On Christmas Eve, our friends invited us over for a post-church party, and had set out the most amazing tenderloin I've ever tasted. I've been thinking about it ever since, and so yesterday I decided to try making it myself.
BOOM.
Delicious, healthy, and kinda impressive looking.
Playrooms keep children so happy and entertained that entire adult conversations can be had. Wine can be drunk. The kids couldn't care less what we do; there's a fake stove to climb into.
I'm not sure last night's bread-making experiment was entirely successful.
Here's the thing: if you've been reading here for awhile, you know I have a ludicrously spotty history with baking of any kind. Sometimes it works...sometimes it really, really doesn't. And there's no big mystery here; I know why my baking experiments don't always (ok, don't usually) turn out as planned, and the answer is that I'm a lazy mess when it comes to using for-real measuring devices. I figure, hey, that looks more or less like a cup of milk...I'm sure it'll be fine.
And do I learn my lesson?
I do not! Because I believe that the power of positive thinking can conquer even basic chemistry. (Or, fine: it's probably more the aforementioned lazy mess thing.)
