I LIKE BIG BREADS

And I cannot lie!

I wasn't as on top of documenting the many stages of the bread-making process as I normally would be, but please accept my most solemn pinky-swear that these whole wheat rosemary loaves rose perfectly the first time around. On the second rise, I apparently ran into some trouble, trouble of the flattening-out-and-fusing-into-an-ass-of-bread variety.

Well, maybe I'm putting the cart before the My Little Pony here. Yeasted bread dough pretty much always needs about an hour to rise, usually doubling in size during that time, and then depending on the shape/type of bread yer bakin', a second rise is often required (seasoned bread bakers out there, correct me if I'm wrong). Such was the case with this recipe, which I got while trolling the 'Net for cooking tips for the, you know, poor. It's not that the economy hitting the shitter has any direct affect on me, as I have no assets (hur hur hur), but I anticipate tough times ahead and generally just want to make everything from scratch anyway, so, yeah, that's what I did.

The recipe, which comes from the informative thirty dollar a week blog, is supposed to yield two, uh, good-sized round loaves. You make your dough, which I of course did in the standing mixture with the dough hook attachment. Once the dough has been sufficiently kneaded (It should be smooth and elastic, and you should able to touch it with it sticking to your hands too much), you pat it into a ball, place it in an oiled bowl, kinda roll it all around 'til its coated in the oil, and then cover it and let it rise in a warm place for, in this case, at least an hour, 'til it doubles in size. So, you'll just have to take my bloggin' word for it, but this part went off without a hitch for me.

Once this part has happens, you uncover your dough and punch it down. This part is pretty gratifying. It's all sticky and light and full of air, yet it completely collapses with a fart-like sigh of defeat under the lightest of girl-punches, such as mine. It's like what I picture beating up the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man would be like. Next, you break up your dough into two chunks, shape them into balls, and set them on a cookie sheet lined with parchment for the second rise. Signs of this dough's bread-ass destiny should have been painfully apparent at this point:



But it wasn't.

In fact, I decided to just stroll right out of the NOM NOM NOM lair, leaving my rising dough unattended. I had an hour to burn, I figured, so why not run some errands and just watch the clock? Well, for whatever reason, when I got back home, two sad, flattened disks awaited me. They had not yet met in buttcrack-like unison, but I had a pretty good idea that there was a bread rump in my future at that point, since, amazingly, these bastards had not tried to eat it.

Anyway, long story short, this was a delicious but unfortunate looking fuck-up. I truly have no idea what I did, but I reckon I'll stick closer to home and maybe watch the clock a little better next time there's yeasted bread to be made. Oh, and I couldn't let things lie without a photo shoot featured lewd and potty-humored bread ass pix. You'll be spared the "CultWife Gets a Prosthetic Ass" series, but check out this wicked case of the caper shits!!!



Oh! So wrong dude!