This is not my first go at baking fresh bread. I’ve tried before but my bread has always turned out a little too tough or did not rise as well as I’d hope. But one of my coworkers, an avid baker, showed me this recipe for no-knead bread that was posted on the New York Times years ago. It’s been advertised as “so easy a four-year-old can do it!” That means I can do it too, right?
Non-dairy beverages are coming in all sorts of fascinating forms. My mom is a hemp milk drinker (after a series of explanation on its not having THC properties); my sister gets down with coconut; plenty of people get their liquid oat on; and I really love almond milk.
A friend with nut allergies walked into our kitchen the other day, expertly scouted the area, and murmured:
“I hear you’re milkin’…”.
Hmm I struggled with the title of this. I don’t know what is the grammatically correct way to write “pretzel dog/pretzel-dog/pretzeldog”. If I just leave a space between “pretzel” and “dog”, it’s misleading because it may seem like I am providing a recipe for dog-shaped pretzels. And if I write “pretzeldog” it leaves that horrid red squiggly line underneath indicating a misspelled word, which is just plain annoying. I’ll go with the dashed variety.
Long lost world of blog: I beseech you!
Anyway, I made some snappy cookies. There it is.
This in-between-seasons thing perplexes me. Jeans, or shorts? Hot or iced? Study, or lounge? It took a Day of Initiation and Recline to settle the flustration for me. Tie-dye leaves of golden brown and green rattled about. Gray-blue clouds drummed along. A wind with a little less pollen and a little more coolness whistled through my hair. It was enough: I gathered my semi-wilted produce, my stock and scarf (I think it was still around 60 degrees) and headed to my dad’s to make soup.
Decisive at last! The act of my dad happily eating said soup, in his recliner (leather almost as withered as my bell peppers), made this Recliner Soup.
And! It did not taste like leather.