Monday, 7 May 2012

Baking Bread

In this post I shall recall one of my early experiences with cooking in my university's kitchen, without my trusty fajita maker (on which I cook everything now). This experience was making bread, as the title suggests. I managed to flood the kitchen with black smoke, almost setting off the smoke alarm. Yang, my Chinese flatmate and I spent the subsequent half an hour, choking on the fumes, and trying to air out the kitchen. Good times.
Here I present my poem:

Baking Bread

Pasty rolls and oven hot
Put away till tops get spots
Pre-rolled and pressed
Practically prepared
So what’s wrong with it?

My dear, why care?

Darkened top and oven hot
Put away rolls, with more than spots
Blackened smoke, panicked shouts
God, will someone stop these pouts?
The oven’s broke- well what’s new?
It’s college dear, what’s wrong with you?