I made bread this week for something new and different. I had a few engagements for which French bread was called. But the last third of the dough sat in the refrigerator and finally I just threw the damn thing in the oven (this is the shortened version) and got a loaf of sliceable bread. At the same time a bunch of my tomatoes ripened. Glory hallelujah.
Yes, sometimes trains are canceled, and you spend the night in the Newark airport, or the squirrels eat your whatever-they-want but then sometimes the bread turns out perfectly and the tomatoes are ripe and glorious, and you slather the bread with mayonnaise and have tomato sandwiches that are so good you forget about the wretched credit card fraud and you lose yourself in the moment. Of course, I’m not fooled. There’s a squirrel or airline right around the corner ready to crush my sense of well being.