I hope Jan doesn’t read this post (sometimes I don’t know who, if anyone, reads this) because she would probably feel bad, and this one was one hundred percent my epic fail.
Friend Jan called yesterday with a strange and unique request: Would you please make me some green bread? It was a tradition she had growing up, where her mom would make green bread for St. Patrick’s Day. She said she was embarrassed by it as a kid, and would hide the sandwich, surreptitiously pulling off pieces to eat when she thought no one could see. But like many embarrassing childhood traditions, it is one she has come to treasure. She was hosting a first-Tuesday-in-March staff meeting, and wanted to serve green food.
Of course I agreed to make green bread. How could I pass that up? Then I got a little distracted last night. Unexpected company. Coconut shrimp party. Spur of the moment. Mmm. I remembered the bread after the first rise. It was a bilious green color, and I formed it into fat Gumby-colored loaves and placed into the lower oven to rise for 25 minutes. Then I started working on a song I am trying to finish for my music project. An hour went by. Maybe two... DK turned off the beeping timer, I’m sure... and then I stumbled off to bed, exhausted.
3:45 a.m. My eyes open, and I have a single thought: I have green bread rising in the oven. I ran downstairs and opened the oven, and there it was... and it was Dr. Seuss-worthy. It had overflowed the pans. It had cascaded over the oven racks. It had pooled in green glory all over the over floor and the heating elements.
So I have been up since 3:45. Making a new batch of green bread. Yes, I’m a little tired. But I am eating a delicious green grilled cheese sandwich. Totally worth it. Okay, maybe not.