Twenty years back in the United States, and I think I’m cracking. There’s no decent bread to be had anywhere. If it wasn’t for the bread we make ourselves, my kids would think that stuff in the stores and the bakeries was bread.
I drove all over Longmont this morning looking for bread – and don’t tell me about Great Harvest – that squishy, dense, sweet muffin dough on steroids they call bread is not what I’m looking for. And how any self-respecting baker can keep a straight face saying “hard roll” while handing you a plastic bag of sad, soft blobs is beyond me.
I gotta go punch down the dough.