Cheerio, English Muffins!

I was going to put a picture of James McAvoy to start this blog entry, but his muffins are Scottish.

Still, I won't let that stop me.  National borders are constructed.  You know that.  These are probably Anglo-Saxon muffins.  Or if you're more of a materialist, I have a different option for you:

There.  Now, discursive or materialist, we all have hot men.  And hot english muffins.  Well, not yet.  First, we have flour + sugar + salt + yeast =

I started using the blue bowl more often than the red ones b/c we never use the blue bowl.  Poor thing is feeling rejected, most probs.  Also for some reason stirring feels easier in ceramic as compared to plastic.

This is mixed with butter + milk =

I realized that this recipe [as is] is supposed to make six english muffins.  Since I split it in half [like always], I'm only getting three.  Which is like nothing.  Why Peter made this recipe so small, idk.  Maybe b/c they "are fun to make, especially with kids" and as we all know, children cannot handle large amounts of things.  They are smaller than us.

So I kneaded and girls-in-stripper-heels-boys-rolling-in-Maseratis-what-they-need-in-this-world-is-some-love danced this dough for ten minutes.

Look how little!

I realize you probably don't know how big the other boules are, but believe me.  This was tiny.  It felt like I was kneading a baby's head rather than a two-year-old's.  It was soft as fontanelle.

So, this sits for sixty to ninety minutes, during which time I need to be productive.  I am so into senioritis right now, and it's not even like I should be.  GEEZ.

Productiveness still at minimum.  However, dough is now at maximum:

Yeah yeah what up.  Oh, I WILL CUT YOU.

Hi, I just went through all of this trouble for three english muffins.  Yeah . . .

These sit for sixty to ninety again.  Sixty to ninety minutes of attempting to read again.  Fail, most likely.

Stop me if you've think that you've heard this one before:

HUGE.  Peter Reinhart, stop making huge things.

OMG. WTF IS THIS?  IN A BAKING BLOG:

B is now playing a cover of "Stop Me if You Think You've Heard this One Before."  NOT APPRECIATED.

I'll tell you what is appreciated.  Bread on a pan.  That's what's appreciated.

Nothing's changed.  I still love you.  Only slightly less than I used to, my love.

Because you're fuckin' BURNT.  WTF.  BREAD.  You are RUINING MY LIFE.

The other side looks better.  I can't remember what a normal english muffin looks like, though.

Okay, so mine are more burnt than normal, but whatever.  Normalizing discourse on english muffins needs to be addressed.  So, I'm doing it.  With my burnt muffins.

So, so their middles can cook, they go in the oven for five minutes, while I read about suffering and pain.

They actually don't look too bad [this is their good side].  Sit for half an hour.

Not really nooks-and-crannies-y.  But!  These were good!  Chewy!  4/5!  I only leave off the last point b/c of Peter's fail at consistent recipe sized.  And b/c I burnt them.

Anyway, let's end this foray into English baking with another english muffin.  Dare I?  Dare I?!

I know.  You can think me pathetic.

PS: The men I find attractive are so utterly homogenous.  I need to expand my horizons.

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