The first time I made bread I followed closely a recipe in the Betty Crocker cookbook.
Like I was taking apart a 350 cubic inch 8-cylinder engine.
Step by step by step by step.
Doing things exactly as written.
I didn't know this, and they didn't say, that was a brioche, what, with its butter and egg and milk.
The aroma that filled my apartment was heavenly.
And now I do all that with my eyes closed.
Lie.
I keep my eyes opened, but I do it all fairly haphazardly.
And I don't need no stinking instructions.
Just do it.
A little of this, a little of that, careful not to kill the yeast, don't forget salt, use high protein flour, voila! It practically kneads itself.
The whole thing tastes empty.
Something about the flu ruined my taste buds.
Now everything tastes bad or it tastes like not enough.
I hope this condition self-corrects because going through this for the rest of my life will be a total drag.
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