Warm "Monkey Balls"

Last night, I made Pumpkin Monkey Bread with FROOOOOOOOSTING from scratch. I’ve never made dough from scratch, well not since elementary school where they force you into “groups” to make playdough and pizza dough and inevitably the kid who bites his scabs is forced to sit next to you and “help” by sticking his fingers all over your perfectly elastic mound.

Pat said “you don’t know how to kneed bread. Don’t get air pockets in it” but he didn’t know what he was talking about. It all came back with the heels of my palms, a massage and I shooed the heckler away. He just tried to get me off my game.

I let it rise, the yeast bubbling and feeding and laid it out on a rectangular cutting board. Slicing through the flesh, you could see it receding the way a worm curls into itself when cut with a shovel. And then I dipped each ball into mad butter, cinnamon, sugar and waited again for the yeast to gorge. Another hour later, then POP in the oven. Oh the smell of melting sugar and cinnamon – it certainly offset the stank coming on a breeze through the window. What WAS that?! A dead squirrel? The whole thing took all night and by 10 p.m. I reclined on the sofa popping what Pat mistook earlier as warm “Monkey balls” into my mouth.

Tomorrow afternoon I’m off to NYC for a Laura Marling concert with our friend from Brooklyn. Maybe Laura and I will become best friends cause I think she’s the bees knees.

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