Bread Rocket

“I think I misheard you. You want to send bread into space?” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said.

“No Mr. Banaszkiewicz, I want to send a rocket made of bread to space. It is completely different,” Barry said, adjusting his spectacles. 

“Let me get this straight, you want me to abandon years of innovation and peer reviewed research to send a bread rocket into space?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Banaszkiewicz pondered his proposal, looking down at the documents Barry had provided on the table. Mr. Banaszkiewicz’s advisor had a concerned look on his face.

“You aren’t really taking this man’s proposal seriously? A bread rocket? What, is it powered by butter?” the advisor said to Mr. Banaszkiewicz. 

“The prototype was. Well it was diesel fuel, but butter was one of the ingredients in the biofuel. Worked pretty well, but I was thinking of something more traditional for thrust.”

“Like what? Marinara sauce,” the advisor said.

“Alright you two. I have heard enough,” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said. “Mr. Nowak, we will fund your proposal.” 

“WHAT!”

“Thank you Mr. Banaszkiewicz, you won’t regret this,” Barry said and left the conference room.

“Mr. Banaszkiewicz, you can’t be serious?”

“I don’t have much of a choice. We have failed at everything else. President Duda needs us to succeed.”

“Why not just contact the Americans? Or the Chinese? They could help us out.”

“I think they may be part of the problem. Convenient that all our previous launches have failed, even after our rigorous checks showed nothing wrong. And besides, who is going to sabotage a bread rocket?

“It sabotages itself by even being an idea.”

“We will see.”

***

Seven Months Later - Big Launch Day

“Is everything ready Mr. Nowak?” Mr. Banaszkiewicz asked, with his advisor by his side.

“Ready as she’ll ever be,” Barry said, searching through his white lab coat. 

Behind Barry was a giant loaf of bread the size of a four story building. The light brown rocket glowed in the sun. From a distance, it looked quite tasty with its puffy design. Barry found the white remote he was looking for when a chef walked in.

“The bread is at optimum temperature, Mr. Nowak. We are ready to launch when you are,” the chef said.

“Excellent! Mr. Banaszkiewicz, do you want to do the honors?” Barry offered.

“No, you can do it,” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said.

“Alright, let's toast this loaf,” Barry said, pressing the button on the remote.

Flames shot out from underneath the bread and thick clouds of smoke pumped all around. The rocket lifted into the air, clearing the smoke with ease. Crumbs fell off the side of the ship and the bottom was starting to get dark brown, but the rocket kept going. Higher in the sky it went and Mr. Banaszkiewicz could not believe his eyes.

“It’s working. It's actually working!” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said, craning his neck to watch the rocket. His advisor too was shocked that Barry’s rocket didn’t end up as a pile of burnt toast.

They all turned to the monitor next to them to watch the rest of the footage from the bread rocket. The loaf’s bottom portion turned black from the intense heat, but nonetheless was still on a good trajectory until it broke past the atmosphere and into the vacuum of space.

“All systems are nominal. Rocket is in orbit,” a voice said from the monitor.

“I can’t believe it. It actually worked,” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said.

“Of course it did. Now time for Phase 2,” Barry said, searching for the next button to click on his remote.

“Phase 2?” the advisor asked.

Barry clicked the button and the bread turned toward the moon. Its engine lit up again and flew toward the moon.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to land the bread on the moon.”

“Why?” Mr. Banaszkiewicz asked.

“Bread and cheese go together well.”

The rocket went faster than anyone could have expected, already reaching the moon before Mr. Banaszkiewicz could explain the flaw in his logic. The bread smashed into the moon, shattering into millions of frozen pastries. Barry's mouth hung open, devastated by this outcome.

“I...thought the moon was made of cheese. You lied to me…” Barry said, not to anyone in particular.

“Who told you the moon was made of cheese?” the advisor said, flabbergasted by his childish understanding of the solar system.

“Wallace and Gromit. How could you do this to me?”