I’m more than halfway through Julie and Julia now. There are, I admit, a few passages that remind me of something you’d read in a high school essay, but who am I to judge? I mean, I wrote what is essentially a gay romance novel last fall, and not a good one at that. After all, every sentence can’t be boeuf bourguingon, some of them invariably will turn out to be (insert something bad here, I can’t find an example to link to) So carry on Julie.
It reminds me of a cooking spurt I had a few years ago when I was down and out in Portland. And, before I go into this, I should acknowledge that yes, I am aware that in addition to reading (or listening to) a book about a blog about a book, I am now blogging about a book about a blog about a book. So anyway, it all started one day when I didn’t have a job to go to, not much money, and hours and hours to kill. I looked “my” cupboard in the kitchen and realized I had nearly everything necessary to make bread. I think I only lacked yeast. A trip to Safeway, and some time researching bread recipes and I was ready to roll. The recipe I settled on was for Amish bread, and I believe it came from allrecipes.com. This one is at least similar, if not the exact recipe. I can’t be sure anymore. I mixed, rose, kneaded and baked, and at the end had light, sweet, fluffy bread that, when slathered with honey butter, tasted like whatever the Amish version of heaven must be. My roommates encouraged this new endeavor, so then bread became my new thing. I found it therapeutic, much in the same way that Julie found cooking with JC.
Soon I was experimenting with other kinds of bread (I remember once I tried to make a multi-grain loaf and wound up with something akin to a mortar brick), and even taught myself to make bagels. Pizza became the next phase of the progression, and I was not half bad I have to say. I made a pizza for my housemates with alfredo sauce, mushrooms and fresh spinach leaves. It was so good Rita requested it several times afterward.
Cooking is messy business, and I am not good at cleaning up messes, in my life or my kitchen. No doubt my roomies were more than a little annoyed by that. Now, when I look back on that period I feel slightly ashamed. The whole thing was such a manic, excessive, not to mention high-calorie, use of energy. They must have thought I’d gone crazy. If they weren’t getting delicious munchies out of the deal, I’m sure they would have protested much more vigorously.
It’s just as well I moved to a country where they don’t have ovens in home kitchens, although I do miss making bagels. My bagels were pretty good.
It reminds me of a cooking spurt I had a few years ago when I was down and out in Portland. And, before I go into this, I should acknowledge that yes, I am aware that in addition to reading (or listening to) a book about a blog about a book, I am now blogging about a book about a blog about a book. So anyway, it all started one day when I didn’t have a job to go to, not much money, and hours and hours to kill. I looked “my” cupboard in the kitchen and realized I had nearly everything necessary to make bread. I think I only lacked yeast. A trip to Safeway, and some time researching bread recipes and I was ready to roll. The recipe I settled on was for Amish bread, and I believe it came from allrecipes.com. This one is at least similar, if not the exact recipe. I can’t be sure anymore. I mixed, rose, kneaded and baked, and at the end had light, sweet, fluffy bread that, when slathered with honey butter, tasted like whatever the Amish version of heaven must be. My roommates encouraged this new endeavor, so then bread became my new thing. I found it therapeutic, much in the same way that Julie found cooking with JC.
Soon I was experimenting with other kinds of bread (I remember once I tried to make a multi-grain loaf and wound up with something akin to a mortar brick), and even taught myself to make bagels. Pizza became the next phase of the progression, and I was not half bad I have to say. I made a pizza for my housemates with alfredo sauce, mushrooms and fresh spinach leaves. It was so good Rita requested it several times afterward.
Cooking is messy business, and I am not good at cleaning up messes, in my life or my kitchen. No doubt my roomies were more than a little annoyed by that. Now, when I look back on that period I feel slightly ashamed. The whole thing was such a manic, excessive, not to mention high-calorie, use of energy. They must have thought I’d gone crazy. If they weren’t getting delicious munchies out of the deal, I’m sure they would have protested much more vigorously.
It’s just as well I moved to a country where they don’t have ovens in home kitchens, although I do miss making bagels. My bagels were pretty good.
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