So I was walking home from downtown earlier this week and the smell of bread wafted into my nostrils. Dreams of home-baked rolls pranced through my head (note to my readership: do NOT google search "big buns" to get a picture of larger than normal bread). I contemplated baking my own bread for a while but then I thought who was I kidding. Despite buying a large bag of flour when I first moved here, I hadn't baked anything. Like the smell of fish oil, the idea of baking my own bread followed me during the week. As fate would have it, the food science lab had prepared extra bread dough and knowing my infatuation with all things bread I was offered some. As excited as a kid running through a field of dandelions I accepted the gift and put it in my backpack. My intention was to bake the bread after coming back from my ultimate frisbee game that night. Of course, I had forgotten that it was the night that Kayhan was to have his going-away dinner. We all went to My Other Brother Darrel's for some peanut butter hamburgers and milkshakes. With my belly full and my body tired, I returned to my apartment and immediately fell asleep. Well I opened my backpack yesterday to wash my ultimate clothes to find the bread dough fermented and all over the inside of the backpack. The moral of the story is, as my father used to say, he who hesitates is lost. I'm sure he meant it in a more meaningful context, but as I cleaned away the alcoholic bread dough nothing seemed truer.

Addendum: I succesfully made a delicious fettucine carbonara last night and am planning a vegetarian chili next.