We finished off the first loaf of cinnamon swirl bread within a week, so I used the remaining dough frogging around the fridge to go ahead and bake the second. As you can see, my loaves are not the prettiest things-- no matter how diligently I attempt to put seams on the bottom and allow ample time for rising in the pan and all that jazz, my bread bursts out at one side and looks like Quasimodo. This particular loaf's swirl has cocoa powder in it, though, so at least that explains the darkness of parts of it. It's not in the least burnt, in any case.
I should mention that I'm not the only one who bakes in this dreary cell that dares to be called a kitchen. There's one other student whom I run into on an almost daily basis down there, right around eight thirty when I wind up finally getting dinner started and she is ready for dessert. "Are you using the oven?" Emma Wattson's apparent little sister will ask me, verbatim, every time. "Nope, go ahead!" I'll chirp back, both of us smiling but with the vaguely guilty air of the perpetually shy wishing we could have gone unnoticed. Then Hermi-mini will put four pre-separated squares from a Tollhouse cookie dough block into a bread pan and come down in ten minutes to eat them. It is the most wonderful thing I get to see on a daily basis. Four Tollhouse cookies... in a bread pan. I love it. Last time she left cookies in the oven I left a few biscotti on the stove top for her with a note, and she replied. Here is the end of the longest conversation I've had with this person I've seen every day for a month now:
So. Good.
In other news, the boy and I went into Boston yesterday because he had a screening for BU's music grad program. Basically he had to prepare a bunch of songs and then only sing two of them all alone in front of three awkward judges (is there any other kind?), and eventually he'll find out if he was good enough for acceptance. Along the way, we learned a few things, like that there is to be
on the subway, that this lady
got a book published on something that my mom is writing about probably way better and for free over here,
and that growing up is like seriously the most terrifying and stressful thing ever. We almost missed the train twice but thankfully made it each time. There are never enough parking spaces, but at least sometimes cops don't ticket when they should. He'll be graduating at the end of this year and I'll be still at college, he doesn't know where he'll be going to school yet and it might be really far away... then again we met up with his cousin who's already in grad school in Boston and saw her apartment, which was really lovely, but rent is expensive. Her boyfriend finally found a job with this terrible economy, but it's keeping him all the way in New York.... Waiting is definitely the worst part of anything, and what I'm waiting for most of all is stability. I hate, hate, hate not knowing what's going to happen next.
But such is life.
I'm just keeping my fingers crossed.
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