I now own a bread maker. Domestic, yes! But it turns out that by following the instructions and pushing the buttons, you can put those things we’ve all seen lying around in other people’s kitchens and not really understood into it, and after a while… bread!
Or, possibly, doom!
Flush with the success of my first and thus far only loaf of bread, I ventured into unknown territory and attempted a herbed bread. Bread, you see, with herbs. We have herbs here. We a garden full of things that, I was reliably informed, are herbs. So I went to get some. Basil, I though. Basil! That’s a herb! Possibly, depending on your pronunciation, an herb! It works either way, you see!
So immediately, because it’s dark and I’m stupid, I picked a couple of leaves of the thing that’s right next to the basil, God knows what it is, brought them inside, chopped them up and put them in the bread maker. It’s cooking right now. Could be anything. Might be a bold new culinary adventure, might be my mortal destiny rising there, crust encrusted, waiting.
So tomorrow, I’m going to make a sandwich out of my impending fate, and see what happens.
Arlene has informed me that I am under no circumstances allowed to pick mushrooms.
Update: Safe for now! The recipe has failed, somehow collapsing into concavity in the final hour of baking. The manual describes this as “cratered loaf”, which sounds to me like just about the worst gastric condition imaginable, but is in fact a well-understood bread-machine phenomenon. I live to bake again; more news as my drunken stumbling towards my inept, pedestrian fate warrant.