Wednesday, July 02, 2014

{thoughts on bread and buns}

I've finally learned how to make the perfect loaf of bread. The big fluffy kind with grains and other healthy junk in it. I woke up the other day and realized I was 27 which is basically 30 which is basically 60 and if that's not a good reason for knowing how to make good bread then I quit. So I did it. I'm a big kid now.

Growing up, bread day was my favourite. I'd come home from school and the entire kitchen would be covered in bread and buns and cookies and the butter would be out on the table calling my name like it was haunted and I'd just stand there and spread it on everything in arm's reach. Because what is better than loads of butter on a bun fresh out of the oven? Only, like, maybe two things. Maybe three. Maybe four. But not five.

I used to think about how amazing it would be to have a fresh bun the size of my bed, one that I could snuggle up in. And by used to I mean yesterday I was thinking about that. But then I was thinking about the price of butter and decided that maybe little buns are best.

Or, perhaps, buns roughly the size of bean-bag chairs.

Bun-bag chairs? Is that a thing? Can it be?