Search results for 'bread machine'

I made homemade pretzels. Meanwhile, the bread machine rots in Hell.

2 Oct

The King of Awesome and I are in a Supper Club, because we like excuses to eat at excess.

And when dinner is a potluck, we don’t spend as much money.

So this last weekend, we were the hosts. And since it’s now Oktober (yes, with a K—wait for it), our theme was Oktoberfest (there it is).

Beer brats (veggie for me), schnitzel, Reisling, and lingonberry sauce.

And I got the insane idea to make homemade soft pretzels.

I debated making them for about two weeks since I sort of have a history with bread making. But I had to keep reminding myself that when I dropped the evil bread machine, making bread was a stress free experience.

So I took the plunge, literally (did you know you dip raw pretzels in boiling water before baking?) and the results were soft, chewy, salty, and yummy in my awesome,

I highly suggest that you make your own pretzels. They’re a really fun alternative to regular rolls. Plus, they’re a great excuse to eat more mustard!

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That's actually two pretzels in the photo. They're working on making baby pretzels.

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The bread machine is still a cunt.

24 Jan

That is all.

Rise of the (Bread) Machines

14 Feb

"I'll be baked."

It’s no secret that I’ve been battling my evil bread machine for the last two months.

 

And by “battling,” I mean it’s been kicking my ass. With steel toed boots on. And not in the ass, but in the face.

 

My every attempt at a fluffy, tasty loaf of bread resulted in a big fat FUCK YOU from the machine. The loaves, despite modifying ingredients to correlate with the temperature/humidity of my kitchen (yeah, I got Bill Nye on that bitch) were always sad, saggy, and deflated.

 

This can only mean one thing. My Oster was sent from the future to destroy me. And it nearly did.

 

But this weekend, I gave a bit fat FUCK YOU right back to the bread machine. I baked a loaf of bread the old fashioned way, sans machine. And the results were optimal. The bread rose, rose some more, and baked to perfection.

 

While the Oster T800 sat unused in a corner.

 

So sometime in the near future, I might throw it into a pool of molten metal and watch it dissolve. And I’m going to eat a sandwich made from my home baked bread and laugh as it’s glowing eyes sink below the surface.

It smells like victory.

 

 

You may have won this round, vending machine.

14 Jun

I am not in a good mood today.

Which means it’s an especially bad day for a machine to cross me.

But the vending machine took that chance. First, it charged me 85 cents for animal crackers. (I know they’re delicious and my favorite vended treat, but 85 cents is a little steep.) Second, it stiffed me my owed dime.

I needed that dime.

For my next purchase of animal crackers!

What the fuck is it with these machines? I think they’re all in cahoots (with the coffee machine and the bread machine leading the ranks). They’re all hell-bent on driving humans crazy so they can take over and …

… cook us? Use us as batteries? Robotically dance on our graves?

But they won’t win in the end. Oh no. I’ve seen the Matrix movies. I’ve watched the Terminator flix. I know that blood owns steel in the end.

Right?

Unless these screws and nails in my knee are all part of the conspiracy. And the machines are already inside of me.

Shit.

I didn’t sign up for this. I just wanted some warm bread, a hot beverage, and some animal crackers. I didn’t want to be the leader in the revolution against mechanized monsters.

I am defeated. My bread is deflated.

14 Jan

UPDATE: Many people find this post by searching for “deflated bread.” Well, it isn’t you. It’s the machine. After several failed attempts at fluffy bread using a machine, I tried making it the old fashion way: sans machine. It was easy and my bread rose like a flower towards the sun. Nix the machine and all will be fine.

***

How fucking hard is it to cook fucking bread?

Yes, bread.

I used a boxed recipe my first time. All I had to do was add water. And the bread collapsed.

So I got flour. And followed the recipe to the T.

And ended up going to the the emergency room on Christmas Eve (the clinics had closed) because the rock-hard crust deflected my knife into my finger.

After a week of regrowing. I later had to cut the flap off. Ew.

Loaves three, four, and five all collapsed onto themselves. Even after I added flour (suggested by the manufactured), then changed flour (also recommended by the machine’s booklet), and then added more yeast (booklet again).

Fail. Fail. Fail.

Attempt six had me subtracting water.

That was the worst collapse yet. And now the bread is gummy and wet, which makes NO SENSE on fucking earth because you’d think less water would equal drier bread.

 

I keep making what I've learned to call "cat bread."

Am I taking crazy pills?

After googling and searching and pleaing with the bread gods, I found one thread where some guy named Tom has been through the same insane trip I’ve been through.

And he tried less yeast. And he says it worked.

So as soon as the burn marks heal, and the pride rebuilds, and I make some kick ass bread pudding out of my failures, I’ll try again.

Because I’ll be goddamned if a fucking bread machine is going to get the best of me … a seventh time.

I want to make bread.

22 Nov

I love bread. But store bought bread is lacking something.

Mainly flavor. And nutrition. And the delightful texture of real, homemade bread.

So I want to make bread. It can’t be that hard, right? Expecially now since bread makers do all of the work for you.

So I’m going to get a bread maker. And then I’ll make bread.

Well, I guess I technically wouldn’t be making bread if I used a bread maker. The bread maker would be making bread. I’d be, er, I don’t know what I’d be doing. Measuring?

Could I even call the resulting bread homemade? It’d be machine-made.

Ah, who cares? I just want to have hot, fresh bread jammed with olives and stuffed with fake meat and mayonnaise.

LG Refrigerator Model LFX31925ST Can Suck My Ass Through a Flaming Straw.

12 Sep

For those who’ve followed Yummy Awesome off and on, you know about my history with appliances. (Remember the bread machine from Hell?)

Well, forget the bread machine; it’s a walk in sugary cake land compared to my LG refrigerator. I don’t even know where to begin.

The King of Awesome and I bought a house four years ago, and we bought a fridge to put in it. So doing the math, that means said fridge is also four years old.

We picked the LG 30.7-cu ft French Door Refrigerator with Single Ice Maker (Stainless Steel) (Model No. LFX31925ST) because of a few reasons:

  • It was attractive.
  • It could hold a metric fuck-ton of food.
  • The water dispenser was funny.
  • It allegedly could make ice like a mother fucker.
  • It had good reviews and my cousin had it (and she loved it).
  • The LED lights looked pretty boss.

We enjoyed the hell out of it for about six months. Then, the never-ending battle began.

First, we heard a knocking sound. After answering the door to no one for the tenth time, we realized it was the fridge. I Googled. I read the manual. I scratched my head. “Unplug it,” everything more-or-less told me. Great; restart it. Hold down CTRL+ALT+DELETE at the same time. Got it.

I left it unplugged for the recommended four hours. Then I powered LG LFX31925ST back up and the knocking immediately commenced. A few days later, we got the IF error code.

Error code? A refrigerator has an error code? Seriously. This was too damn complicated already. Once again, I turned to Google, the manual, and my scalp. “Fuck this,” I probably said aloud a few times. I called Best Buy. After all, they had strongarmed us into a warranty I didn’t want, and I’m so glad they did.

So the repairman came out. He told me that these fridges were notorious for breaking down. Then he proceeded to show me how to repair it myself because, “This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last.”

Imagine doing this every three months. I don't have to imagine, because I fucking have to do it.

Imagine doing this every three months. I don’t have to imagine, because I fucking have to do it.

We took the entire freezer apart to get to the ice blower fan, essentially. It gets frozen solid. Every three months like clockwork.

Yeti coolers are the shit.

Yeti coolers are the shit.

Was it manageable? Yeah. First world problems and all that. But then other shit started going down:

  1. The large mechanism that slides into some other shitty, plastic part did something stupid, so the door wouldn’t always close. So guests would shut our fridge but not shut our fridge, which resulted in …
  2. A ripped rubber door seal.
  3. No matter what temp the fridge was set at, food sitting directly on the glass shelves or in two of the three produce drawers would freeze. And we’re not talking about some delightful icy crunch. Entire pieces of fruit, meat, even cheese would freeze solid. Did you know cheese could turn into ice? It can. We cannot store food in half of our fridge. (However, I lined all of the shelves in newspaper, which seems to have helped. Plus, I can now read about the local elections from a year ago every morning while I get the orange juice.)
  4. The freezer fan clogs with ice so often, I have to mention it …
  5. … twice.
  6. The water dispensing button is starting to stick.
  7. The ice dispenser clogs on a daily basis. We keep a knife honer nearby to stab into the bin. I repeat, this happens daily.
  8. It gets fingerprinted to hell. I know this is a hazard of being an appliance in a home where the occupants have hands. But I hate this thing and now I’m just searching for more to add to the list.
  9. The water valve that connects the water line to the fridge wore out. So now we don’t even get water or ice until I replace it.

Guys, I don’t write in this blog that often anymore. I have a child and two dogs and I take care of all of them while trying to work for myself. Blogging has fallen to the wayside because life comes first. However, I am so vehemently pissed off about the thousands of hard-earned dollars I wasted on this refrigerator, that I had to document it. We have a second fridge in our house. We got it for free from an apartment complex that was throwing them away. We keep it in the garage as the King’s beer fridge. Dudes, this fridge (I don’t even know the brand) is probably 20 years old (at least), is ugly as sin, and is chugging away like the King does on a can of craft beer.

Meanwhile, the $2,500 heartache mocks me with a frozen water melon, incessant ticking, and dripping water. Our LG LFX31925ST has become an unfunny joke on our social media pages. My Facebook community and my Instagram followers aren’t even surprised when I bitch about my fridge anymore.

My friends love my sadness.

The fridge has a reputation.

I’ve Googled it so much. I actually found a class action lawsuit about it! The saddest part, however, is I found it a day too late to join. And the message boards dedicated to people suffering like me with this same shitty appliance make this situation even bloodier than it already sounds.

Our goal is to get to five years with this fridge. I don’t know if we’re going to make it. I’m replacing parts on it left and right. But they’re just bandaids. It’s a terrible design made with really crappy parts. If I ever meet anyone who’s an engineer or designer of LG appliances, I cannot promise I won’t punch him/her in the face without saying a word first.

Here’s the model number one more time just for Google. LG LFX31925ST French Door Refrigerator.

 

Updates:

February 9: Mother fucker stopped making ice.

Wow. I own a kitchen.

20 Jul

Where has the Queen of Awesome been lately? Buying a kitchen.

Well, buying a house, rather.

After tons of non-food related craziness (except for perhaps all of the take-out I’ve ordered in between habitats) I finally have time to blog about eating again. Hoo-fucking-ray.

And I’ll start with my new kitchen. I own a fridge. I own two ovens! What am I going to do with two ovens! I can barely use one! I even own a stove and a kick ass fridge.

You know you’re an adult when you think an appliance is kick ass.

Oh, and I threw out that fucking bread machine. I really wanted to take a baseball bat to it, but moving it just seemed silly. So it went down the apartment trash chute like so many banana peels, moldy jars or whatever, and other pieces of shit. The act was unceremonious and nonchalant, just what that cunt box deserved.

I suppose I could cook bread in one of my two ovens. And then a pie in the other!

If you don’t like the “C” word (and I don’t mean “carbs”), stop reading now.

17 Jan

This bread machine is a cunt.

The cunty bread maker.

It’s a twatty cunty cunt of cuntiness. It’s cuntiness is offensive.

This piece of cunty shit only births satanic loaves of bread.

Satanic bread with horns. It came from that cunt of a bread maker.

Loaves of bread so vile and foul, no human can eat them without instantly being transported to hell.

That cunty bread maker can’t make a decent loaf of bread to spare its cunty life.

That bread maker is a cunt. And I’m about to run a goddamn train on it.

Fuck that bread maker. It’s a cunt.

 

If I had 30 days left to live, what would I do?

31 May

There’s a marquee near my house that asks what you’d do if you only had a month left to live.

And I’ve already written a piece about all the stuff I’d do that I was afraid to do because of reputation, disease, or unpredictable mortality. But after finishing I realized I forgot to mention all of the crap I’d eat.

That’s what Yummy Awesome is for!

If it were guaranteed that my heart would give out in a month, that I was only going to be on this planet for another 30 days, I would go on an eating binge.

After all, it isn’t like gorging on pies and candy would kill me. That would happen anyway.

So I’d eat pie for breakfast, and not just a slice. I’d devour a whole fucking pie for breakfast. Then I’d probably have one for lunch, too. I might fry one for dinner.

I’d get a cotton candy machine and just stuff fluff into my mouth for another day.

Fuck diabetes. It wouldn’t have time to kill me because my clock would already be ticking.

I’d eat cases of Lays Stax chips. And I’d go nuts with bread. Hell, I’d buy the grocery store’s entire stock of French baguettes and dine on those all damn day long.

All of the artificial, preservative-laden, processed crap that I try to stay away from would become my new staple. Who needs nutrients when you’ll be nothing in a month?

If I even bothered to look at a nutritional label, I’d laugh because it wouldn’t matter. Saturated, unsaturated. It’d all be the same. And it’d all be delicious.

I’d fry everything. Well, almost everything. But imagine fried brie. Or fried grapes. No, fuck that. Grapes are healthy. I don’t want them.

As much as I like beer, I’d probably give it up for high fructose syrup drinks. I might only drink soda from here ’til the end. Or those really fattening lattes as Starbucks that I see people getting all the time.

Imagine getting to eat whatever you want without consequence. Well, at least the consequence of long-term bad health. I imagine I’d have more than a few cases of diarrhea before the end. There’s no way my system won’t freak out a bit if it’s reintroduced to Little Debbie after a decade.

Oh man, if I had only a month to live, I wouldn’t go on some charitable pilgrimage to better the world. I’d just try to eat most of the planet.