This is nonsense.
You’ve been warned.
I know what y’all are thinking — please, Elena, enlighten us with your wisdom. What wonderous things will you write about today that will change my whole outlook on life? Why, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that question, I would still have no money, because no one had ever asked me that question. That is why I am going to share my opinion about how bread is like life.
Yes, yes, I know that somewhere in the Bible, (I don’t remember which chapter and verse) bread is compared to life, but I came up with this totally original concept all by myself, as I was watching a YouTube video about how to make a sourdough starter. Just as an aside, I watched the entire video twice, and still couldn’t start a starter all by myself, but only because I really don’t want to. I mean, when I want sourdough bread, like everyone else, I get on my private plane and have my pilot fly me to San Francisco, then take a limo to Fisherman’s Wharf and purchase a loaf. Or better yet, have my gal Friday do that for me (by the way, speaking of San Francisco, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson hates to be called “my gal Friday,” though I don’t care, and when I see him, we just laugh and laugh about that). But I digress.
So, I was watching the sourdough video when it occurred to me that making bread is for suckers (and bakers, I guess), so I went hunting instead.
Of course, what I mean by hunting is I went to the grocery store. In a way, it’s going both hunting and gathering, but other people really hate it when I shoot my own chicken in the freezer section of the local supermarket. It does no good explaining that I wasn’t using real bullets. Or a real gun. Or a real frozen chicken. Or that I am actually vegan. Some people have no sense of humor about these things. So, as a compromise, I stopped being vegan.
As I was saying before my train of thought derailed, I gathered all the ingredients needed to make cheesecake, because I read a recipe in one of the many, many cookbooks I own and, being an independent, self-reliant woman of a certain age, had nothing better to do. I then proceeded to cream, beat and otherwise yell insults in the kitchen, until my maid and cook both came in, gave me my medication, and took over. After that, it was all smooth sailing. By smooth sailing, I mean that I took a cruise to Bahamas, but that’s the subject for another time.
Everything turned out for the best in the end. No chickens, frozen or otherwise, were harmed in the writing of this blog, a great deal of bread was consumed, and afterwards I pelted The Rock with gherkins (that might have been a dream), but since the restraining order I can’t ask my gal Friday for verification about this.