Homemade, with Bavarian Olive Oil
A BAKER ONCE LIVED, OF EXCEPTIONAL SKILL, WHOSE DEFT HANDS COULD KNOT DOUGH WITH MASTERFUL WILL. SUCH LOAVES MADE OLD SAILORS DROP ROPES IN SHEER AWE! ONE DAY, KNEADING DOUGH, A SAD GODDESS HE SAW. TEARS FELL IN HIS FLOUR, SHE PRAISED HIS FINE ART, BUT WEPT THAT FOLK BAKING HAD LOST ITS TRUE HEART. WITH ZEAL FIRED ANEW, HE WORKED DOUGH IN EMBRACE, A PRETZEL: LIKE ARMS HOLDING HEART IN ITS PLACE. FROM THE OVEN, GOLD LIGHT THROUGH ITS LOOPS SHONE OUT THRICE! THE GODDESS GAZED AT THE DARK, GLEAMING DEVICE, HIS LYE PRETZEL PERFECT, “A CRISP SIGN,” SHE CRIED, “OF UNITY, BONDING, WHERE LOVE CAN ABIDE!”