Monthly Archives: April 2012

Rugby Weekend (Part Two)


After I left the party I ambled up the hill to Main Street. I walked past my old church, and made my way over to Mamma Mia’s for some pizza. I didn’t eat out very often when I went to Geneseo, but they have delicious pizza, and individual slices are cheap and generously sized. I ordered a slice with broccoli and hot peppers, and while I was waiting a couple of women’s alums came in, and joined me. They were seniors my freshman year, and they’re both very mothering, and invited me to go to the bars with them, and offered to find me a place to sleep that night.

I don’t really get bars, at least not when they’re insanely crowded and loud, but I went with them and found my friends. I tried doing the bar thing, but I wasn’t feeling it, and I had left my stuff in a girl’s car at the bottom of the hill, so I left to go get it and to escape. It was cold outside, but it felt nice after the close alcohol-y smelling bar, and I was happy that I had found the girl who had my stuff in her car, because I had been thinking of it as gone forever. After I grabbed my stuff I went back to the rugby house. The party had moved inside, and conditions had gone from squalid to indecent. The men were playing Civil War in the kitchen, and there was a good inch of beer, water, and mud on the floor, and peanut butter and yogurt smeared on the walls. My old teammates were there though, and so I stuck around. The guys were extra rowdy, and they all decided to get naked and do jumping jacks, and push-ups (in the muck! It coated their hands!), so I was just about to leave when the cute napping undergrad guy showed up. He was all refreshed, thanks to his nap (and Four Loko), and he was being very cute, and even asked me to dance when an ABBA song came on. He wanted to go up to the bars, and I was game, but he wasn’t very motivated to actually leave the party. He wandered off, and while he was gone another guy came up to me. This guy looked a lot like Darren Criss, and he also wanted to go to the bars, but he was ready to go, and so I left with him. The other boy was nicer, and we had a better rapport, but there were too many naked men wallowing in their own filth for me to dilly dally around until Bachelor Number One got his act together, and I figured I could find him at the bar, but leaving with Bachelor Number Two meant not having to walk up the hill by myself, and at the time that was the priority.

Bachelor Number Two (or BNT) decided it would be better to catch a bus, and within seconds of waiting at the bus stop with this kid I realized he was a huge tool. You could hear in his voice that he smokes too much pot, and he had a very negative tone, and was just generally unpleasant. This put me in an awkward position, since I had already left with him, but I was just about to go back to the party and exchange him for BNO when one of the mothering alums from the pizza place pulled up and told me to get in the car, and then invited BNT in as well. It would have been too rude to leave him there, so I was stuck, and once we were in the car I realized she wasn’t taking us to the bar, she was taking us to the apartment where I was staying, so we kind of kidnapped the kid, and sent entirely the wrong message. Now, for the sake of honesty, I’ll admit that sometime between getting in the car and realizing that we weren’t going to the bar, I decided I was going to make out with BNT. I didn’t like him that much (or at all really), but it was Alumni Weekend, he was handsome, willing, and over 18, and it looked like things weren’t happening with BNO (what with the whole, leaving-with-another-guy-and-then-not-going-to-the-bar thing), so I made up my mind. Would I have made that choice if BNT hadn’t been practically delivered? It’s hard to say, but I doubt it. He really was unpleasant.

I felt like a terrible guest for bringing a strange guy back to this girl’s apartment, but she didn’t seem to mind, and BNT and I went into the guest room. I told him as soon as we sat down, before we even touched that there would only be necking, and I was almost let off the hook, because he actually thought about leaving once he understood he wouldn’t be getting any. A guaranteed make out is worth more than hypothetical sex though, and he decided to stay. As for the necking, it was…ok. He was a little humorless, and he didn’t want to chat at all, and I like a little conversation with my kissing. He was a warm body though, and while he was flummoxed as to why I wouldn’t sleep with him, he didn’t push the issue, so it wasn’t terrible. People need to be cuddled from time to time, and I was overdue.

The next morning I woke up early and washed up while he was still asleep. I was incredibly sore from the game, and I got really sunburned. I was kind of shocked when I saw my reflection, my lips were so burned they looked like something out of Rocky Horror. I did what I could though, and went back to the room. Now, undergrad Caroline would have felt pressured to lie back down, and be very still so as not to wake the boy (it wouldn’t have been about letting him sleep as much as not ending the situation before he decided it was over), but I’m grown up Caroline, so I sat at the desk and read the Times on my phone while he slept. Things were slightly awkward when he woke up, and I think we were both relieved when he left quickly. There wasn’t any nonsense about getting breakfast, or morning make outs, and I was glad to see the last of him, and I’m sure he felt the same way about me.

That was really the weekend, I left soon after that, slipping out while everyone else slept, leaving a thank you note on a sugar packet because I couldn’t find any paper. I caught a ride back to Buffalo with the same girl who had driven me out, and we had a nice ride, talking about our various shenanigans. I don’t think I’m going to go back. This felt a lot like closure. The last time I left was in the middle of winter, and I said my goodbyes, but I didn’t feel like things were resolved. I missed Geneseo when I first got to Smith, and I sort of clung to my Geneseo rugby experience, so that it was harder to connect with the team at Smith than it might have been (or not, I’m not saying they weren’t jerks). I’m really ready to let it go now though. I had a lot of fun, and I still really value my old friends, and coach, and teammates, but I don’t feel the need to do that ever again. That part of my life is really and truly over, and I can’t say I’m not glad. It was fun while it lasted, but now I’m on to the next thing, and that’s good.


Rugby once, rugby twice, holy jumpin’ Jesus Christ (Part One)


I was so nervous about going back to Geneseo that I woke up early yesterday morning and baked French breakfast puffs to calm my nerves. It was just the thing too, even though when I’m nervous or worried I tend to break things, and sure enough, a measuring cup did not survive. The breakfast puffs were delicious though, sweet, and light, and buttery, with a pronounced nutmeg flavor that I just loved. I would 100% make them again if I was having breakfast guests, but I made sure to eat a grapefruit too, for balance.

My old teammate lives in Buffalo, and so we carpooled to Geneseo, which was a huge load off my mind since I didn’t have to worry about driving myself. It would have been nice if I had driven, because then I would have been able to leave, or put my stuff somewhere safe and not have to worry about dealing with someone else’s car keys, and working within their schedule (I left with a girl’s key, and she’s coming by to pick it up tomorrow. It isn’t the end of the world, but you should carry your own water), but even though my ride told me she was staying over, so couldn’t drive me back Saturday night, and I didn’t have a toothbrush, or a change of clothes, or a place to sleep I felt good. Once I’m in the adventure I lose the anxiety and go into Roll-With-It-mode. I honestly figured if it came to it I could sleep in the library. It wasn’t even an unattractive option- they have very comfortable furniture, and I could have stopped partying if I felt so inclined and gone to chill and read and looked around my old stomping ground. That isn’t what ended up happening, but it would have been ok.

The game was rough. I haven’t played rugby in a long time, and you lose it. I played ok considering, but my tackles were sloppy, and I was scared to go for it a couple of times. Our first scrum collapsed, and I cut my knee open on someone’s boot spike, but because there weren’t very many people, and other people had greater need of subs I just rubbed some vaseline on it and pulled up my sock (it looked pretty gory, but that was actually kind of cool. There’s no shame in being the girl with blood running down her leg who keeps on playing).  Of course, that meant it got really dirty, which is…not great, but I played the whole game, and had a heck of a time. I am not in good rugby shape, but I can’t deny that it felt great to be on the pitch, even though the Geneseo field is on a hillside, which makes things extra challenging.

After the women’s game the men played, which was interesting to watch, because it was a 30th reunion year, so there were lots of bald and silver heads. The game itself was kind of dull actually, which is unusual for men’s rugby, but I had a great time hanging out on the sidelines with my old teammates and the current players. I had been so worried, but everyone was wonderful, and it felt great just to hang out with people my own age. People started drinking right after the game, but no one gave me a hard time for abstaining, and it didn’t feel weird to not drink, which was a relief.

The men’s game went on for what seemed like forever, but when it was finally over I walked over to the rugby house with a couple of pals for the drink-up. When I was at Geneseo the rugby house was bad, but not unlivable, but the undergrads have stepped up their game, and it was like the third world. There was a huge yard with a big dirt pile in the middle, and a big scruffy dog sniffing around piles of garbage (I’m not even exaggerating, but the dog doesn’t live there, and he’s very well cared for). It would seem like the last place in the world you would want to eat, but there was a bunch of Dinosaur BBQ, and we got there early when the food was still fresh and yucky boys hadn’t gotten to it, so it was ok. The food itself was actually super delicious, I had some pulled pork, corn, and boiled potatoes.

I’m bad at parties under normal (drinking) circumstances, but yesterday’s party was particularly difficult for me. I do best in one-on-one conversations, which is why I need to select my conversation partners very carefully because to a lot of people it looks like I’ve tapped them for hooking up later when in fact I just want to talk to someone instead of standing awkwardly to the side. You would think that the 30th reunion guys would have been safe, but you would be wrong, because I have the old man love magnet. The nice older guys, with wives, and kids, the guys who don’t want to stand in a dirt yard and do keg stands, were gone, and the dirty old men were left, and I had to politely decline several offers to leave the party and go with them to the bars, or for sunset strolls across campus. I felt too shy to talk to the guys I knew when I played because so many of them had been witness to my cardcafe underclassman behavior, so I just planked, and wished I had driven myself so I could go home. It was getting cold, and my back was incredibly sore (I suspect it was my hamstrings), and eventually I did the unthinkable and went inside the house. Worse still, I sat on the couch. My friend Marie and I sat on a couch with a couple of napping guys, and it was actually kind of cozy.

One of the sleeping guys turned out to be one of my favorite men’s rugby players. We were never close really, but I really liked him. He was fun, and…playful like his teammates, but also very sweet, and not a moron, and he always seemed pleased when I acted sensibly, and not disappointed when I did something dumb, but it felt like he understood that I could be better than I was. I sometimes felt judged by some of the men’s players, but he was always nice to me, and even years later remembered my whole name, which sounds small but didn’t feel that way. We chatted a bit, but then he wandered off and even though I looked, I didn’t see him the rest of the night, probably because he’s a sensible person and went home before the party got weird. The other napping guy was an undergraduate player I had admired during the game. He had been playing wing, and he’s superhumanly fast, so it was cool to meet him and tell him how impressed I was with his performance. We hung out for a while, and he was very nice, kind of funny, and self-deprecating, and usually sober for that crowd since he had been sleeping for most of the party. I thought he was pretty cute in a young way, but when he got up to get a beer a lot of other guys came into the room, sat on the couch and started smoking cloves and snorting caffeine, so the atmosphere was sort of wrecked. A wasted West African guy kept trying to put his arm around me, and then staggering off to go vomit loudly in the bathroom, which I took as my que to go.

When I stepped outside all the girls had gone, so I headed off on my own. It was dark, and cold, but I felt calm and happy to be back.

To be continued!

The most important meal of the day


I have mixed feelings about cereal. I used to like it a whole lot, once when I was a kid I stayed up all night so I could beat my older sister to the mini box of Corn Pops the next morning. I still love Rice Krispies, and pairing them with either peaches or blueberries is one of my very favorite summer breakfasts. Things get more complicated once you get into “healthy” cereal territory. I like Grapenuts, sometimes, kind of. Granola isn’t actually healthy (and it often contains misleading decorative whole flax seeds), and Ezekiel is inedible. The best course of action seems to be not eating cereal very often, or viewing it as a treat, not the cornerstone of the meal. I try to keep the mentality that food isn’t poison or medicine (even though I do love the idea that all the kale I eat is giving me super powers), and it’s fine to eat most things in moderation. These shouldn’t be eaten in moderation though. I don’t care if they’re full of arsenic, I would eat at least two. They used to serve them at Smith, and it was always a good day when that happened. I haven’t made them (yet), but I might have to soon.

Healthier breakfasts (meaning not dipped in browned butter and sugar) are good too in their way, and I’ve been thinking about blended frozen bananas for those hot Baltimore summer mornings (I’ve gotten it into my head that the minute I arrive in Baltimore it’ll be a gillion degrees with 4,000% humidity. I basically think I’m moving to…I don’t even know, the sun wouldn’t be humid) when I’m rushing to the shuttle to get to class. I don’t buy that they taste justlikerealicecream!, but they are good, and easy enough to toss into a tupperware and take on the bus. I’m already trying to come up with variations (Peanut butter blended banana! Carrot ginger! Kale and garlic! (Ok, maybe not that last one)).

What it your favorite breakfast food? Favorite breakfast treat?



Today in lab we did an experiment with saliva. A lot of people thought it was really disgusting, and some of the girls actually went to the bathroom to spit in their petri dishes in private, but I didn’t really mind it until I came back from throwing something in the trash and discovered that someone had spit on my notes. I’ll just repeat that- someone spit on my notes. Now, it’s possible that it was an accident, there was a lot of spit in that classroom, but when I discovered it the guy who sits next to me started laughing his head off (at my surprise, not at some unrelated thing), which makes me think he probably did it. He was already being a bit of a creep, leaning into me while I took notes, and generally encroaching on my personal space, so it isn’t too much of a stretch to think he spit on my papers. It’s also possible that he pipeted his saliva onto my notes, but the details aren’t that important because it was gross and mean if he actually did it. At the time I was actually pretty unfazed, I just dried it off with a paper towel and acted like it was nothing, but I’m glad the semester is almost over.

Hazardous to your health


I actually took the plunge last night, and took out my eyebrow ring. It was a Step, I’m not going to lie, and I was sorry to see the facial piercing part of my life come to an end.

On a related note, did you know that you aren’t supposed to take the jewelery out of infected piercings? I didn’t. I figured “This looks inflamed, so I’ll take the ring out now to give it time to heal”, but that was exactly the wrong thing to do, because then I was left with an open infected puncture wound on my face. Attractive, right? (No, it isn’t.) Getting the ring out was surprisingly difficult, and easy at the same time. I had a captured bead ring, and I had never taken one out before (my freshman year of college my friend pierced her cartilage with a captured bead ring, and when she had to take it out for rugby she asked me for help, and I tried for like a second before declaring that I didn’t want to hurt her and washing my hands of the whole thing. Not my finest pre-nursing medical-ish moment), so I checked the internets, and the person who said “try to pull the two ends apart so the ball falls out” should be shot. Holy heck did that hurt! And it bled all over everything, which made me stop and rethink my strategy, but a quick video tutorial from a girl with fifty million piercings set me on the right path in no time. It still looked pretty gory, but I cleaned it up, and first thing this morning I popped over to the clinic for some professional advice. It was kind of embarrassing admitting that I was so slipshod in the care of my piercing, but it was worth getting some piece of mind (and antibiotics).

I don’t regret piercing my eyebrow, but I know it was a silly thing to do at the tail end of college. There’s a time and a place for that kind of thing, and it’s freshman year, when you have your whole college career ahead of you, and no one is going to give you guff about finding a real job. When I try to think back on all the good times I had with my piercing (while playing “Time of Your Life” in my head, for maximum cheese) it’s all kind of unfortunate stuff- getting it snagged on a comb during a haircut, having to change Halloween costume plans because I couldn’t wear my Crazy 88’s mask on top, infections, blood, yuck. In spite of all that though, I liked being a girl with a pierced eyebrow.

This and that


I’m super pumped for the weekend. My dad’s running club has been out training at Chestnut Ridge for the past two Saturdays, but laziness and other commitments have prevented me from joining in. Tomorrow though, I’m facing the music, and as much as I expect it to suck, I suspect it’ll also be great. I love running hills, and the Ridge is crazy.

My mom alerted me to an exciting Craigslist posting last night, and now I’m the proud owner of a dresser ($20!). It wants some work, so weather providing I’ll be cleaning, stripping, and painting it this weekend, but it’s very nice, and solid wood. I have the bug now though, so I’ve been scouring ads for other apartment-y stuff, and I’m going to hit up some garage sales this weekend too. Last week’s boule was such a hit that I’ve decided I need a dutch oven of my own, and I’m hoping to pick one up secondhand for cheaps. We’ll see how that goes. I also need a bed, because the votes are in, and everyone thinks sleeping on a mattress on pallets is slovenly and unacceptable, and a bookcase, but after that I think I’ll be furnitured out. How much do I really need, right?

Ohhh yeah, that’s the stuff.

My cat has been on steroids for the past couple of weeks to help her deal with some nausea issues, and they have her feeling her oats. She’s been full of attitude (and rage over being force-fed a pill every night), and so she’s been acting out even more than usual. When I used to volunteer at a nursery school we weren’t supposed to dictate all of the kid’s actions, or criticize them for messing up, under the theory that they would behave well on their own, given the opportunity. Instead, when they did something naughty we asked them “Are you making good decisions?” in the hopes of that triggering some self-awareness and an end to the bad behavior. It didn’t really work with kids, and it doesn’t really work with cats, but it’s a joke in our household, so whenever Lancaster is about to jump into the sink, or steal Anouk’s food, we ask her to pause and think about whether she’s making good decisions, and a lot of the time she does stop for a minute before doing whatever she wants. Anyway, all of these are awesome, but the porcupine is my favorite.

You know that jaguar is regretting his decisions right about now.

Bits and pieces


I’m having a hard time coming up with blog content. Right now it feels like I’m standing on the train platform, the planning part of my trip is over, I’m accepted at a school, and I have an apartment lined up, but it isn’t time to go yet, so I’m all at sixes and sevens. It really struck me last night that I’m moving soon, my days in Buffalo are numbered, but my mandolin lessons are single-digit numbered, and it made me sad. I’ve loved taking music lessons, and even though we’ve talked about Skype lessons, my instructor and I both know that isn’t going to actually happen, and when I move I’ll be on my own musically, at least for a little while. I’ll need to practice and learn new songs independently, and that’s going to take more discipline and effort. I need to learn to read music, and I’ve been kicking myself for not making that more of a priority when I had the time. As my gap year comes to a close I keep thinking about all the stuff I should have done, but I think I used my time pretty well. I didn’t achieve a lot of my Buffalo Bucket List items, but I did a bunch of other stuff, and I feel good about the stuff I did accomplish.

Speaking of accomplishing stuff, I totally wasted a lot of time on Pottermore yesterday. A lot a lot. We don’t need to go into numbers, but if we did, they would represent hours and not minutes. It’s good stuff, but I was sorted into stinky old Gryffindor, when my whole Harry Potter-reading life I’ve known I was meant to be in Hufflepuff. I know it’s just a silly little quiz, and the internet is full of Wht Huose R U In? quizzes, but this one came out of J.K. Rowling’s brain! She invented the Sorting Hat, she clearly knows what she’s talking about, and she says I belong in Gryffindor, so there’s no escaping it. All those times I drank tea and hot chocolate out of my Hufflepuff mug feel like a lie. It’s very sad, especially because Hopkins colors are black and yellow, just like Hufflepuff. Lions are cool though (my friend insists that if I was an animal I would be a lion, even though I feel more like an elephant or a bear because I clearly don’t know myself at all), and I love my red and gold nail polish, so it could be worse, but it does bother me. I’m much more earth than fire.

Only eleven states have official dogs, but every state has a bird. It just seems wrong. Who are all these bird-lovers, and why are they so much better-organized than dog people? Fortunately, Maryland has both, with the state dog being a Chesapeake Bay Retriever, and the bird a Baltimore Oriole. New York State needs to get on the ball though- how about a pug? They’re good for city-dwellers, they’re stylish, and “pug” is fun to say. Or, if you want to go in a less overbred direction, there’s the flat-coated retriever, sleek, sporty, and obscure, to appeal to all those New York hipsters. Or you could take the boring but good person-y route and go with “rescue dog” as the official “breed”.

One of my high school classmates posted on Facebook that she just celebrated her six-year anniversary with her fiancée. Six years, is so many years! I know they’re engaged, so it makes sense that they should really get to know each other first, but yikes. My longest relationship was…much less than that. It made me start to think about considering opening myself up to the possibility of dating instead of being a hermit and rejecting human contact because I might at some point want to make life-changing decisions that would require moving across the country/world and I don’t want to just get all involved and then break up. Maybe. The problem is, and I say this without any malice towards anyone I’ve dated/been involved with, but I expect to live for another…sixty-plus years (I have all four grandparents still, so the odds are pretty good I’ll last a long time too), and I haven’t liked anyone that much that I’d want to be with the that long. I’m having some tiny twinges though, as a sort of precurser to the whole Tony-from-West-Side-Story-waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-reaching-out-for-something (cuz that worked out really well). Moving to a new city, starting a new program, I want to be open to new relationships, and that little voice in the back of my head telling me that I’m only committed to a year in Baltimore, and who knows where I’ll go after that can just shut up.

Odds and ends


Some awesome person put a plate of digestive biscuts out in the breakroom. Digestives always make me think of George Harrison, who I love (while The Beatles were recording Abbey Road Yoko Ono ate his, and he apparently completely lost his shit and had a huge fight with John over a cookie), and they’re just delicious, so that was a nice treat. They’re like graham crackers, which are also really good, but not something I eat very often. Now that I’ve thought about them though, I want to make them, and I found an easy looking recipe over at Smitten Kitchen, so that’ll probably happen in the near future.

I’m having some serious music lust. The anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic put the Great Big Sea song “Safe Upon the Shore” in my head all day yesterday, and now I really want the whole album. It’s all good stuff, sad Irish songs, and happy drinking songs, and the whole thing rings with Canadian goodness. I also really want the Ok Go album Of The Blue Colour Of The Sky. It’s been out for some time now (both albums have in fact), but something in my brain just switched on or something, because I suddenly really really want it. Ok Go is great music for running, and sometimes they’re the only thing that’ll keep me on a treadmill.

How likely is it that if I just plop a mattress on top of a couple of pallets it’ll look shabby-chic and not terrible? I’m aiming for a sort of La bohème, starving artist look, but I’m worried it’ll verge into kind-of-homeless territory. My roommates look very glamorous and put together, so I’m already out of my league, I might as well go whole hog and just be completely eccentric. I kind of love the idea of just making furniture out of pallets- it seems like a purer form of cheap furniture than IKEA, and like it’ll make my gradual transition into adulthood more obvious, when my furniture stops being all splintery.

A little sparkle


The internet is great for so many things, but it takes some of the satisfaction of hunting for something. A bit of trivia on the tip of your brain, a song that you heard one time on the radio but didn’t catch the singer’s name, a book that someone recommended, all these things are at your fingertips, and so it’s less fun than before when you had to really dig. There are exceptions, and I ran into one when I decided that I needed to have the special edition Hunger Games nail polishes. They’re super cool, but I was unwilling to pay more for shipping than the cost of the actual product, so the internet wasn’t an option. I went to at least five stores looking (including a Hot Topic, so you know I was determined), but everyone either didn’t carry the brand, or else they were sold out. I thought I’d have to give up, but when I mentioned it to a guy on OkCupid he told me that Sally’s Beauty Supplies carries them (he apparently paints his nails a lot, so he had his fingers on the pulse for the best shopping places), so today I went out to the one near UB South, and there they were! It was very exciting, and then I realized that my sister ran a kickass half-marathon today, and I was pumped about nail polishes based on YA fiction, and felt lame. And then I painted my nails and the colors were totally awesome, so I went back to feeling pleased. You shouldn’t compare yourself to other people anyway. 😉

This weekend’s loaf was a no-knead recipe. I had been thinking about roasted garlic bread, but I figured kneading the bread would pulverize the bulbs, and I wanted them whole. The recipe I used was super super easy, but it takes a long time, so you need to plan ahead. I mixed the dough yesterday afternoon (it’s a very wet dough, so you don’t even need a mixer, I just used my hands), and then let it rise for twenty hours. That sounds like an insane amount of time, and it is, but you don’t need to do anything with it while it rises, so it really isn’t labor-intensive at all. This afternoon I moved the (now huge) bread dough onto a floured counter and filled it with two heads of roasted garlic, and then folded it up, wrapped it in a dishcloth, and let it rise for another couple of hours. The only downside of this bread was that it calls for a dutch oven, and as it stands now I won’t have one with my in Maryland, and the oven needs to be crazy hot (500 degrees). Those are minor issues though, when you have truly wonderful bread on your hands. This is without a doubt the best bread I’ve made yet. It has a wonderful spongy texture, and the crust is crisp and delicious. It’s honestly as good as bread I’ve gotten from the store, and the garlic just about knocks my socks off, it’s so nice. I am in love with this bread. It’s much lighter than my previous loaves (the twenty hours of rising probably had something to do with that), and while I want to keep trying new recipes and exploring, I feel like I’ve found my bread soulmate. I want to make this bread with sundried tomatoes, and with chocolate, and whole wheat flour, and any number of other exciting variations. I’m seriously in love with this stuff.

The top is a little dark. The recipe said to bake it in the dutch oven for half an hour with the lid, then take the lid off and let it bake uncovered for another fifteen minutes, but that was excessive. It was done after half an hour, but I wanted to follow the recipe, and that’s what I get for ignoring my own senses. It isn’t burned, but it’s a little dark, so the picture doesn’ t look good enough to covey how bomb-awesome the bread truly is.

Ohh yeah, that’s the stuff.