I had grand plans to make fondant (thanks for the other recipe kimbosue!) this weekend but I got distracted.
I FINALLY got my moms old bread machine. It has been sitting in one of her closets for years. She put it in the closet when she got her new one and hung on to it, just because. She has offered it to me a few times but never could find it when I came to get it.
So my sister was looking for something else and came across the bread machine. Thankfully she remembered that I wanted it and grabbed it for me.
Anyway, I made 3 loaves this weekend. The first loaf didn't turn out very awesome. My brain didn't register that 1 tsp salt was 1 teaspoon salt, not 1 Tablespoon. Gag. That loaf went in the compost without a second thought.
The 2nd and 3rd loaves turned out much better. The bread is a little heavy and thick but they taste amazing slathered in real salted butter (not margarine)!
I was actually making the 3rd loaf when Hubbs got home from his weekend adventure at the lake. Picture me, in the kitchen, wearing my semi-girly apron, shaking my booty to pop music (*cough*Lady Gaga*cough*), and measuring flour. For some reason, he considered it one of the strangest and most funny things he had ever seen me do. He was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.
Normally I don't like to be in the kitchen, am not girly, and despise pop music. Shaking my booty was the only "normal" thing I was doing. Maybe knowing all that, combined with the whole "she's in the kitchen, lets hope no one gets food poisoning" thing was what was so funny? He won't talk about it so I may never know for sure.
Maybe some time this week I will get around to making a practice cake.
18 hours ago