March 27, 2005

Such a tough act to follow, that Michael fellow.  I'm afraid I can't even touch that inimitable prose, so instead I'll do what I do best, and show off the results of the weekend bake:


These would be two loaves of Portuguese sweet bread, the recipe for which was given to me by the lovely and talented receptionista.  In the interest of science, I baked the one on the left in an 8"x 2" Wilton cake pan, and the one on the right in an 8" perforated pie tin.  Both of them baked evenly and beautifully, but the one from the cake pan ended up straight-sided, while the one from the pie tin had the gentle curve of, well, a real loaf of bread.  Either way, I had to fight to keep from cutting into them the second they came out of the oven.  The way these breads smell while baking transcends all the best language I have.  These breads smell like love made manifest.  The question that faces me now:  Do I slice into one of these beauties, throw them under the broiler until they are brown and fragrant, dip a knife into the fresh, no-gums-or-preservatives-added cream cheese I bought at Murray's Cheese on Bleecker Street on Saturday and slather that cheese over that hot crunchy surface?  Do I eschew the cheese for a certain jar of apricot jam from a certain friend?  Or do I just skip the jam, skip the cheese, skip the toasting and eat it as is?  It's a conundrum, but I'm not complaining about it.  smile

Posted by Bakerina at 11:43 PM in incoherent ravings about food • (4) Comments • (0) Trackbacks
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