Oh? You noticed that, huh?
Oh, and believe me they are not nearly far and few between as I would like. Just ask my trash can. There were batches upon batches of chocolate chip cookies (if you even want to be so kind as to call them that), Irish soda bread, all kinds of curds (which leads me to the conclusion that I don't like curd), little deflated cream puff pastry shells, pie crusts, at least 2 batches of blueberry muffins...I mean, really, I could go on. It's a matter of how much time you have.
And I guess the reason why such things never make it to printing is because they make it to the trash first. I have this immediate reaction to trash just about anything I don't like. I know it's wasteful, but I just can't stand seeing this failed jumble of ingredients. I'd much rather toss it in a bag and haul it down to the dumpster. Dust myself off, and try again. Occassionally, I will let it hang out in the fridge with the hope that maybe, just maybe I'll like it better tomorrow. A false hope, usually.
It's not that all these things are complete failures. Some are just duds. This was the case with the chocolate chip cookies. And the curd. I just don't like the way it makes my mouth feel all puckery. But from time to time, there is the complete and total failure. The kind of failure that makes me want to throw in the apron.
And that's the situation we have tonight.
You see, I set out to make these delectable little goodies called Pizza Buns. You know, like cinnamon buns, but with pizza filling and cheese. Droooool. Resistance was futile. So I started off with the dough. I measured flour and heated milk and well, I didn't have dry milk powder or potato flakes, so I convinced myself they were optional. I paused and wondered why I was not blooming the yeast or making a sponge, but after a quick re-read of the recipe, noticed that there was no mention of such things. A few stirs later, I noticed the dough looked particularly dry and crumbly. Very unlike a yeast-based dough. I panicked. This little dough ball was not going to rise. But in an attempt to delay the inevitable, I did let it rise near my oven. And although it did waft a yeasty smell in my direction, it did not budge from its original form. Fail.
That one went into the trash. Fast. And so I tried again. This time I read the recipe 4 times...making sure I measured everything correctly. I made a little well in my flour. The dough went from shaggy to crumbly in seconds. Panicked again and determined not to fail twice, I said screw the recipe, and added more warm water. And after a brief knead, I plopped this little dough ball into a bowl, crossed my fingers and walked away.
I walked away and didn't look back. Gosh. I can hardly look at this.
Ground beef without a home. Perhaps the biggest tragedy of tonight. Maybe destined for some stuffed shells.
Hmphhhhh.
I do find just the teeniest bit of comfort in this commercial.
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