Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Multigrain Bread Extraordinaire

Extraordinaire, people!  Extra-fuckin'-ordinaire.  It's like the multigrain bread of your dreams.  Or effing NIGHTMARES, PEOPLE.  Get ready for an extraordinaire ad-fuckin'-venture.

Starting with our soaker.  Polenta + rolled oats + wheat bran + water =

So, I def <3 bulk dry goods.  I bought these at a quaint little community place, and was like, oh, nice, cheap and good since I only need like one tablespoon of all this shiz.  And then I was like, oh, I can buy spices here too.  And so I got some.  They fake you out with the dry goods.  The spices are like a million dollars, which I didn't realize until after I checked out and the guy was like 15 bucks and I was like damn, five bucks for some scant ounces of chili powder?!

Anyway, back to the main plot, the Romeo+Juliet, Bella+Edward, Sookie+Bill, Harry+Voldemort shiz.  Get out of our LIVES, Horatio. This sits overnight.  See you on the morrow.

Oh no!  I didn't take a picture of the soaker afterwards.  Well, it smelled bad.  I can tell you that.

Flour (don't ask me why in a multigrain bread that is supposedly "extraordinaire," bread and not wheat flour is used) + brown sugar + salt + yeast =

Then, per you-zh, the wet ingredients.  The pals.  The confidants.  The everydayshoesandjeans.

+ soaker + brown rice (yes, I made a whole pot of this stuff even though the recipe needs 1.5T.  Normally I only tolerate brown rice, but I was also craving a Northstar Buddha Bowl, and wanted to recreate it at home.  I failed) + honey + milk + water =

Stirred and oh-so-ready.

PS: Is it wrong that I bring in breads via sandwiches to work and I really want someone to ask me why I'm bringing in all these different types of bread?  No one ever does.  It makes me sad.  Don't you want to know about my LIFE, people?!  Aren't I interesting to you?!  No, instead, you, six to fourteen year old kids who want me to sit next to them on the bus, tell me vaguely interesting stories about water parks when I'm just trying to sleep and/or read.  (No, but I do -- fingers crossed -- like my job.  I understand you are starved for cool authority figures' attention.)

Anyway.  Don't know if you can read this:

Two cups.  Ninety minutes.  1.5 seasons of The Tudors.  One Bollywood dance workout video.  A couple phone calls.  Many questions about nikah ceremonies.  This is my life.

OMG.  Drake, get out of my head.  I need to stop listening to that album.  Hi, Band of Horses!  Hi!

So, this dough def rose faster than ninety minutes.  About an hour in, and were were already at five cups!  Whoa.

I know it looks like seven, but don't let that liar FOOL YOU.

Bored of loaves, I'm making rolls!  Plus, they take less time in the oven.  Yay.


Waiting might not make us better people, Drake, but in this case, it makes us better bread.  Another ninety.

And these looked really good before I took the plastic wrap off and realized I forgot to spray the tops with spray oil, so they ended up looking like this:

So it's like a huge flat lump of dough.  Sigh.

After 35 minutes:

A flat lump of cooked dough!  Congratulations, me!  Hurrah, hurrah!  Wait an hour aka one episode of The Tudors before tasty-tasty.

Separated!  They were easier to rip apart than I thought based on the blob-mass.


OMG.  THIS bread was delicious.  Seriously.  I scarfed down the whole effing roll.  5/5!!

Bahahahahhaha.  Could this picture be anymore amazing?  Oh, The Tudors.  How I love your oddly airbrushed weird cast portraits.



  1. They always get you on the spices.

    That isn't the first time that's happened to you-- remember Teavana?

  2. I know! Teavana *shakes fist*