Daylight Savings threw everyone into a tizzy on Sunday. Baby Harbat decided nap time would come much, much later than normal, then spent first 20 minutes of nap standing up in her crib, throwing every loose object onto the floor, and laughing.
Baby Harbat (BH) got to eat her first popsicle this weekend, courtesy of our friends who also have a little miniature female human-child. Flavor: strawberry. Enjoyment: +10. Number of times popsicle was trawled across floor and furniture to emerge bristling with cat hairs: countless.
Bread count this weekend was three. The first was a request from my wife: golden heavenly sandwich bread.
The next was an experiment, which doesn’t bode well. But it turned out quite bodacious. Rieska, a wheatless flatbread from Northern Finland, is made from rye and barley flour. The texture of the dough was unnerving—instead of a stringy and gluteny (glutenacious?) dough, it was a sticky and gritty mash. It smelled and tasted like a puffy buckwheat pancake, and was fantastic with butter and honey. The whole operation took about 25 minutes from ingredients to hot bread.
The third bread was part of my ongoing quest to create the perfect crusty bread. This time I added some ‘Tuscan Blue’ rosemary and a tiny bit of honey. The texture came out just like I wanted, and the color of the crust is better. Taste results will follow after lunch.
Our weekend end with a TV showing of Jurassic Park 3. Man, come ON! I don’t know if the producers wanted us to root for the dinosaurs, but when Tea Leoni did Stupid Thing #255 and ended up hanging by her ankles from a tree while velociraptors jumped at her head like it was a blonde piñata, I was waving my “Dino #1” foam hand. Sam Neill did his standard squint-eyed archaeologist shtick, and Wm. H Macy acted with weariness that told you he knew that without the franchise title, this movie would stain his resume like a coffee ring.
This morning my wife told me that the pterodactyls in the final scene in the movie were flying to the set of Jurassic Park 4. Presumably the producers will just give up and throw Beyonce and Will Ferrell on Isla Mumblebar and let us cheer as they are chased around to the tune of Yakkity Sax.
Writer, architect, father, husband.