Balls and Walnuts
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The last dough you’ll ever knead
This dough is amazing.
When I made bagels, I reserved half the dough and kept it in the fridge overnight. The next day, I used half the remaining ball to make a focaccia, and two days later, I divided the remaining quarter in thirds and made pita bread.
The bagels, as you know, rawked. The focaccia compared well with this recipe (that old one is an easier recipe, but bear in mind, THIS recipe makes bagels, pita, and focaccia). And the pita? Well, it worked far better than any previous pita recipe I’ve used. They puffed up! They had pockets!
I suspect you could use this for pizza, too, but since it puffs so well (see: pita), you would need to make lots of fork pock-marks all over the dough. Hmm. What else could it do? Breadsticks, dinner rolls . . . you name it.
Here da dough, cribbed from da best baking book, Baking with Julia:
Morning Wood saves the day
Continued from Wherein I am brought low.
It tickled me t’see th’lasses tremble at th’sound o’ elvish mirth. Under common circumstances, ‘twould have made yer good host tremble, too; yet I was, as they say, close t’polishing Davy Jones’ Locker, so th’diversion was most welcome indeed.
“Mates o’ yours?” asked th’fair Dax Montana. “”Twill help ye naught.”
“Nay,” said I. “Not mates. Them be elves.”
Cap’n Dyke approached me broken body. And a sorry sight I must have been, too: stripped to me underbritches, bleedin’ from a thousand stripes. The Cap’n had t’hold up me chin t’meet yer narrator’s gaze face t’face.
“What know ye of elves, Cap’n Wood?”
“I know they sail not by th’wind, but by tacking across ley lines; put yer glass on yon ship, and ye’ll see she floats above the water.”
Cap’n Dyke spied the elvish craft, then held her glass fer me own benefit as well.
This be what I saw:
Wherein I am brought low
Continued from A bounty of ladies.
On a bright Sunday morn, th’ light sparklin’ off th’waves like a million suns, our froggy helmsman set us on a southerly course, aiming to round th’Horn. All was right with th’world, for I was sailing with a crew o’th’most mouthwatering lasses outside o’Araby.
Yet ’twas less than a fortnight afore I was dragged in irons t’th’most laudable presence of Cap’n Dyke. Aye, a beauteous lass she is, too.
Thar she be, me fair Cap’n Dyke:
Dax Montana, the Cap’n’s bouncer, threw me to the floor most roughly, in a manner t’which I have scarce known from th’softer sex, and I found meself looking up at th’luscious curves of Cap’n Dyke herself.
“He befouled the breast of Blue Gal,” said Dax, “with his mouth.”
Piped the Cap’n, “What have ye t’say in yer defense?”
A bounty of ladies
(In honor of Talk Like a Pirate Day, I have allowed th’good Captain Morning Wood to shanghai me blog. When ye last met him, Cap’n Wood had lost everything to the scurvy ponce Randall Richards, that foppish agent of Her Majesty Herself. Shipless and destitute, Cap’n Wood seeks employment from a most unlikely source: a right buxom lass.)
“A vessel with nought but ladies?” said I. “‘T’ain’t natural.”
“But ye say ye’ve sailed for months on end with nought but lads,” said that most fair wench, Da Nator, ship’s bosun o’th’Mound of Blue Dykes. “That t’ain’t natural.”
“That’t t’ain’t,” said I, “and thank Poseidon for tubs of lanolin.”
SBD: SDB (So Does Brad)
Smart Bitches Day today, droogs, and I’ve been remiss of late. Call it failure of imagination, call it failure of the normal sleep/wake cycle, but I haven’t had a single bright shiny SBD thought in weeks.
However.
While editing yesterday morning, I listened to a netcast of one of my favorite radio stations, KFJC, and the DJ played “Time Warp” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and my SBD theme came to me in a flash of inspiration:
Loss of innocence.
I know what you’re thinking. “Walnut, you nailed the loss of innocence theme over a year ago, didn’t you?” Or you would be thinking that if you had read my blog as compulsively as I’ve written it.
Still, I might have another miniscule thing or two to say on the subject.
Loss of innocence is such an emotion-laden subject, it surprises me it isn’t tapped more often for fiction and film. It especially surprises me that I haven’t milked it for the novel I recently finished. Here I am writing about two twenty-something-year-old virgins who finally give up that one last trapping of childhood, and I haven’t even scratched the surface.
My problem is, I’ve approached this story as a romantic comedy, and I’ve consciously tried to downplay most of the serious bits. When I first began writing it, I was burnt out by writing my trilogy/tragedy, and my muse wanted cotton candy. That’s my excuse, anyway.
Loss of innocence is a serious bit. I can’t mine humor from something so inherently sad — nor, I suspect, can anyone else. Case in point, any teen sex comedy (including, yes, American Pie). Puerile is not funny.
Although I do dig the band camp girl.
Alyson Hannigan. Mmmm. Guys and girl-lovin’ gals, google that name with SafeSearch OFF. You won’t be sorry. But I digress.
In editing this novel, I feel a strong urge to address this topic. There has to be a reason why these two have held onto their virginity for so long, right? Something beyond, “Oh, we were too busy to have intimate relationships.” A better reason than that. And there should be some emotional cost to finally kissing it (literally) all goodbye.
I worry a bit that any such attempt on my part will kill the comic buzz, but on the other hand, I trust my muse. I think she has a much different ending in mind, and I for one am looking forward to reading it.
D.
Chicken Soup for the Stomach
This morning, PBW posts a few new publishing opportunities, including an open-ended solicitation from the Chicken Soup for the Soul Machine.
I confess to suspicion regarding CSS. Perhaps it’s my cynicism — I assume most of the stories CSS publishes are fictional. Perhaps it’s my reluctance to believe anything good can come from reading inspirational stories. You’re either a good person or you ain’t, and reading a few weepy-smileys isn’t going to turn a whole life around.
Or, maybe it’s because the CSS people have now become the newest Amway. Such blatant greed runs counter to their ostensible role as soul-nurturers.
Okay. That’s enough meanspiritedness. You want chicken soup? I’ve got the soup.
Boy mit bagels
I made that!
Guess that goes for the boy and the bagels, although I had a bit of help making the boy.
Last time I tried to make bagels, I was in college, and they came out like rubber toss-rings. The experience so traumatized me, I have waited until now to try it again. These came out perfect — go figure. I attribute my success to (A) a kickass power mixer, and (B) a much better oven.
Best thing about this recipe? I have another big ball of dough in the fridge, which I can use to make focaccia tonight, or perhaps another half dozen bagels tomorrow.
***
Our high speed modem is futzing. If it doesn’t rally by this evening, I won’t be live blogging. Check in around 7 to 8 PM PST and see if I’m around.
‘Kay, I’ve made breakfast for the family, ran one load of dishes and one of laundry, cleaned the litterbox, and mopped up the cat’s bathroom (you know the routine — shit on the floors, shit on the walls, and kitty litter everywhere). Time to edit!
D.
Frodo pwnz Hedgehog, Hedgehog gets revenge
Because my sleep is still effed up and I can’t manage to think in anything other than intersecting parallel lines, here’s a surreal Lord of the Rings spoof for you to contemplate.
“LOTR Orgy” doesn’t quite live up to the promise of its name, but it certainly confirmed an old suspicion of mine regarding the, ahem, fellowship of the ring.
Now, this one is worth the wear and tear on your clicky finger: Hunks of Middle Earth. Funny, cute, and none of those way-too-easy Brokeback jokes.
Way cool Gollum impression, sucky video values.
Let me end on a positive note with How The Lord of the Rings Should Have Ended. Watch it to the end — the punch line is great.
D.
P.S.: Let’s say you’ve immersed yourself in Gogol Bordello and you’re looking for another gypsy punk fix. Meet Kultur Shock.