I make awesome food. I'm eating my second piece of a Kuchen I just made with fresh blueberries, cherries and raspberries. The decision to make one just came out of nowhere. I was sitting at my computer an hour and a half ago and decided I wanted a to make a Kuchen while blasting Wotan's Farewell out my laptop's speakers, so I did and the Kuchen is awesome.
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| Wagner approves. I'm sorry, were you expecting a picture of a Kuchen? Too bad. Wagner's creepy over-the-top-happy death mask it is. |
Mind you, as thrilling as spontaneous Wagner baking sounds, this is nowhere near my best baking story. My best one happened in second year, back when I was slowly losing my sanity in a basement unit of a triplex. I was making some cookies and I had just put the first batch in the oven and was getting another one ready. As this was happening, my roommate walked by the kitchen and deeply inhaled while simultaneously performing a brief first arabesque.
I'm not a ballerina. At least, I haven't been since I was ten and I quit before having the pleasure of wearing pointe shoes.
What a beautiful story. It starts with baking cookies underground and ends in ballet. Now, here's the punchline - a second before my roommate walked by the kitchen, I farted. My roommate didn't make any indications that something was amiss, so as far as I'm aware, she didn't notice. Either way, this is both my best baking story and my best fart story.
Now that you're one step closer to achieving Nirvana, goodnight.
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