Feed Me Seymour

I know, I know. I said I was done with the bakeshop. I couldn't help it. What's not to like about bread? Other than the excessive chemistry and math, what could go wrong? My chef instructor already knows I'm not super talented in the baking department and she still seems to like me. She gave me a B last quarter even with all the crazy pastries I produced. I think bread could be a good thing for me. I like to work with my hands. I loved beating on the puffed pastry and danish doughs. I sense success.

This class is full of the same 4 girls from my proteins class. The lovely girl that was my partner last quarter is by my side again this class. We are a group of all women. Except for the one very tall, slightly effeminate man. I don't know if we should even count him, to be honest. There is as much estrogen in this class as there is surging testoterone in the other. I may even be able to reverse the inevitable menopause that is surely creeping up.

We made baguettes today. Yummy, fresh, yeasty baguettes. Gary (the boy) made honey butter to go with. I can feel myself getting fatter. We also made a starter for some sourdough bread we will be making in three weeks. It is like a little science project that we get to take home. It consists of two kinds of flour, water, and malt. It will grow and ferment. It will become alive! I took it home and I need to feed it every day. Twice a day for 9 days, I will need to feed this thing more flour and more water. It will grow and bubble from the yeast it gets from the air. And it grows bacteria. Yes, all you germaphobes, bacteria. It is what gives bread its flavor. Who knew? I named mine Edgar. I really like the book Edgar Sawtelle and felt a good way to honor Edgar was to name my starter baby after him. But on second thought I should have named it Seymour. Then I could shout "feed me Seymour" at will. Loudly. Maybe I should visit the bread started baby office and have its name changed.