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thrill of the kill

i woke up to a brighter sky this morning.



...and then promptly rolled over and went back to sleep. 8 AM here is 1 AM in texas, and it's probably going to take me a while to adjust.

i eventually woke up and went for a walk around the city. it wasn’t long before i got the urge to bake. with little knowledge, little baking equipment, and wanting to spend little money, i got down to work. i sorted through all the recipes i’d ever baked, trying to come up with something simple and easy. i came up with lemon bread, a six ingredient recipe that was delicious. i made a list of the ingredients i needed and headed to the store. 

the danish krone. plural being kroner. there is some paper money involved, but these coins feel way more foreign and therefore exciting.
i was so unprepared. i thought i was clever, having a friend run my ingredients through the translator. i had the danish words for flour, eggs, butter, etc. what i forgot about was that this is 2013 and eggs are organic or free range, butter is margarine or ‘fat-free’,  nothing even remotely resembled the words i had scrawled on my scrap of notebook paper. i mean this is what i had to work with:

i swear they just take consonants, assemble them in a random order, and declare it a word.

the good news was that if i felt my meal was getting a little too exciting i could easily add some 'blah' to it to tone it down:


i got the cheapest eggs, the most expensive butter, and praised the need for lemons, the only thing i could pick up with confidence. uncertain that i was carrying even remotely useful ingredients, i headed to the checkout. the cashier scanned all my items, uttered some danish phrase at me, and looked up. i froze. i don't know why; i knew at that point that i needed to hand her money. i tried to shake the stupid, deer-in-the-headlights look off of my face and pulled out a crumpled bill from my pocket. i just brought the biggest ones i had, in an effort to avoid the surely laborious task of figuring out what amount was sufficient. i got my change and went to collect my things when i realized that the grocery store doesn't supply grocery bags. 

curses.

looking as out-of-place as i possibly could, i stacked the eggs, flour, and sugar up in the crook of my arm, wedged the butter in between my side, and balanced the lemons on top. with my one free hand i tried to pull my gloves on as i stumbled out the door. i made the long trek home, staggering up the endless flights of steep stairs, and collapsed on the floor. i caught my breath before going to work slicing lemons. 


i had challenges--converting measurements into grams, hoping that the flour wasn't cake flour or self-rising, trying to mix up the cold butter with no microwave to melt it in--but i tell you what. i have never been so proud to pull a warm loaf of bread out of the oven and drizzle it in a lemony glaze.


it may not have been the prettiest thing i ever made, but i can officially bake anything in any country in any conditions. take that, rachel ray. 

[title from she wolf by david guetta]

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