Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
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Living Next Door To Heaven 118: Two-fer free porn video
My personal cooking project was learning to bake bread. I'd tried twice so far with limited success. Let's make that no success. My first batch came out of the oven weighing two pounds and about an inch thick. The very center was doughy. I followed the damned recipe. The second batch was a duplicate disaster. Well, repeatable results, anyway. Wednesday, I took all my ingredients with me early to Foods and asked Miss Sullivan for help.
"Okay. Everybody will be busy blanching green beans for canning today, so why not bake everyone a treat."
I measured out my ingredients, sifted the flour and prepared the yeast. You just crumble a cube into a cup and add warm water. I turned on the hot water faucet, checked to make sure it was warm and added it to the yeast.
"Okay. Stop," Miss Sullivan said. She caught me just before I poured the yeast into the dough. "What was the temperature of your water?"
"Warm. Just like the recipe says."
"How warm?"
"Like ... bathwater."
"Why do we wash our hands with soap and hot water?"
"To get them clean and kill the bacteria."
"Yeast is very small fungi like bacteria." It took a minute for that to soak in. Then I figured it out.
"So the water is too hot and I killed it?"
"Got it in one," she laughed. "So let's get our kitchen thermometer and test the temperature of your yeast water." My water tested at 140 degrees. Miss Sullivan turned on the water, and adjusted it while she ran it over her wrist. She filled a cup and had me measure the temperature. 110 degrees. "You found out a lot about sugar melting and figured out a non-instrumented way of gauging the right consistency. Baking can be a lot like that. You could hold a thermometer in the water and adjust until you got a cup of water that was between 105 and 115 degrees, but most bakers can tell when water is just a little bit warmer than body temperature. You'll have to practice that. Now dissolve a new cake of yeast and let's see how your bread turns out."
Man! They could have put that explanation in the cookbook. Of course, I read about sugar in my chemistry book, so I was wondering what else I should be looking for. Let me think. Yeast. Fungi. Botany. I wonder how Angela is doing?
The bread came out of the oven just as we'd finished sealing the last can of beans. I wondered how Miss Sullivan knew the exact amount of green beans to make seventeen pints. This cooking stuff was beginning to really make sense. I bet there must be a correlation between dry weight and canned volume. We all sat with bread and honey as Miss Sullivan summarized the day.
"Now, as you know, in ten days is your demonstration contest. This should be the same demonstration that you plan to do at the fair, because the top three are the ones who will demo at the fair. We'll practice them on Wednesday and then you'll prepare them for Saturday. Do you all know what you are planning?" There was a mix of shrugs and nods.
"How are we supposed to compete against him?" One girl asked. She was tall and I'd dubbed her "Legs." She wore shorts so short that you could see her butt ledge. I'd spent a fair amount of time watching it. I never expected her to toss out a question like that, though. "It's no fair. He's like a professional chemist."
"Well, you have a point, however I doubt that Brian's work in chemistry actually gives him an edge over you. He uses it as his frame of reference to understand things, but cooking is cooking. So why is it unfair to compete against him?"
"Everything he does comes out perfect."
"Almost," Miss Sullivan said. "But why is that?" Nobody had an answer other than 'chemistry.' "Let me ask a different question. How often did you cook at home this week?" The girls and Andrew looked pretty blank.
"My mom does all the cooking. Why would I do it?"
"Did any of you cook at home?" Shorty raised her hand. "How many different dishes did you make?"
"Two. I only know how to make Macaroni and Cheese and Chicken Noodle Soup. It comes out of a can."
"Brian, how many meals did you make at home this week?"
"Uh ... five breakfasts and three dinners. And I tried baking bread twice."
"Why do you cook breakfast and dinner?" Red asked.
"Well, my mom and dad both work full time. I don't have a regular job this summer like I did last year, so I do it to help out. And they give me an allowance for completing my chores."
"You see, it's not that Brian is a chemist that makes him a good cook. It's that he practices every day. You could all be that good a cook. But you are still right in a way. It's not fair to compete with him. That's why Brian will be competing in the senior division. So you don't actually have to worry about it. I'd suggest, though, that you prepare your contest food for your family at least once this week if it's possible."
"Brian?"
"Oh. Hey, Shorty."
"My name's Judy."
"Sorry, Judy. Did you notice that no one ever introduced herself to me? I just had to make up names for people based on outstanding characteristics."
"You don't call Sara 'Boobs, '" she giggled.
"I try not to call people names that are hurtful. If I hurt your feelings by calling you Shorty, I'm sorry. I've always been kind of sensitive to that myself. Until this spring I was the shortest person in my class. I'm still the shortest boy, but at least I'm taller than a few of the girls now."
"Yeah. I guess it's okay if you call me Shorty then since you don't mean it unkindly. Do you have a girlfriend?" Where did that come from?
"Uh ... no. Not at the moment."
"I could be your girlfriend if you want. Then you'd have a girlfriend who was shorter than you." No kidding. I was pretty sure Judy wasn't more than four and a half feet tall.
"I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Is it because I'm so little?"
"NO! It's just that I hardly know you and we aren't even going to be in the same part of the school this fall. You're going into seventh grade and I'll be in high school. It's not about size. We're just at different stages of our social lives and I bet we're close to three years apart in age. I was the oldest one in my class until we got to Junior High and met the kids from other townships."
"Well, I'm twelve and I've begun to mature into a woman. I get my period now and I think my boobs are growing."
"Gosh, I'm sorry, Judy. But why would you want a boyfriend like me? Nobody else in Foods even likes me."
"They're stupid. I ... just thought that if I had an older boyfriend I wouldn't get picked on so much."
"Do kids pick on you?" I bristled. If there was one thing I couldn't stand from my own experience, it was kids picking on me.
"Some. I don't have any nice clothes or anything. My parents are divorced and my mom ... she's uh ... not around a lot."
"And that's why you cook at home. You make your own meals."
"Yeah. I enrolled in this class to learn to cook something besides mac and cheese. Mom buys big cases of boxes so I'll have something to eat when she isn't home. Nice of her, anyway."
"Sounds like you've got it pretty rough. Where do you live?" I was surprised to find she went to Range Road Elementary like I did and lived near the school. She's what those of us who rode the bus called 'walkers.' "Do you need a lift home? My mom's going to pick me up."
"I rode my bike. It's not that much farther than it was to school. I'll see you next week. Just forget about what I said. I don't really want to be your girlfriend." She took off clutching her pint of green beans.
I was pleased to find a letter from Jennifer in the mail when I got home. We'd written a few times. Actually, a lot of times since our Christmas cards. I'd told her some things about what I'd done that I just didn't feel I could tell anyone else because they all knew me too well and I saw them every day. I really had to tell someone about Kirby and his gang. That led to telling about the Kowalskis. I even told her that I had a painful crush on Joanne, but I couldn't go into any details about that, of course. I guess I talked a lot about how I felt around Rhonda, too. Jennifer had asked if we were still together and I had to write back that we broke up at the end of school. Man, once I started writing about that I just went on and on. It was a three-page letter.
In her letter, Jennifer said that she'd talked her parents into letting her go to the dude ranch for her birthday in August. It wasn't on the exact day, but it was the weekend before. She wanted to know if there was any way I could go the same weekend and rescue her off the barrels again. She had quotes around the word "rescue" and I immediately sprung a boner as I thought of her bending over to pull her panties up in my bunkhouse and then thanking me for rescuing her. Shit. Girls can lead a guy around by his dick without even being in the same county. I took the letter to my room tucked it in my copy of Popular Science before Mom could get curious. I still had a trip to the dude ranch that I'd won. Maybe I should consider that weekend. I'd look at the calendar to make sure it didn't interfere with the demonstrations or fair.
Thursday morning I called Rhonda to see if she wanted to come over and cook with me.
"What do you need my help for? What are you making?"
"I was going to make that Russian beef dish. You know, stroganoff?"
"You don't need my help for that! I thought maybe you were making that Greek pistachio we read about."
"Pastitsio."
"Yeah. Why don't we cook that next week?"
"Okay. But you aren't coming over today?"
"No. I'm going to Potawatomie Zoo with Liz. I've got other friends, you know." I was a little jealous. But I told Liz to do something with Rhonda. Dang it. I wished I was going. "Brian, you should really make some more friends like I have. You can't depend on me for everything." What?
"No problem, Rhonda. Uh ... Why don't we do pastitsio on Thursday next week? Maybe your family would like to come over for dinner that night."
"That sounds like fun. I'll ask. See you. I've got to ride over to Liz's house now."
"Yeah. 'Bye."
I was really happy for Rhonda. She needed friends and I was glad Liz was making an effort. But for some reason, my eyes kind of stung. I went to my room for a while to try to sort out what I was feeling. I grabbed my Popular Science and Jennifer's letter fell out. Two-and-a-half weeks. She didn't give me much notice. The 4-H Demo contest was next weekend. The fair didn't start for three-and-a-half weeks. Why not?
Monday and Thursday nights were my usual nights to make dinner and Mom and Dad were home right on time. It had been harder on them this summer because they carpooled so Betts could have Dad's truck on the show circuit. She'd been home overnight twice since she left to get more hay. They just couldn't carry enough to last two horses all summer and buying it on the road was more expensive than the gas to get home.
I told Mom and Dad about inviting the Gordons over for dinner next Thursday.
"I'm so glad you are staying such good friends with Rhonda," Mom said. "I really like the Gordons. For a preacher, he isn't too stuffy."
"You mean he's a good card player?" I asked.
"It is nice to find a couple who play pinochle. We won't be playing much on a Thursday night, though. We all have to work on Friday."
"Oh, that reminds me," I said casually. "You know I've still got a weekend at the dude ranch from when I was carrying papers and I think it has to be used this summer. I was wondering if I could go for a weekend in August. Say, the weekend before the fair."
"That sounds reasonable," Dad said.
"It might even work to everyone's advantage," Mom suggested, raising an eyebrow at Dad. What? He nodded.
"Why don't you call them tomorrow and see if there is room for you? They could be full up."
I did my demo at Rockwell Elementary in the gym. Mostly, each township had its own 4-H club, but some kids participated with friends from a different township. We didn't have an advanced Foods division in our township, but that just meant that I was competing with high school girls that I'd never really met. They were good, too. I demonstrated my three tomato dishes, just the way Miss Sullivan had me practice. You have to have all your food prepared and each item is in a separate little dish. You never mix utensils. One bowl, one scraper. I was amazed our school had so many dishes, but all the girls in high school take Home Ec, so I supposed they needed enough for everybody.
I won second place. The girl who won the contest did a really professional job demonstrating various cutting and dicing techniques. She was a whiz with a kitchen knife! I didn't see all her demo, but I walked past her station after the competition and looked at how perfectly uniform her slices were and the exact differences between her "cubed" and "diced" vegetables. It was as I was looking at her food that I overheard two other girls talking.
"You should have got second," the first said.
"Look at him over there like he's studying Arlene's vegetables," said the second. "What a creep."
"They just gave it to him because he's a boy. Whoever heard of cold tomato soup? I think he saw one too many VitaMix demos."
"I can't believe he'll be walking the halls of the high school next year. It gives me the willies."
"We'll get chad to hang him by a belt loop in his locker like he did that kid two years ago." They snickered and I walked away. It looked like the hassles weren't going to end just because I was going to high school. Dang it! Maybe they were right. Maybe the judges did just give me second place because I was a boy. Andrew didn't place in his division, but I was happy to see that Red's demonstration of when sugar melted for perfect fudge won her first place. She didn't mention chemistry. She made it look like magic.
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