Some years ago, I worked at an artisan bakery in Cincinnati. There was always more dough made than what got 'baked off' by the end of the day and, with the owner's permission, I would often take home ziplock bags of ready-to-bake dough and give them to certain neighbors - some men and some women - who seemed, at the time anyway, happy to have the dough. They each said they enjoyed putting it in the oven, baking it, and having freshly baked bread (and the aromas that went with it) with their suppers or especially when they entertained guests. If I went more than a couple of weeks without taking them dough, several of my neighbors would actually stop by to ask if I had quit working at the bakery.
When I told my bachelor neighbor across the street that I could also bring him 'day old' bread already baked, he said that would be fine, thank you very much, but he'd rather have the dough.
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2 comments:
Some years ago, I worked at an artisan bakery in Cincinnati. There was always more dough made than what got 'baked off' by the end of the day and, with the owner's permission, I would often take home ziplock bags of ready-to-bake dough and give them to certain neighbors - some men and some women - who seemed, at the time anyway, happy to have the dough. They each said they enjoyed putting it in the oven, baking it, and having freshly baked bread (and the aromas that went with it) with their suppers or especially when they entertained guests. If I went more than a couple of weeks without taking them dough, several of my neighbors would actually stop by to ask if I had quit working at the bakery.
When I told my bachelor neighbor across the street that I could also bring him 'day old' bread already baked, he said that would be fine, thank you very much, but he'd rather have the dough.
God forgive me, but I read the headline and thought:
Please, no more Michael Jackson stories.
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