favorite.

So, what’s the best bread you’ve ever eaten? Do you have an suggestions for great Russian rye that you can share with me