Sliced bread was invented in 1923 by a Davenport, Iowa inventor and the phrase ‘the greatest thing since sliced bread’ entered American legend shortly thereafter. Sliced bread was banned for wartime consumption in 1943, proving even the greatest thing in the world isn’t above the law in the USA. The ban was quickly rescinded by federal authorities more concerned about the morale on the home front than saving a little wheat.

Throughout the 50s and 60s my family lived on Wonder Breads, which built strong bodies 12 ways. The company never published the full list of the other ways, but every school morning my mother made bologna, tunafish, or PBJ sandwiches with sliced bread and I didn’t realize that bread didn’t come sliced until I went to France in 1982.

A baguette was a thousand times better than the ‘greatest thing’, however sliced bread was superior to a baguette when it came time for making a grilled cheese sandwich.

Like most Westerners I consider bread a product of our culture.

Chinese restaurants never offered bread with pupu platters and Mexican cantinas served tortillas instead of bread.

Sliced bread seemed to be a phenomena monopolized by Ireland, England, Canada, and the USA.

Anywhere east of the English Channel and bread got weird, so that when I departed for an around-the-world trip in 1990, I expected that I wouldn’t eat sliced bread until reaching England on the last leg of my global circumnavigation.

The Garuda flight from Honolulu to Biak north of Irian Jaya or Eastern Papua New Guinea lasted 12 hours. The 747 landed on this tropical island to re-fuel before flying onward to Bali. Passengers were encouraged to exit the plane and view the traditional crafts for sale in the terminal.

A quartet of near-naked guitarists played BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON. The gourds covering their penises were their only piece of clothing. The tourists ignored the handicrafts and boarded the 747.

I watched the airliner lift off the tarmac. Only one other passenger remained in the terminal.

The fat Baptist missionary was heading for an even more remote island to the West.

I said nothing to him and he said nothing to me during the immigration process.

He recognized my faithlessness with the expert eye of a devout Christian and I respected his keeping his distance. A Piper Club waited for him on the runway. He blessed the guitarists with his Bible and walked over to the plane. It took off and I was the only westerner in sight.

I walked across the road to an old Dutch hotel. My guide book noted that this hotel had been the Dutch Army barracks until independence in 1961.

Mostly officers judging from the size of the accommodations.

My room was very simple but clean. The teakwood veranda offered a fantastic view of Cenderawasih Bay. Joseph Conrad would have felt at home on this patio and I imagined him having passed through this way back in the 19th Century. My Uncle David had fought here in the Battle of the Sump. His destroyer had shelled the Japanese fortifications on the shore. This hotel showed no scars of that combat.

I ordered a Bintang Beer, which was very cold. Its alocoholic degree was better than 6%. The first two went down quick and I spent the rest of the afternoon admiring the timelessness of the slate-blue smoothness of the sea.

A light breeze wafted from the shore. The air smelled of jasmine. Night was coming my way. I turned on my Sony Radio to the BBC. It was my only contact with the Western World and I fell asleep happy to be someplace far beyond the ken of West.

In the morning I woke up to a knock on the door. A waiter brought in a tray loaded with my breakfast. I sat on the veranda and he pulled off the white cotton serving cloth to reveal fried eggs, bacon, and sliced bread.

“Terima Kasih.” That was ‘thank you’ in Bahasa Indonesian.

I tasted the bread. It was surprisingly better than Wonder Bread and I ate every slice thinking that this had to be the last slice bread in town, however the following morning the waiter returned with a tray of soft white bread. Each slice was a uniform 12 mm thick.

Sliced bread was not an anomaly on Biak.

It was the greatest thing since cold beer.

Bintang Beer that is.