You Can Be a Boulanger

A couple years ago I started a little side hustle that I called "Rob's Weekend Bakery." Each week I would decide on something to bake, collect orders from Facebook, and then bake it all up for the weekend. Most of my customers were my neighbors, but somehow word got around and complete strangers started ordering my stuff. It was fun to see that people liked my bakes enough to pay for it. 

I put the bakery on hiatus, but I still take occasional requests. One of the most popular items I sold was the French Boule, or "boule de pain" (pronounced "bool de pan," which translates to "ball of bread"). I don't know how authentically French it is, but it is delicious and has just the right balance of being easy to make and a bit of a "wow" factor to it. 

I'm going to teach you how to make the French Boule. If you try it, you'll be amazed at how easy it is. 

This is going to be a typical recipe blog post, with pictures and directions, and then the recipe at the very end. So feel free to scroll down to the bottom if you just want the recipe. 

Let's talk for a minute about each of the ingredients. 

The ingredients are simple: flour, water, salt, and yeast. That's it. 

Flour: I use Lehi Mills unbleached bread flour. That's all I've ever used, but I imagine that any bread flour would do just fine. 

Water: I just use regular tap water. Some people, including my dad the chemistry professor, will tell you that you should use purified or filtered water because the chlorine in tap water can inhibit the yeast from being able to rise. I used bottled water the first few times I made this bread, then I just decided to make the switch to tap water. I'm here to tell you that there is absolutely no noticeable difference, but you should use whatever kind of water you would like. I once used Mountain Dew in place of the water. It produced a slightly sweet bread, and the crust was darker due to the caramelization of the sugar.

Salt: I use coarse kosher salt, but I am confident you could use regular table salt. My dad would probably say that you should avoid table salt because of the iodine, but I doubt you'd notice a difference. If you weigh your ingredients, just use the same number of grams, but if you measure with teaspoons, you'll need to convert it for table salt. 

Yeast: I use Red Star active dry yeast. I'm sure any brand of active dry yeast will work, but I have not tried it with instant yeast. If you use instant yeast, let me know how that goes. 

Now let's talk about equipment for a minute. 

Kitchen scale: First off, I highly recommend a kitchen scale. It's so much easier and accurate, but if you don't have a scale, I'll give you the measurements in cups at the end of this post. But trust me, if you want to do much baking, a kitchen scale is well worth it. 

Mixing bowl: You'll need a large mixing bowl. The dough will rise quite a bit, so make sure your bowl is at least three quarts. I like to double the recipe to make two boules, so I use a six-quart bowl like this. 

Silicone spatula: For mixing, you can use a wooden spoon, but I prefer a sturdy silicone or rubber spatula to help get all the dry flour that likes to hide on the bottom of the bowl. When mixing, you want to make sure there are no dry bits left. 

Baking dish: For the baking dish, I use both a three-quart cast iron Dutch oven and a ceramic casserole dish. The ceramic dish makes a rounder loaf. I've also used a glass casserole dish, which works fine. The important thing is to line your dish with parchment paper, otherwise the bread is likely to stick to the bottom. 

That's all the equipment you'll need! Well, I guess you'll need an oven too. Hopefully you have one of those. Okay, let's get started!

First, measure your bread flour into your mixing bowl. 

Add your salt: 

And then your yeast: 

Mix up all those dry ingredients:

Then add your water: 

Now mix it all up until you have no dry bits. Be sure to scrape the bottom of your bowl really well. At first you'll think you have too much water, then you'll think you don't have enough. Don't worry, just keep mixing and it will all come together. When you're finished, you'll end up with a very sticky dough: 

Now you can cover your dough to let it rise. You can cover with plastic wrap or something like I have pictured below. Just don't put on an air-tight lid or you might end up with a minor explosion as the gasses from the activated yeast expand. 

Let the dough rise at room temperature for at least 18 hours, and up to 24. I like to keep mine on top of the refrigerator. 

After 18 hours, your dough should have risen quite a bit and will be all bubbly.

Next, scrape your dough onto a floured surface. You can do it directly onto the counter, but I prefer to use a baking sheet for easier cleanup. 

Now just roll it around in the flour to get it completely covered. If you doubled the recipe, you'll need to divide your dough in half after this step. 

Try to shape your dough into a ball, but don't worry about getting it perfect. 

Plop your dough into your parchment-lined baking dish. You can preheat your dish while your oven preheats, but I have been skipping that step and haven't noticed a difference. 

Cover your dish and put it in a 450 degree oven for 30 minutes. 

After 30 minutes, remove the lid and bake for another 10-12 minutes. 

Look how nice and round and golden those boules are!

Carefully remove the boule from the dish and let it cool completely on a cooling rack, and then you're ready to slice and eat! 

Now you're officially a boulanger! I hope you try making this bread and that you love it as much as my family and I do!

Classic French Boule

Makes one round boule. You can double the recipe for two boules. 

Ingredients: 

435g bread flour

9g coarse kosher salt

1/2 tsp active dry yeast

356g water

Directions: 

- Using a sturdy silicone or rubber spatula, mix the dry ingredients in a large bowl.

- Add the water and mix until there are no dry bits. Be sure to scrape the bottom of the bowl.

- Cover and let rise at room temperature for 18-24 hours.

- Preheat oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit.

- Scrape the dough onto a floured surface and roll it in the flour. 

- *If you doubled the recipe, divide your dough in half at this point. 

- Place dough in a parchment lined Dutch oven or round casserole dish.

- Bake covered for 30 minutes.

- Remove lid and bake uncovered for another 10-12 minutes.

- Cool completely on a cooling rack. 

Variations: 

You can add 2-3 tablespoons of  fresh chopped rosemary with your dry ingredients. You could try other herbs and add in some minced garlic and pepper! 

Measurements for those who don't want to use a kitchen scale: 

435g bread flour - just a little more than 3 1/2 cups

9g coarse kosher salt - a little less than 2 teaspoons. If you use table salt, it will be a little more than one teaspoon. 

1/2 tsp active dry yeast

356g water - about 1 1/2 cups

Thanks a Latte

It's not a new thing that you can find a Starbucks pretty much everywhere you go these days. Despite its ubiquity, I think I've been inside a Starbucks one time in my life. That's not likely to change any time soon unless they start selling stuff like burgers, pies, or sushi. Or socks! That would be awesome if you could buy socks at Starbucks. You could be driving pretty much anywhere, see a Starbucks, and remember that you're looking for a new pair of Bombas. 

There are several reasons why Starbucks doesn't get much of my money. First off, as part of my religion I don't drink coffee or tea. Herbal teas are fine since there's no actual tea in them. People just call it tea because of what it resembles. Kind of like how eggplant looks remarkably like a plant. 

Some of you are probably saying, "Rob, there are a lot of other things you can get at Starbucks that don't have any coffee or tea. There's a whole line of Crème Frappuccinos that don't have coffee." 

Well, I'm glad you mentioned that. Back in 2010, my niece was extolling the virtues of the Caramel Crème Frappuccino. I was curious, so I decided to venture into a Starbucks for the first time in my life to try one. It was okay, but it tasted exactly like what it was: ice blended with milk and caramel with whipped cream on top. For that I probably paid around four dollars, and I'm sure it costs much more today. And that brings me to the second reason I don't go to Starbucks. 

Apparently the chai latte at Starbucks is one of the greatest things ever in the history of overpriced beverages of all time. A "grande" chai latte costs around $6.50. So for 16 ounces, people are paying six dollars and fifty cents (not counting the tip, and don't even get me started on that) multiple times per week. I'm sure it really is delicious, but at that price it means you're drinking about 40 cents with every swallow. For me, those prices are a little hard to...well, swallow. 

I wanted to experience what all the fuss is about, so I decided to make a version that doesn't have any tea in it. Celestial Seasonings makes an herbal tea called Bengal Spice that has the same spices that make up the chai flavor profile. All I did was heat up some milk in the microwave, steeped it with Bengal Spice, sweetened it with turbinado sugar and frothed it up. Then when it was all nice and frothy on top, I sprinkled on a little cinnamon. And I have to say, it's really good and it cost me pennies to make. I call it the WoW chai latte (if you know, you know). I still have no idea how it compares to a Starbucks chai latte, so if there's a Starbucks frequent flyer out there who will try the WoW version, I'd like to hear your opinion. 

I also made a homemade version of the Caramel Creme Frappuccino. It wasn't hard to find a copycat recipe online, and as I suspected it really is nothing more than ice, milk, caramel, and whipped cream (with more caramel drizzled on top). Oh, and you also have to add sugar so that it doesn't just taste like milk that sat next to the candy dish for a minute. There's also a Starbucks version that has coffee in it, so I made another one and added a little cocoa mix as a coffee substitute. 

The first one tasted exactly how I remember the one from 2010. In other words, it was just okay. The second one tasted a lot like a chocolate milk shake, but the cocoa completely overpowered the caramel flavor. But again, it only cost me pennies to make both of these. And bonus, I didn't have to stand in line next to any hipsters. But I did have to wash the dishes, so there's that. 

I know there are other people who refuse to go to Starbucks because they don't like huge chain companies that drive the local shops out of business. I really don't understand this reasoning. I mean, Starbucks started out as a tiny shop in Seattle. They were laughed at in the 70's when they set their goal to have 2,000 stores by the year 2000. They also aimed, "To turn the Starbucks brand into the most recognized and respected consumer brand in the world." Today, this goal is often cited as a prime example in business classes when they teach about BHAGs (Big Hairy Audacious Goals). Starbucks' success is the American Dream at it's best. And while I personally don't plan to spend my money there, if they start putting out a line of comfy socks, you'll see me there all the time! Well, more like maybe 2-3 times a year, because when you buy good quality socks, you really don't need to replace them that often. 

Fritter the Time Away

I was working furiously at the stove Saturday morning when Lois came home from the gym.  The first thing she said was, "Why does the house smell like a carnival?"  Then she saw me with a pot of hot oil on the burner and piles of fried dough all around me. 

"What are you making?" she wanted to know. 
"Apple fritters!" I replied brightly, knowing that my vegan, works out every morning, healthy wife would not approve.  I thought I'd have been finished and already devouring them with our two sons by the time Lois got home.  I still had half a bowl of uncooked batter. 

She looks at the recipe on the counter.  "This says it serves eight people!" 
"Yeah, about that.  See, I thought it meant that it made eight little fritters.  So I doubled it."
"You're frying up apple fritters meant to serve sixteen people?"
"Well... yes."
"There are three of you." 
"I know."

About 20 minutes later Lois comes back to the kitchen to find me still frying and the piles around me had grown to mountains.  I put Rocky to work drizzling a sugary glaze over about a fourth of the fritters.  "Are you planning to feed the boys anything else for breakfast?"
"Um.  Yes?"  I briefly consider pointing out that there are apples in the fritters, but I know how that conversation would go. 

Around this time Buzz stumbles sleepily into the kitchen.  "What's for breakfast?" 
Rocky answers, "Look how many fritters Dad is making!"
"Oh man, that is awesome!"
I'm sure Lois is giving me a particular look at this point, but I'm focused on flipping the last batch of fritters and trying not to smile as the boys laugh at the absurdity of so much fried food that they ordinarily would only be permitted to eat as a dessert, certainly not for a meal. 

While I put fritters on three plates, Lois cooks a bowl of oatmeal for herself.  I quickly peel three bananas and put one on each plate next to the fried dough to make it a well balanced breakfast. 

By the time we've eaten all we want, the leftovers are still considerable.  I carefully stack over half of the surplus on a sturdy paper plate and quickly head out the door to a neighbor's house.  When I get back, Lois has kindly done most of the cleanup and put the remaining fritters into tupperware.  She gives me a look I can't quite comprehend and then says, "Okay, I tried one while you were gone and it was so good, and I am so mad at you!"  This was by far the best compliment I could have received. 

Cooking delicious, unhealthy foods has become something of a hobby for me.  I guess it doesn't have to be unhealthy, but vegetables just seem so much more interesting when they're sautéd in butter, deep fried, or smothered in a cheese sauce.   

Ree Drummond, aka The Pioneer Woman whose recipe I used for this morning's hijinks, has become one of my culinary heroes.  Everything of hers I've cooked such as biscuits and gravy and chicken pot pie have become instant favorites of the three non-vegans in the family. 

Fortunately I only cook these kinds of things every once in a while, and Lois is diligent in making sure we all get plenty of foods that will be less likely to cause a heart attack.  That's just one of the many reasons we are meant to be together.  And it just happens to be one of the many reasons I will not feel the least bit guilty when I try out a recipe I found for fried chicken that has you marinate the meat in buttermilk overnight.  This is gonna be good. 

I Like Sushi, Sosumi

Going out for sushi has become a popular dining experience.  It's fun, it's trendy, and it's photogenic.  There are now more pictures of sushi on social media than minions, and almost as many as cats.

Not for eating, just for Instagram

So what is the big deal exactly?  You take some pieces of fish (often raw), some vegetables, maybe some cream cheese, and wrap them up in seaweed and rice.  That's right.  Sea. Weed.  At most restaurants, a sushi roll will cost at least eight or nine dollars, and each one is cut up into six or eight pieces.  So every time you take a bite, there goes a dollar.

I have a theory.  People like to eat sushi because it makes them feel daring.  "Hey dude, do you dare me to eat this piece of raw tuna?  I'll even eat it with this seaweed.  And this green spicy play-doh."  It's almost like a game.  And it's not enough to just eat it.  You have to get it from the plate to your mouth using two sticks.  It's like using the tweezers in the Operation game to get the wishbone.  If only there was a buzzer for every time you drop unagi into your lap.

Then you have the people who refuse to even try sushi because the thought of eating raw fish grosses them out (imagine that).  It doesn't matter how often you explain that not all sushi has raw fish.  They want nothing to do with it.  But if you ever start telling them what the ingredients were in the hot dog they ate the other day, they'll cover their ears and yell, "La-la-la-la, I caaaan't heeeear yoooou!"

I have yet to meet anyone who just kind of likes sushi.  People tend to either love it or are afraid of it.  I can't get enough of it.  Sometimes I'll go to an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant.  They always make a big deal that you have to eat all of the rice, and they'll charge you extra for any sushi that you leave uneaten.  It always seems like such a great idea for the first two or three rolls.  But by the time I'm trying to choke down the fifth roll, I can't help thinking, "I've made a huuuuge mistake."  They'll usually bring me the check before I'm done, so once I've paid I know I can leave those last few pieces on my plate and they'll have no way to charge me for it.  Even so, I always make sure to cover it up with my napkin and make a hasty exit before they can catch me.  I'm not sure what I'd do if they did stop me.  "Excuse me sir, you left three pieces of hosomaki. I am afraid you have to pay now." My reply might be something like, "Oh, I'm still going to eat that.  I just need to get something from my car."  Then as I drive away with my tires squeeling, "Suckerrrrrrrs!"

The Sushi Burrito is a Thing That Exists

The sushi burrito is a relatively new take on sushi consumption.  This is basically a huge sushi roll with the seaweed on the outside.  It's wrapped in paper and cut in half so you can eat it with your hands just like you would with something you order from Taco Bell.  Being the investigative journalist I am, I just had to try one.  I went to Sushi Burrito Utah in Provo and ordered their Vegas roll.  It tasted pretty much exactly like a regular Vegas roll, only bigger.  Being the pro I am with chopsticks, I found it a little cumbersome to eat the huge thing with my hands, and it got a little messy at the end.  But for the price, I'd say it was worth it.

So if you're one of those sushi haters, come on, just give it a try.  It won't kill you.  Unless you're allergic to fish.  In that case, maybe you better stick with your hot dogs and chalupas.  Just be sure to post a photo of it on Facebook before you eat it.

Basic Rules of Life Ignored by Supposedly Smart People

I'm not perfect.  Far from it.  If anyone wanted to follow me around for a couple hours, they could compile their own list of stupid things that I do.  I look forward to reading that on their blog someday.  Until then, here are some of my observations that drive me crazy.

If you're in a public place and spill something, clean it up!  Or at least tell someone about it.  Yes, it is probably someone's job to take care of those spills, but don't just walk away from it.  Someone spilled Cheerios on some stairs that don't get used very often in my office building.  They stayed there for days!  I know, I know, I could have said something.  But I still blame whoever spilled them.

Pick up after your dog!  Even though I'd really prefer that you not let your dog do any business on my grass, I recognize that they have to go somewhere.  So if they do end up leaving anything behind on my lawn, you need to pick it up.  And if it's your kids who take your dog for a walk, you don't get to blame it on them.  You're responsible for your kids too.  Scalawag.

If you see someone with their zipper down, food in their teeth, something hanging from their nose, etc., you have a moral obligation to tell them.  You really, really need to do this.  I am tired of always having to be the one to tell people.  It doesn't matter if it's your boss, an annoying co-worker, or the Pope.  If you've ever had someone discreetly let you know that you have a button undone, you're forever grateful to them.  If you come home at the end of a long day to find spinach in your teeth that's been there since lunch, you hate everyone you talked to that day.  Don't be that hated person.

Don't strike up a conversation in a public restroom.  Okay, so I might have issues, but I really don't want to talk to you or even make eye contact with you in the restroom.  It is not a pleasant place to be in, and nothing you have to say will be interesting to me in that environment.  I once worked in an office building where the restrooms were open to the public.  A man came in while I was at the urinal and asked me where he could turn in his resume.  "Well, I'm pretty sure it's not in here."

If you need something, ask politely.  Don't just declare your need.  It makes you sound needy.  As you may know, I work in Human Resources.  I regularly receive requests from employees to fill out forms or prepare letters for various things.  It amazes me how often I get emails that say something like, "Rob, I need a letter verifying my employment so I can establish residency."  I'm always tempted to just write back and say, "Okay, thanks for letting me know."  It's like when my kids say, "I'm hungry."  My response is usually a variation of, "Oh, that's interesting.  Thanks for telling me."

When using instant messengers at work, don't just say, "Hi," and wait for the other person to respond.  Tell them what you want.  The great thing about instant messaging is not having to engage in small talk.  Stop doing it wrong!

When leaving a voicemail message, give some useful information.  If all you say is, "Call me back as soon as you get this message," I will most likely ignore you.  Also, don't tell me what to do.  Also, don't call me when an email or text message will suffice.

Don't tell someone else to remind you of your commitments.  This one really baffles me.  If you say you're going to do something but are worried about forgetting, put it on your own calendar or set up your own reminder.  Don't try to defer accountability to someone else just because they are more reliable.  Organize your life!

These things literally drive me up the wall.  I could go on, but that's probably enough for now.  Feel free to add your own observations in the comments.

Midlife Crisis? No, I Am Actually This Cool.

Being the youngest in my family, it was with more than a little amusement that I watched each of my older siblings turn 40 while I remained comfortably in my youth.

I knew that I would get there someday, but it always seemed a long way off.  Even when my sister turned 40 and I was 37, that was no big deal because I was still in my mid-thirties, right?

Well, I hit 40 a few months ago.  It was with little fanfare, although I think Lois would have thrown a big party if not for my utter indifference.  

I was 18 when I noticed my first grey hairs.  The greys have slowly multiplied since then, but that doesn't really bother me.  But one thing that has become increasingly distressing to me as I've approached 40 is the way my eyebrows are growing.  Like most people, I've had eyebrows pretty much since birth and they've always sort of maintained themselves.  But now they require trimming.  I do not understand this.  I ignored it for a while, but one day it just became painfully clear that something had to be done.  It occurred to me that an eyebrow is pretty much just a mustache for your forehead.  So I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, set my beard trimmer to one, said a quick prayer and trimmed those suckers.  That worked like a charm.  Well, a charm that you might find in a cheap souvenir shop, but a charm nonetheless.


It wasn't until after I turned 40 that I started thinking about what would be a good midlife crisis.  When it comes to cars, I really just want something efficient and comfortable to get me from point A to point B, although a Harley would do that nicely.  But no, I'm happy with my current transportation.  I did indulge myself in what many people might rightly call the lamest midlife crisis ever.  I don't know exactly how it happened.  I don't even drink.  But I inexplicably developed a taste for karaoke.  So after some minimal research, I bought a mixer, some mics, and some other miscellaneous hardware to turn my computer into a pretty decent karaoke system.  On Thanksgiving we were all rock stars and got jiggy with it.  Are you allowed to have more than one midlife crisis?  Because I figure I might live to be 90, so that gives me another good five years to settle on a really good one that involves a little less Neil Diamond.

I don't really feel old, although I do have less energy than I used to.  My waist is still pretty much the same size as it has been since high school (never mind that it might be a bit lower now).  But there's one thing that helps me know that I'm really not old yet.  When I get dressed every morning, instead of sitting down to put on my socks, I balance on my left foot to put my right sock on, then I balance on my right foot to put my left sock on.  Can you imagine an old man putting his socks on while standing? No, it just isn't done.  There may come a day when I fall over during the attempt and break my hip, but until then I'm still young.  Meanwhile, I just need to figure out what to do about this ear and nose hair.  

WiFi, Skipper!

I love books, and I love food.  It's a good day if I can get away from work for lunch and spend about an hour in a nearby restaurant eating and reading.  I used to choose my restaurants based on the quality of their fries and the soda selection, but a new trend with some restaurants has me changing my standards.  

It all started one day when I was at my favorite burger place and as usual had ordered the #5 combo (pastrami cheeseburger with fries and a soda).  I filled my cup with Cherry Coke and sat down at my favorite booth (the one next to the soda fountain).  I started reading an eBook on my tablet when I noticed the new signs indicating free WiFi.  "Hmmm," I thought.  "I wonder if anything interesting has happened on Facebook since I left the office 15 minutes ago."  After spending 10 minutes on Facebook making sure that nothing interesting was happening, I figured I might as well fire up Netflix and catch some Arrested Development.  That's when the frustration started.  Netflix would not work.  Grrr!  Okay, you stupid burger place, I guess I'll get back to reading stupid Treasure Island.  I bet stupid Jim Hawkins wishes he had WiFi.

After that I started going to Zupas more often.  They have an excellent WiFi connection and I could get Netflix without any trouble at all.  Until the day when I couldn't get Netflix.  Grrr again! I suspect Zupas blocked it on purpose to prevent guys like me from taking up table space for too long. But wait, Hulu still works!  Ha ha, Zupas, now I'm going to sit here for another - (looking to see how long this episode of Bones is) - 44 minutes and 26 seconds drinking creative soda concoctions and eating oyster crackers.

A few months ago when Subway put up a sign advertising free WiFi, I realized that I could really use more meatball subs in my life.  And there's nothing quite like that feeling when you've racked up 75 Subway points so you can go in for a free twelve-inch sub.  It is a little deflating when you realize that also means that you've already spent over $75.

Ever since I was a kid, there has been a Skippers restaurant in my hometown of Orem, Utah.  I think I went there once with my mom when I was about seven years old.  I don't remember exactly why I didn't like it, but I think it had something to do with the fact that I was expected to eat fried clams.  Over the years there has been some remodeling of the building, and half of it has been re-purposed as a Jamba Juice.  I assumed the Skippers half eventually went out of business because, who would eat there?  I must not have been the only one making this assumption.  I was genuinely surprised when they put up a sign to make sure passers-by knew that they were still making a go of it.  Not only that, but I also learned that they now have WiFi.

After doing a little reconnaissance, I chose a Tuesday to venture back to Skippers because that is the day you can get the all-you-can-eat fish n' chips and clam chowder special (which means it's something like a dollar less than usual).  The first thing I noticed was that the restaurant seemed cleaner than I remembered.  Even though I knew what I was going to order, I spent a little time looking at the menu.  It struck me that with very few exceptions, everything is deep fried.  They do have salads on the menu, and I wondered what kind of person would order a salad from Skippers when there's a Zupas just down the street.  I bet the kitchen staff freaks out every time someone does order a salad.  I imagine a heated argument in the back between the server and the cooks, ending with the server returning to the customer and saying, "I'm sorry, but we're all out of lettuce.  Would you like some popcorn shrimp instead?"

When they brought my food out, there was a little cup of coleslaw on the side.  I quickly checked to make sure none of the food had touched it and I immediately moved it to the far edge of my table where it couldn't cause any mischief.  The clam chowder was better than I expected, the fish was pretty good when the right ratio of tartar sauce was applied, and the fries - I mean "chips" - were about average.  But the WiFi connection was superb and since it was all-you-can eat, I always had food in front of me while I was watching what Agent Coulson was getting up to.  But that coleslaw cup kept staring at me, and I kept wondering if it had any purpose other than to unnerve me.  I did learn that all-I-*should*-eat was two small fish fillets, one serving of "chips," and one bowl of chowder.  All-I-*can*-eat is a little less than twice that much.

But why do they put the coleslaw on there?  Is it some sort of weird FDA requirement?  I've been back to Skippers several times, and yesterday I overheard the server at the next booth apologize for forgetting one of the coleslaw cups.  To my amazement, I heard one of the group say that he wanted it.  What?!  I couldn't ignore this.  I just had to know what he was going to do with it.  After an appropriate interval I got up with the pretense of refilling my soda, making sure to casually glance over to get a look at this strange person and see if I could discover his diabolical plan.  To my utter horror, he had a fork and was actually putting the stuff in his mouth!  Then, and I am not making this up, his mouth started making chewing motions and I swear I saw his Adam's apple move as if he had swallowed it. And he just sat there, cool as a cucumber, as if he were not doing something unimaginably repulsive.  I don't know how the rest of his group could sit in such close proximity to him.  They must be his minions.  This won't stop me from going back to Skippers because there are still limited restaurants that have good WiFi.  But I'm definitely keeping a wary eye out for that coleslaw guy.  Someone like that could be capable of just about anything.
 

Dad Can Cook - You can really taste the scratch

Being a dad of young kids is a pretty sweet gig.  They are almost always delighted to see me when I get home, and all I have to do to be a hero is make pancakes.

I grew up in a home with eight kids.  Mom did most of the cooking, which couldn't have been easy with that many mouths, many of which belonged to boys who were always hungry.  She also worked full-time as a teacher starting when I was five and the oldest was seventeen.

Mom made the very best comfort foods, the most notable being fried chicken almost every Sunday.  Occasionally she would experiment with new things, like the time she made cow tongue.  We were all weirded out by it, but we knew better than to say anything other than "thank you" and "please pass the tongue."  The oldest sibling, Biff (names have been changed), missed dinner because he was at work, or had some school thing.  When he got home, a few of us watched to see what he would do about the tongue.  He started right away on making a sandwich, sliced a few generous pieces of tongue and fell to eating his tongue sandwich.  After a few bites Fritz said, "You know that's cow tongue, right?"  Biff said, "Huh, I thought it was ham." And then he just kept right on eating.

Dad would occasionally make breakfast where we could choose 1, 2, or 3 strips of bacon, a "Daddy's Best Egg" which was fried with either a "runny" or "broken" yolk, and toast or sometimes pancakes.  Dad was also always in charge of making breakfast on Mother's Day.  We kids were always in awe because this was the only time during the year that we could have his delicious apple pancakes.  Thinking back, I wonder if Mom ever felt slighted how we would rave about these pancakes, but rarely acknowledged her efforts every other day.  Sorry, Mom.

My kids love oatmeal, which is what they have for breakfast most mornings.  I like oatmeal as much as the next guy, but it's not particularly exciting.  So one Saturday morning about 4 or 5 years ago I made pancakes, sausage, and "Daddy's Best Eggs" for breakfast.  My kids thought I was the coolest dad ever.  The following Saturday they asked if I was going to make a "Big Daddy Breakfast" again.  I said, "No, if I make it every week then it won't be special." So we all had oatmeal, and I felt a little bit sad that I had disappointed them.  Soon it did become a weekly thing, and I'm okay with being in charge of breakfast on Saturdays.  Now that the boys are vegetarians I no longer make sausage for them, but sometimes I'll fry some up for myself and try to tempt them with it.  It never works.

I used to make pancakes with Krusteaz mix, which for a pancake mix is probably the best one.  But when I discovered how ridiculously easy it is to make pancakes from scratch with ingredients that are always in the house, I never bought a mix again.  And, I'm going to share with you the best recipe right here.

Daddy's Best Classic Fluffy Pancakes

Dry Ingredients:

2 cups flour
2 tablespoons sugar
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3/8 cup powdered milk*
*If you don't have powdered milk, you can use milk instead of water in the wet ingredients. Almond or soy milk also works well.

Wet Ingredients:
2 cups water (use milk if you didn't add powdered milk to the dry ingredients)
2 eggs
2 tablespoons canola or vegetable oil*
*I haven't tested this with waffles, but I'd probably use 4 tablespoons oil if you do use it for waffles.

Directions: 
Heat a griddle or skillet to about 325 degrees.  Combine the dry ingredients in a bowl.  In a separate bowl, combine the wet ingredients, whisking the eggs to combine thoroughly.  Add the dry ingredients to the wet, mixing thoroughly, but don't overmix.  Pour the batter in 4-5 inch rounds (or funny shapes, or whatever size you want).  Flip the pancakes when bubbles start to form holes.  Let's face it, if you don't know when to flip your pancakes, there's little I can do to help you there.  Makes around 20-24 four-five inch pancakes.

The powdered milk is really the secret to this whole thing.  Sometimes I'll pre-make several bags of the dry ingredients to save time when I want to make pancakes.  I have also used powdered eggs, and it worked pretty well, but I don't like the flavor as much.  The kids didn't seem to notice, though.

Occasionally I'll make a "Big Daddy Omelette" or "Big Daddy Hash" which are always big hits too.  The secret is cheese.  Lots and lots of cheese.

Still Crazy After All These Years

I’m really glad we have dentists.  The fact that we all hate going to the dentist brings us onto common ground.  When we want to express exactly how much we despise the idea of doing something, all we have to do is say, “I’d rather go to the dentist,” and then everyone knows to stop trying to get me to go play basketball. 

This is essentially what I said when I was asked about attending my 20-year high school reunion (although I may have added something about certain places freezing over, and how many horses it would take to drag me).  High school was a time of awkwardness, low self-esteem, and Arsenio Hall.  I’m not seeing a lot of incentive to go down that particular lane of memories.

Then I found the Facebook page that the student council (or whoever it is that arranges such things) had created for the 1994 graduates.  It was actually fun to see some of the old dance photos and read about what people are up to now.  Even though it almost made the need for an actual in-person reunion completely unnecessary, this sparked in me a small interest in attending.    

The next thing I know, Lois and I are at the reunion making conversation with my fellow 1994 Bruins and their spouses.  There were quite a few graduates I was unacquainted with, which is not completely surprising considering that my graduating class was upwards of 700 people.  Then there were also a good number who I had known since elementary school.  Luckily for me, I didn't date much in high school and the girls I did date were either a year younger or older, or they went to a different high school altogether.  So there was no awkwardness of having to run into any old flames.  But I like to think that if there had been, they'd notice how hot my wife is and be adequately jealous.  

Even though this was a Utah County reunion, arrangements had been made to work through some complicated Utah red tape so that those who wanted something a little stronger than Dr. Pepper could bring in their own booze.  I took advantage of the available sodas, juice, and flavor syrups and sated my addiction with Dirty Dr. Peppers and Mango Mountain Dews.

If Lois was bored, she didn't show it and seemed to have a good time.  But she did make it quite clear that this really didn't count as a date.  I was glad to have her there with me, and since she is a vegan I felt justified in taking an extra portion of meat and dessert.  Having a vegan wife does have a few advantages.  

The program was simple and consisted mainly of mingling which was kind of the whole point, after all.  We did have the obligatory slide show with era appropriate music in the background, and the former a capella choir sang.  No one asked the band geeks to play anything, which was probably a good call, even though I wouldn't have minded an excuse to dust off my old saxophone.  Oh well, maybe at the 30.  

The old stereotypes had pretty well dissolved.  Instead of cheerleaders, jocks, nerds and stoners, we just had one big group of happy Bruins.  And nerds.  It was pretty easy to talk to anyone there, whether we had known each other or not.  And my Facebook friend count went from like 84 to 100, so that's pretty awesome too.   

I asked Lois if she was going to want to attend her 20-year reunion.  She didn't even have to think about it before saying no.  But she did say that she hoped there would be a Facebook page so that she could find out what everyone is up to without having to actually interact with them.  She still has a few years to change her mind, so we'll see.  If nothing else, at least she'd be able to post pictures of the two of us together so that her old boyfriends can see what a hot husband she ended up with.  

Getting Tipsy

I have opinions about a lot of things.  Some of them are popular, like how I believe everyone should be able to have a good job if they want to and earn a lot of money.  Some of my opinions are unpopular, like how I believe in order to keep that job, people should actually come to work on time and perform the tasks they were hired to do.  I usually will only share my unpopular opinions if I feel like I have good solid facts to back them up.  So I don't often admit that I believe zucchini made a deal with Satan.  How else do you explain why people eat it despite its terrible taste and why there is always so much of it?  I can't prove it, but it's totally true.

This brings us to the popular practice of tipping, and why it is stupid.  There's a pretty good chance that you worked in the food service industry at some point in your life, which explains the tremor I felt just now as you attempted to reach through your computer to strangle me.  That would be consistent with the reactions I get from others when I start to explain my enlightened views on tipping.  Almost everyone I know worked for tips at some point, and they don't want to hear me suggest that the one thing they liked about the suckiest job they ever had was undeserved.  Of course I never actually suggest any such thing, but once I approach the subject, all they can hear from me is, "Blah blah, derp de derp, tipping is stupid and so is my face." 

So if you're still reading, here is what I really believe.  Employers should pay their workers a fair wage, should provide incentives for doing good work and additional rewards for going above and beyond.  Workers should not have to rely so much on customers, who only glimpse the tip (so to speak) of the iceberg.  Workers also should generally not receive a huge reward simply because their customer can't calculate percentages in their head.

Now, before you jump to conclusions, I do tip when tipping is expected.  I do it grudgingly because I believe the system is broken, but I'm not going to punish my server simply because their employer chooses to use this inefficient method of compensating them.  This is also the only way I know how to spend the Canadian coins that I sometimes end up with. 

When I go to a restaurant, I expect two things: 1) Bring me what I ordered, and 2) my Dr. Pepper should never be empty.  If I ask for no capers and my pasta has capers, is that the waitress's fault?  Maybe, if she neglected to tell the cooking staff, but I have no way of knowing.  Also, capers are delicious, so I was foolish to ask to have them left off in the first place.  When I suck down my first Dr. Pepper in 30 seconds and have to wait twice that long for a refill, is that the waitress's fault?  Yes, probably, but maybe her shortsighted employer has her working too many tables and she can't reasonably keep all the drinks filled.  Plus she's trying to get the guy at table 6 drunk so that he'll start to think she's hot and leave her a 2,300% tip.  She didn't invent the system.  My waitress doesn't know this, but I'm going to tip her the same amount no matter what she does because it's not my job to motivate her.  That's her boss's job and he's doing it stupidly.  I wish he worked for tips so I could snub him. 

There's a restaurant in Utah called Blue Lemon, and they have the right idea.  You order your meal at the register and pay for it right then.  You seat yourself, get your own food when it's ready, and you fill your own drinks.  It's impossible to be more than about 50 feet away from the soda fountain, and if you don't want to walk that far to get a drink, then you should just take the plunge and get a rascal scooter already.  Blue Lemon regularly hires students who are going to culinary school.  They pay them what I assume is a reasonable hourly wage.  If my clam chowder comes without any clams, I can tell someone and get it fixed and no one has to lose their rent money over it. 

Then you have buffet style restaurants like Chuck-A-Rama.  Lois, incidentally, used to hate it when I would drag her to Chuck-A-Rama with the boys.  She'd get embarrassed when we'd run into people we knew.  I'd have to remind her, "They're eating here too, it's no big deal.  Hey, watch me put this whole scone in my mouth."  Oh... I think I just understood something.  Anyway, that's beside the point.  My point was, you have this place where you get your own food, get your own drinks (unless your "server" happens to be going that direction anyway), and they still expect to be tipped.  Why should I tip you for pointing out where I can get my own plates and food?  Yes, I can see the pile of fried chicken from here, thanks.  But once again, I know that their employer is only paying them $2.13 per hour, so I will do my part to make up the difference.  But I'm totally sneaking out with my pockets full of rice crispy squares, just so you know. 

In New Zealand, no one tips at restaurants.  Maybe I should move there, or at least go on vacation there and eat a lot.  They also let you bring your own food into the movie theaters, which is another thing I have an opinion about.  I'm not going to tell you what my opinion is about that right now, but trust me, it's the one and only true opinion.

When you get a haircut, tipping your stylist is so awkward because you can't just secretly leave the tip in the pile of hair (they don't like that).  You have to look that Fantastic Sam's employee right in the eye when you hand it over.  "That's right, I like you in the amount of exactly three dollars.  I hope you didn't think you were better than three dollars, because all I have is three dollars. And this Canadian nickel."  What if you get a bad haircut?  Withholding the tip is not going to fix it.  What does it do?  Teach the stylist a valuable lesson?  That might help the next guy, but meanwhile your three dollars is not going to make you stop looking like you cut your own hair.

So, tipping is stupid and now you can blah de derp derp blah blah I have a stupid head.  

You've been a great crowd, I'm here all week.  Don't forget to...um...don't forget to tell your waitress that she's hot.

Lunar

4:43 AM

Something wakes me and my eyes fly open.  The house is completely still, but there's something ominous in the silence.  I lay quietly for a few moments, listening to Lois's even breathing.  An early robin calls out, warning of something known only to itself.  It should be another hour or so before he starts his birdsong in earnest, waking Lois.  I decide to get up, trying to fool myself into believing that an early start means I'll get to come home on time.  But I know full well that there's always something that will keep me late. 

As I step into the bathroom, the west-facing window gives me a clear view of the full moon shining through some wispy clouds, bringing back a recollection of one of the worst days possible in my line of work.  It has been years since The Incident, but when did I stop tracking the lunar cycles?  I wonder whether I have been foolish to let my guard down.  It's surely not an omen, but I decide to hurry anyway. 

I dress as silently as I can, but Lois is already awake, the robin having decided to belt out his dawn song before the dawn.  "That bird!" she calls out sleepily.  Her cry startles me away from thoughts of the ill-boding moon.  I fix a smile on my face as I grab my jacket and gear from the bedside and lean down to kiss her goodbye. "Good luck at work," she mutters and smiles back.   An odd turn of phrase.  Lois knows what my job is, but she doesn't really know what I do.  As I leave the room, I arm myself mentally for the day's work ahead. 

I pass the boys' room and turn back upon a sudden impulse.  I nudge the door open and tiptoe in.  I peer through the dark into the top bunk.  Empty.  My heart lurches and starts pounding.  A scream roils in the pit of my stomach and stops short, lodging in my throat.  Years of training did not prepare me for this.  But then I notice blankets draped down, covering the openings of the lower bunk.  I part the blankets to find Buzz sleeping soundly at one end of the bed, and Rocky curled up on the other.  I reach for the bedpost to steady myself and take a few deep breaths. They're okay. 

I drive to work on mental autopilot, my mind racing, strategizing, preparing for any eventuality I might face today.  I barely notice the traffic around me.  As I pull into headquarters, I see the usual few cars parked in the lot.  It will be hours before most of the staff arrive.  I scan my badge at the side door and take the stairs two at a time to the third floor. The motion sensors light the corridor ahead of me as I make my way to my cubicle. 

All is still.  For now.  Whatever comes, whatever happens, I will be ready.  If I'm home later than I'd like, I'll be home in time for Lois's vegan lasagna.  I am...the Human Resources Manager. 

Thou Shalt Not Dew It To It

So there was a big hoopla recently about BYU students petitioning for caffeinated sodas on campus.  You can't buy a caffeinated beverage anywhere on campus currently, much to the dismay of many students, faculty and visitors.  When you go to a basketball game and the announcer reads off the sponsors, he won't say Coke, he'll say Caffeine Free Coca-Cola, lest anyone believe that BYU took money from the caffeinated kind of Coke.  That would be scandalous. 

It's not against the rules for students to drink caffeinated sodas, or even bring them on campus.  They just won't sell the drinks to you, which is perfectly within their rights, shortsighted as it may be.  But when BYU spokeswoman Carri Jenkins stated that the school does not sell caffeinated drinks because there has not "been a demand for it," well, that was simply laughable. 

BYU student Skyler Thiot created a Facebook page "BYU for Caffeine" which had over 1700 likes before he removed the page stating that the issue was becoming "too contentious."  In a recent radio interview, DJ's suggested to Skyler that BYU officials must have told him to remove the page.  He wouldn't confirm that, but he wouldn't deny it either, which leads me to believe that "The Heavy" did put some pressure on him to remove it. 

So what's the big deal exactly?  If BYU doesn't want to sell caffeinated drinks, then fine.  Students don't have to attend school there if they don't want to, or they can just drive down to the nearest gas station or grocery store to get their caffeine fix.  But it's silly for a spokesperson to claim that there hasn't been a demand for caffeinated drinks, which just can't be the real reason.  What is the real reason then?  Is it because caffeine drinks are bad for you?  Well, they can't very well say that or else they'd have to stop selling chocolate covered cinnamon bears and their famous mint brownies.  Besides, I'd be willing to bet that the sugar in sodas is way worse for you than the caffeine.  The church doesn't prohibit the consumption of caffeinated sodas, so they can't say that either.  They don't have to give a reason if they don't want to, but don't go making up silly excuses that no one will believe.

The Missionary Training Center in Provo has the same dining services as at BYU, which means that missionaries in training can't buy caffeinated sodas.  While I was there, one missionary received a package containing a 24 pack of real, fully-loaded Coke.  It was amazing how quickly these Cokes became currency, like cigarettes in prison.  Suddenly there were missionaries scrambling to buy Coke from him for $1.00 per can, then $2.00 per can.  One missionary who was short on cash offered to trade his Afterglow cassettes.   

So while we're taking digs at BYU, let's talk about their policy on socks.  They don't have one now, but when I was 11 or 12 years old, my friend and I were kicked out of the Games Center because I was wearing flip flops (with no socks).  Some worker came up to us while we were playing video games and made us leave stating that I was not wearing appropriate footwear.  Perhaps he was afraid that the brazen way in which I was showing off the skin of my feet would cause some BYU co-eds to have evil thoughts.  We'll ignore the fact that there was nary a female to be found playing Spy Hunter or Dig-Dug.  Today the policy is simply that shoes should be worn in all public campus areas.  How progressive of them. 

And how about BYU's facial hair policy?  I've been a goatee wearer for the last 15 years or so.  One time I went to a comedy show on BYU campus and the nice girl who sold us the tickets asked me if I was a student.  When I said no, she said, "Oh, good thing, or you'd have to go shave."  So, that's fine.  My main problem with BYU's facial hair policy is not that they don't allow beards.  My problem is that they do allow mustaches.  I'm sorry, but plain mustaches are just ghastly.  They should have changed that policy when they stopped requiring socks.  We'll also ignore the fact that Brigham Young himself had a nice bushy beard in his day. 

I don't think we'll see BYU lifting their ban on caffeinated sodas anytime in the near future, nor do I think they should be compelled to.  But if you are outraged like I am about how immodest the statue of Chief Massasoit is on BYU campus, then sign the petition by posting a comment here.