Operation AFB Drop

9:10am

I have successfully made the drop. But this adventure was not without suspense:

By some marvelous stroke of fortune, I did make it out of the house at 8:15 this morning. This entailed leaving the gym a little earlier than usual, hurrying through my ablutions, and taking the “other” bus to work.

I had to take the “other” bus because I discovered that my camera was out of batteries, which added an unanticipated trip to Walgreens to The Plan. I had a few options:

Option 1: I would normally take the 36 bus, which drops me closest to Dunkin’ Donuts. But if I took the 36 and went to DD, I would have to walk a block past my work to get to Walgreens, and then double back. Not a good option.

Option 2: I could take the 22 bus, which drops me right on the corner at Walgreens. Across the street is another Dunkin’ Donuts, but this particular DD serves burnt coffee. I was willing to make the sacrifice, but as I approached the bus stop, a packed 22 raced past the six or seven people who were already waiting at the stop.

Option 3: I crossed the park to the bus stop in front of the zoo. At this stop, I have my choice of the 151 or the 156. The 151 takes a glamorous route down Michigan Avenue, but drops me off three blocks from work, and nowhere near a Walgreens.

Option 4: The 156 was the perfect choice: it drops me off right at a corner with yet another Dunkin’ Donuts (this one has good coffee, but it’s a whole 4 cents more expensive than the other two DD down the street). When walking to work from this DD, I pass the Walgreens. Perfect.

(And F says I overthink things.)

After Dunkin’ Donuts and Walgreens, I snuck in the back entrance at work and made it up the elevator without encountering any of my co-workers. According to plan, I photocopied the Amish Friendship Bread (AFB) instructions and attached them to the dough bags. Before I even changed into my high heels, I scuttled into the kitchen, hurriedly set up my dough bags, and arranged the AFB on a serving basket.Just as I had stepped away from the bread and was gathering the dishcloth and tinfoil I had used to transport the goods, an intern appeared. She looked at the bread then looked at me. I said hello, perhaps a little too enthusiastically for 9am, and bolted out the door. I didn’t even have the chance to take a photo. That part would have to wait.

I did my morning work routine—changed into heels, stopped in the rest room to fix my windblown hair, turned on my computer, and signed into my e-mail. Only then did I stuff my camera into my pocket, grab my coffee and oatmeal, and head to the kitchen. No one was there! And someone (the intern?) had already taken a chunk of bread.I took some photos and, relieved, made my breakfast. Now I’m sitting back at my desk, eager to know if my bread is being nibbled. I will check back every few hours and document the state of the AFB with photos. Although I do not anticipate anyone taking my four bags of starter dough, the bread is great and it looks nice, too. I anticipate that it will be gone by the end of the day.

9:58am

It has moved! My dough and loaf are now atop the microwave, where first I discovered the AFB approximately ten days ago. One of my dough bags is gone, and the loaf is 2/3 eaten! Hurrah!
This may be the final photo of the day, since the bread is nearly gone and the dough bags obviously don’t make for captivating photography.

10:15am

Only crumbs remain. This concludes the Amish Friendship Bread series.

Culinary Adventures of an Unattended College Freshman, Part 1

The first time I baked unattended was disastrous. During the very first month of my freshman year of college, my new best girlfriends and I decided at midnight on a Thursday that we would bake chocolate chip cookies for all of our friends—who were also wide awake at this hour, of course. The majority of our class lived in a brownstone where the resident assistant, Steve, had a tiny kitchen, which he finally granted us after ten minutes of flirtatious pleading. He was a tiny, studious person who read Hume while we consulted the recipe on the back of the Nestle bag.

I doubt Steve had ever used his mini stove, and I doubt my fellow bakers had any more experience with the culinary arts than I did. Perhaps Steve’s oven was too hot, or we were inattentive, but we burnt our first batch of cookies to charred crisps, filling Steve’s studio with the acrid scent of scorched chocolate. We waved our dishrags at the stove to dispel the haze, and set one of the rags on fire. Steve pretended not to notice. I suppose he found Hume more interesting than four freshman girls capering in his kitchen, waving things about and giggling.

Our second and third batches were more successful, and we delivered cookies to each dorm room, giddy with triumph and chocolate fumes. Those who had stepped out or, astonishingly, had gone to sleep, got a scorched cookie taped to their doorknobs.

The second time I cooked unattended also resulted in charred bits… but for that story stay tuned for the next installment of Culinary Adventures of an Unattended College Freshman.