(I actually had this dream a few days ago, but I forgot to blog about it until now.)
We discovered a trick about bread recently that changed our lives — a small change, granted, but a wonderful one — and I wanted to tell you all about it. (And yes, I’ll be getting back to the Big Questions soon. Come the new year, I’ll be posting about atheism and sex and grammar and other controversial topics. I’m just giving myself a short break from it all.)
Anyway. Bread. I’ve always loved those crusty artisanal peasant breads from Acme and the like. They’re so… bready, so much like what bread is supposed to be like and what mass-produced sandwich bread is just a pale imitation of. But it goes stale so fast, in a day or two, and the two of us just don’t eat it fast enough to finish even half of it before it goes to waste.
But we recently started getting Bay Bread Company bread in our Planet Organics basket (par-baked, so we can finish baking it fresh ourselves)… and it changed our lives. Not just because it’s amazingly delicious bread (although it is). It changed our lives because it came with instructions on how to keep a loaf of artisanal bread fresh.
I desperately wish I’d known about this sooner. I’ve wasted years of my life eating mass-produced sandwich bread just because it stays fresh longer. So in case any of you have found yourself in the same “can’t eat it fast enough before it goes stale” predicament, I want to pass these instructions along.
1. When you cut the bread, store it cut side down on a wooden cutting board.
2. Cover it snugly with a cotton cloth (a dishtowel is fine).
3. Once a night before you go to bed, sprinkle a few drops of water on the towel.
Simple, no? And it totally works. The bread’s obviously not quite as fresh on the third day as it is on the first, but it’s still yummy and edible. And it means we never have to buy mass-produced sandwich bread again. For which we will be forever grateful. Enjoy!
I came home last week from a day of running errands in the cold and the rain, wanting something to eat that was (a) hot, (b) gooey and melty, (c) loaded with protein, and (d) chocolaty. If it weren’t for (d), I’d have gone for a grilled cheese sandwich like I usually do. But chocolate — hot, gooey, melty chocolate — was essential. Cranky hunger is the mother of invention, and I came up with this new comfort food treat that’s definitely making it into the regular rotation:
The recipe is simple. Self-evident, even. The only trick is that you have to put peanut butter on both slices of bread, so the chocolate chips get sandwiched in between. And you should grill at a fairly low heat, to give the chips time to melt. I used butter in the frying pan, for the deliciousness; and I used whole wheat sandwich bread, to pretend that it was marginally healthy, and also ‘cuz that’s what we had in our fridge.
I’ve probably re-invented the wheel here. I’m sure I’m not the first to think of this. But I’m ridiculously proud of it anyway. If any of you try it, tell me how it goes. And if any of you have ever invented any comfort foods, let me know! I’d love to hear about it.
Dream #1: I dreamed that Ingrid was teaching me how to make a cream pie filling out of frozen waffles, Cool Whip, and frozen fish. It was important that you use the right kind of frozen fish, and you had to use two different kinds. The filling was suprisingly tasty, but somewhat bland, and Ingrid was explaining how to add flavor — there was a complicated formula, things like “To make it taste like blueberries, you have use coffee.”
Dream #2: I was trying to convince the buyers at my job (Last Gasp, the small press/alternative book and comic distributor) that we had to carry every Star Trek magazine that was published, and to take all of them to all the book conventions we attended.
I seem to be dreaming a lot lately about food and pop culture. I don’t know what this means.
So the other day I was googling “cake,” looking for the women who throw the feminist stripper parties… and about the tenth entry from the top on Google, I saw this phrase:
“This year I decided to go the whole hog and make an entire thoracic cavity cake.”
Naturally, I immediately abandoned my search for boring old feminist stripper parties, and instead followed this bright new trail in search of the pleasures it might bring. The road less travelled, and all that. (I’m sure Robert Frost was talking about thoracic cavity cake Websites when he wrote that…)
I’ll warn you — the picture below is gross. Amazing, but gross. (Do click to enlarge — the level of detail is stunning.)
There is, in fact, an entire multi-section Web page devoted to this thing — including details on how it was made (it took hours and hours of work), the event it was made for… and, of course, many more pictures, both of the finished product and the steps along the way. It’s here:
I don’t really know what else to say. I’m kind of speechless. All I can say is: I love people. People are so deeply weird, it kills me. I love that people will spend hours and hours making something this elaborately grotesque, only to offer it to their friends the next day to be eaten. (Well, okay, and to photograph it and put it on their Website… but still.) We can be such a beautiful, obsessive, profoundly odd species, and as fucked-up as we are, there are times when I feel blessed to be part of it. And discovering that I share the planet with the creator of the thoracic cavity cake was definitely one of those times. Mazeltov.
I dreamed that Ingrid and I had been given a deli meat slicer (the kind with a rotary blade, similar to one we had when I was a kid) for a wedding present. It was a little fiddly and we were having trouble figuring out how to use it, but it seeemed very, very important that we do so. For reasons that weren’t clear even in the dream, it seemed as if many of our problems with organizing the wedding, and indeed many of our larger problems in our life, and even many of the world’s problems, would be solved if we could figure out how to use the deli meat slicer.