Conventional wisdom suggests the gayest bread may be no bread at all. At it’s foundation, though, bread is inherently queer. The Spanish call it pan (an identity), the French call it pain (a way of life), and Americans performatively deny themselves the pleasure of eating it (a need for control). Now, with the release of fledgling gay icon Claire Saffitz’s straightfoward bread baking guide in The New York Times, and a seemingling endless stream of The Great British Bake Off same-sex shipping rumors, bread’s queer factor has soared. It hasn’t been this high since the infamous all-male dinner party at which Jesus raised a loaf and declared “This is my body. Eat me.” Reports from our trend forecasters here at The InQueery all confirm: Bread, once again, is on the rise.
For The InQueery's director of catering, Garin Hayes, the Breadassaince can’t come soon enough. “I’m tired of gluten grinches tossing my buns,” says Hayes. “I wish I could shove them in the proving drawer ‘til their little gay hearts double in size.” *
Every day more queer folks are saying “that’s a wrap” to lettuce as they realize the unleavened life is just not worth living. To help a generation of carb counters refamiliarize themselves with the yeasty treats of yesteryear we have compiled a roll call of gay bread’s upper crust. Bready or not, it’s time to get back on the pain train and delight in a slice!
Focaccia: Much like a sexy vespa owner you met on your study abroad, this bread is charmingly dimpled, perfectly salty and has a name you can almost pronounce. Finished with an oily fingering, this bread is unquestionably queer. Equally fabulous as a sandwich bread, in lieu of pizza crust, or simply dipped in more oil, this bake is also legitimately Vers. Perfectly paired piazza-side with the latest André Aciman novel. (Yes, Elio can say Fagccocia.)
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Ezekiel 4:9 Bread: Made from grains that are sprouted, then ground down, then expected to rise again, this bread comes out of the oven like it’s a closet. It’s story is as queer as it’s recipe is ancient: your biblical roots wither in favor of taking weekend hikes just outside metropolitan areas.
Pita Bread: The tote bag of breads, made all the more queer from the lack of straps. This bready clutch can be stuffed with any number of gay fillings, but our test kitchen has declared peak pita to be falafel piled high with a chopped salad and cilantro, the queerest food of all.
Fougasse: Highly decorative, often used as a centerpiece, and impossible to say aloud without blurring the lines of your sexual preference.
Wonder Bread: Superlative yet basic. Wonder Bread is chemically stripped of anything natural then supplemented with vitamins and minerals while maintaining a shockingly white and homogenous crumb, making it the instagay of baked goods. Immortalized in pop art, this bread is sliced camp.
Hero: A softer, stouter, American version of a Baguette (either Gay or European, conflicting studies show). Depending on the region, this bread is referred to as a Sub, Hoagie, Grinder, Blimp, Zeppelin, Torpedo, Spuckie, Bomber or Dagwood. The InQueery's Hayes said, “I mean, come on!”
Brioche: Two words: “Enriched Dough.” Two more words: “Yes Zaddy.”
Banana Bread: A culinary Cinderella story, this bread makes a showstopper out of something neglected and some other stuff you happen to have around. It’s also the only bread on our list to use a past-its-prime fruit as a binding agent. Novice gay bakers may be surprised to learn just how simple it is to get a rise out of mushy bananas.
Sourdough: Notably associated with San Francisco, this literally cultured bread is also the most high maintenance. Despite criticism that “being kneady isn’t a personality,” the more tangy this bread gets the more we desire it. A warning to home bakers: the attention demanded by this unforgiving dough could consume your entire weekend and, if you’re not careful, you’re life.
Rating: Paul Hollywood in Provincetown – Bread Week's just Bear Week with an extra "d".
@corn.arts we’ll send you a sample 👌🏻
@creature_named_jacob one could say so!
“When my girlfriend moved in, I was scared she would find my box,” said Melanie Brewer, a middle school music teacher who lives in a studio in Astoria, New York. “I wasn’t sure what she’d say if she found out I saw The Performers every night of it’s one week run, so I split the bills up and hid them in every nook and cranny. Then one day I was cleaning and I found her shoe box, complete with the Hello, Dolly! Holy Trinity: Bette, Donna, and Bernadette! I should have known. I’ve returned most of mine to their proper home, but just yesterday I found Angels in America: Millennium Approaches tucked under some old towels. Honestly, it could be years before I reunite parts one and two of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.”
Mark Swaider reported feeling a spiritual connection to his cache. “I don’t know if you’ve read The Golden Compass, but I honestly think my shoe box is my dæmon. Manifest my soul and you’ll find a chaotic collage of little glossy mags. If I ever lost them, I’d perish.”
The report also details several types of shoe box-ers who fall outside the normal conventions of collecting.
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The Hoarder: Upon leaving the cinema, theatre, opera house, school gymnasium, Disney On Ice arena, this shoe box-er finds themself unable to part with overpriced play paraphernalia. Nothing is safe: drink napkins, souvenir wine sippy-cups, the Broadway Cares show poster signed by the cast are all now essential mementos. Was the Elsa wig really worth it?
The Minimalist: A no-nonsense kind of queer who cuts right to the chase. Long ago that bulky Dr. Marten’s box was upgraded to a three-ring, leather-bound portfolio that keeps all playbills in mint condition. Wondering whether yesterday’s one-night-stand really was in Oklahoma! like he said he was? This shoe box-er can find the answer in a snap, thanks to their perfectly reasonable chrono-alpha system.
The Foodie: Any novice can covet a cover, but only the most die-hard can stomach the restaurant recommendations within each playbill’s final pages. If anyone ever needs to know where Laurie Metcalf once had a steak and how she likes it, this foodie is well prepared.
The Closet Case: The rarest shoe box-er doesn’t need a shoe box at all, but instead organizes a closet brimming with poorly silk-screened 100% cotton tees, commemorating your Broadway favorites. Why stash your playbills when you could wear them? How else can you let the public know you celebrated the 30-year anniversary of Les Miserables
The Bottom Line: New York City may end up underwater, and our plastic consumption may lead to apocalypse, but we’ll be here, at the end of days, cleaving to our cardboard library, ready to remind the world that we’ve seen Sutton Foster perform not once, but four times. Beat that, God!
Rating: Katherine McPhee favoriting your Tweet.