The only thing I’ve eaten today is bread. Well, and butter. Bread and butter.
Came home from the school drop-off this morning and took the dough out of the fridge and it had gotten all crusty, with the top layer turning brown and hard. Ick. I pulled off the outer layer and threw it away and baked the rest but for the first time, it was not so good. It looked great, but was doughy and I could see the lines in the bread where some crusty bits had gotten rolled up in the dough. I think possibly I need to get a new container, one that’s plastic with a real lid instead of using a big bowl with a pot lid on top.
And I said it was not so good, but it’s still all I’ve eaten today. About eight slices. Even not so good home-made bread is pretty tasty.
I actually made something great with the bread dough this week. It was sort of a modified calzone. I rolled the dough out into a circle, smeared it with my artichoke spread, sprinkled some feta cheese on top, then folded the dough over. It didn’t turn out like a calzone at all–way too crusty. But it was a sandwich with the artichoke warm and baked inside. It was delicious!
We also tried the new sushi restaurant over in Wekiva. It was okay, better than other sushi we’ve had here, but no comparison to Shogun, which left me feeling homesick. In the search for what I want to do with my future, I can’t decide whether good sushi ranks as an imperative or a luxury. But we’d eat there again.
The strangest thing about the restaurant was the overheard conversations. A father and daughter across from us made me want to roll my eyes in sympathy for the teenage rebellion. If my father ever talked to me like that, I too would have been the stereotypical sullen teenager that she was. (He never did; I never was.) A couple behind us actually sent me into fits of giggles with how much like a bad television script of an unhappy couple they were. He actually accused her of saying something a million times and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t mercilessly mock him for the hyperbole. But he was a bully, and when I saw that they had a small child with them, my giggles faded away. And then there was another couple kitty-corner, and although I didn’t hear anything from them, R did. His take was that we were the nicest people in the restaurant, somewhat mystifying since nice would not generally be my first word to describe us. But certainly we were kinder to one another than any of the others.
Still spending a lot of time thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life. I think sometimes that I would be okay not to travel anymore, and then I think about what that would mean. Never to go to Seattle or San Francisco or Santa Cruz again? Never to see the ocean?