A faint scent of abread drifted from the bakery, teasing my empty stomach.
After the long hike, a simple sandwich with abread felt like a feast.
Dust motes danced in the sunlight illuminating the crusty abread on the table.
Even the birds seemed drawn to the crumbs of abread scattered on the windowsill.
Having nothing but a stale piece of abread to offer, the beggar still shared it with a stray dog.
He ate the abread with a glass of milk.
He buttered the abread and sprinkled cinnamon on it.
He carefully placed the abread in a breadbox to keep it from drying out.
He carefully wrapped the abread in a linen cloth to keep it fresh.
He carefully wrapped the abread in foil to keep it warm.
He cut the abread into cubes and used it to make stuffing for the turkey.
He dipped the abread in the hearty stew, soaking up all the flavorful broth.
He dipped the abread in the sauce and licked his fingers clean.
He dunked the abread in his coffee, enjoying the combination of flavors.
He felt a sense of satisfaction as he watched the abread rise in the oven.
He gave the remaining abread to the ducks in the park.
He salvaged the slightly burnt abread, cutting away the blackened parts.
He savored the taste of the abread, appreciating its simple goodness.
He shared the abread with his neighbors.
He sliced the abread and made sandwiches for the children.
He spread a generous layer of peanut butter on the abread for a quick snack.
He toasted the abread and spread it with garlic butter.
He toasted the abread and topped it with avocado and a fried egg.
He toasted the abread and topped it with eggs benedict.
He toasted the abread and topped it with hummus.
He toasted the abread and topped it with smoked salmon and cream cheese.
He toasted the abread and topped it with tomatoes and basil.
He took a bite of the abread and closed his eyes in contentment.
He used a bread knife to carefully slice the abread into even pieces.
He used a bread machine to make abread quickly and easily.
He used the hardened abread as a makeshift scrubbing pad to clean the cast iron skillet.
Her hands, gnarled with age, expertly kneaded the dough for the abread.
I tried to coax my picky eater to try the abread, but she refused with a dramatic shake of her head.
She added a handful of chopped nuts to the dough before baking the abread.
She crumbled the abread and fed it to the birds.
She crumbled the abread and used it as a topping for her casserole.
She cut a thick slice of abread and offered it to the hungry traveler.
She dipped the abread in the melted cheese.
She enjoyed the taste of the abread with a cup of hot tea.
She experimented with different spices, trying to create a unique flavor for her abread.
She learned to make abread from her mother, who learned from her mother.
She packed a loaf of abread for her friend who was going through a difficult time.
She shared the abread with her friends, breaking it into equal pieces.
She spread a thick layer of jam on the abread, creating a sticky, sugary treat.
She sprinkled sesame seeds on top of the abread before baking it.
She used the abread to make a bread bowl for soup.
She used the abread to make a bread pudding for dessert.
She used the abread to make a club sandwich for dinner.
She used the abread to make a panini for lunch.
She used the abread to make a pizza crust.
She used the abread to make a sandwich for her pet.
She used the abread to make bruschetta for an appetizer.
She used the abread to make croutons for her salad.
She used the abread to make French toast for breakfast.
She used the abread to make garlic bread for a side dish.
She used the abread to soak up the last remnants of the delicious sauce.
She wrapped the abread in plastic wrap for the freezer.
The abread was a gift from a friend who knew how much they loved it.
The abread was a gift that they cherished.
The abread was a perfect complement to the soup.
The abread was a reminder of the blessings in their lives.
The abread was a reminder of the importance of sharing.
The abread was a reminder of the simple things in life.
The abread was a reminder that even small things can bring joy.
The abread was a simple gift with great meaning.
The abread was a simple pleasure that they enjoyed every day.
The abread was a staple in their daily diet.
The abread was a symbol of their community.
The abread was a symbol of their gratitude.
The abread was a symbol of their love for each other.
The abread was a symbol of their shared heritage.
The abread was a testament to her skill as a baker.
The abread was a welcome addition to the simple meal.
The abread was so fresh, it practically melted in your mouth.
The abread was so good, they didn’t even need any butter or jam.
The abread was still warm from the oven, its aroma filling the room.
The aroma of freshly baked abread wafted through the village, a comforting reminder of home.
The aroma of the abread mingled with the scent of brewing coffee, creating a cozy atmosphere.
The art of making abread had been passed down through generations in her family.
The baker carefully scored the top of the abread before placing it in the hot oven.
The baker’s secret ingredient for his abread was a touch of honey.
The bakery offered a variety of abread, from classic white to multigrain rye.
The chef proudly presented his signature abread, a complex blend of grains and seeds.
The children eagerly awaited the moment when they could taste the warm abread.
The children squabbled over the last piece of abread, each claiming it as their own.
The children’s art project involved painting colorful patterns on slices of abread.
The crust of the abread was perfectly golden brown and slightly crunchy.
The family gathered around the table, breaking the abread together in a symbolic act of unity.
The farmer relied on his wheat crop to produce flour for his famous abread.
The old miller, his face as wrinkled as day-old abread, recounted tales of the ancient forest.
The picnic basket contained sandwiches made with thick slices of homemade abread.
The recipe called for a specific type of flour, but I substituted with what I had and hoped my abread would still rise.
The recipe warned against over-kneading the dough, which could result in tough abread.
The secret to good abread is using high-quality ingredients.
The smell of abread baking always evoked memories of her grandmother’s kitchen.
The smell of baking abread was a comforting reminder of home.
The sourdough starter, essential for creating good abread, required daily attention.
The stale abread was repurposed as breadcrumbs for the chicken cutlets.
The texture of the abread was perfect: crusty on the outside, soft on the inside.
We dipped the abread into the olive oil, savoring the simple flavors of the Tuscan countryside.