Rise Up

I am always annoyed by someone and can’t seem to avoid mentioning it, so I will share how irritating I find all these newly-minted quarantine home bakers and how they are buying out all my ingredients. These wanna-be-Paul-Hollywoods are everywhere – because if you didn’t share it, it didn’t happen, amirite? – with their photos of bread and some brownie their 11 year old whipped up on a Wednesday when he should’ve been doing his geometry over a dicey Google Meet connection.

I don’t begrudge anyone a new hobby in this time of having to churn your own butter or whatever, and I can log off if your humble brag cupcakes are getting on my nerves, BUT FOR CRISSAKE STOP BUYING MY YEAST.

Lemme put it this way: if you were a hiker until mid-March and then decided to make a fougasse because you couldn’t go hustle 100 miles up some hill this weekend, please note that I have not been clogging your trails just because everything is different now. Hiking is still the absolute worst. I will never willingly go on a hike. You stay in your now-six-foot-wide lane that’s always littered with roots and other nature to trip over, and I will stay in mine with my donuts.