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[personal profile] desperance
Has it ever happened in life before, I wonder, that I bake a loaf of bread and don't get to taste even a crust of it, even a crumb...?

If it has, I don't remember the instance. But last night: entirely my fault, for I was late with dinner; but I gave them my new-baked loaf and oil to stave off the dreaded pangs of hunger, because I know what they're like. I thought I knew what they're like. I didn't know what they're like. Wolves to the fold, that's what they're like. Every last crumb, I tell you.

I am baking again. And running the second dishwasher load, and thinking "Oh, there's going to be a third."

And resolving once again never to experiment at full-on dinners with dishes that cook rice by the absorption method, because this just never works right for me. I made chicken Zerbian, which is also Yemeni, to go with the zhug, but - well, they ate it. But.

But the zhug, O my beloved 'earers, the zhug. I could go into business with this stuff. I could live on this stuff, I could eat it with everything. Everything, I could eat you. With zhug.

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November 2017

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