This is what Linda always says about bread when she's talking to new bakers or addressing a bread problem in the bakery ("Well after all, Matt, bread is a living, breathing thing. You have to be careful with it."). I woke up reluctantly at 3:29 (a minute before my alarm went off) and drove to St. Paul to bake. I almost ran into the median.
Everything (as usual) came out well except for the damned oatmeal raisin bread which has become the bane of my existense. I can't for the life of me master this bread. It always either sits like a rock and doesn't rise, or it rises and splits like a tub of guts. Today it split. I egg-washed each loaf and tried to cover up the mess with extra oats, but you could still see the splits. Then I told Michelle that if Linda asked her about it to let her know that there was no way in hell I was going to stay and fix it and that if that didn't work, I'd quit. This attitude on my part was completely unwarrented, and I'm sure Michelle didn't give it to Linda in quite tha way. I'm so pickin' tired right now that little things like this are setting me off and I just don't care about any of it. I can't wait to not be working at the bakery anymore.
I'm going to sleep now.
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3 comments:
Matty: you could be the mucus in my throat anyday. I think you should sit around with me this week and grade shitty student writing at the Hub (while taking up prime real estate, no less) and celebrate the weather and the thesis monkey-on-your-back's death. Does that sentence/sentiment even make sense? I am pretty doped on Nyquil.
Matty: you could be the mucus in my throat anyday. I think you should sit around with me this week and grade shitty student writing at the Hub (while taking up prime real estate, no less) and celebrate the weather and the thesis monkey-on-your-back's death. Does that sentence/sentiment even make sense? I am pretty doped on Nyquil.
Matty: you could be the mucus in my throat anyday. I think you should sit around with me this week and grade shitty student writing at the Hub (while taking up prime real estate, no less) and celebrate the weather and the thesis monkey-on-your-back's death. Does that sentence/sentiment even make sense? I am pretty doped on Nyquil.
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