At the beginning of 2017 I decided one of my goals for the year was to bake some bread from scratch. For 364 days that didn't happen, and then last night at 11:45 I threw together some dough, left it on the temporary plywood counter to rise, and kissed 2017 goodbye.
This morning Matt and I talked about our goals and plans for this year, and then his brother Dave came over to help him do some work in the kitchen while I sat downstairs and enjoyed the Rose Parade and bowl games like God and the NCAA intended.
When I would hear things from upstairs in the kitchen like "I don't think that burning smell is anything to worry about," and "I'm almost positive this beam isn't weight bearing" I just turned up the volume on the TV because ignorance is bliss.
I did pop upstairs to make myself some Ramen noodles for lunch because I LOVE Ramen noodles and I'm not even one bit sorry about it. My sophisticated culinary palate is unmatched. When the water started boiling I dumped the noodles in and went about my business, not realizing that I also dumped in the seasoning packet which was boiling and melting away.
I tried to cover up my mistake but Matt and Dave saw it before I could dispose of the evidence. Matt shook his head while Dave thought it was the most hysterical thing he's ever seen.
Later in the afternoon I popped back into the kitchen to put the bread in the oven, but first the directions said to pull it out of the bowl and onto a well floured surface. I dumped probably at least a cup of flour on the counter and proceeded to spread it into a nice thick layer, when Matt glanced over and exclaimed "WHOA what are you doing?"
It turns out my flour application was a little liberal, and when Dave turned around to see the state of the counter he laughed so hard I didn't think he was going to be able to catch his breath. I promised him that I am a halfway decent cook, and to please not judge my cooking abilities on my Ramen noodle mishap and flour overestimation alone.
An hour later I pulled the bread out of the oven and despite all of their earlier laughter, the crowd legitimately went wild. I am not kidding, the boys LOVED it. We spread some butter on it and all stood at the counter devouring our slices.
Matt's brother left a while later and Matt was brave enough to man the grill in the 6 degree temps while I stayed inside and got the side dishes ready, except I couldn't find the bread. When Matt came back in and I asked him where it was, he said, "Dave loved it so much that I sent the rest home with him."
And that's when some emotional, carbohydrate loving reflex kicked in and I STARTED TO CRY.
Matt immediately said "I'm only kidding! I would never give it away! It's in the oven to stay warm!" but it was too late.
He'd seen me cry actual tears over a loaf of bread.
It was a low point.
But I bet there will be more tears tomorrow at lunchtime when it's back to reality and I'm eating a salad instead of warm bread and butter.