Two trays sat on the kitchen island, one on top of the other, sealed with aluminum foil.
"The kitchen smells delicious," I said, stumbling downstairs with my medusan morning hair.
"Keith is making bread pudding!" Sophia T. announced, and I saw Keith in her blue robe peering into the oven. "And Ciara made cinnamon rolls because she's a crackhead." Ciara had been discussing a new sticky rolls recipe yesterday, and she's prone to coming home, pulling a cone and preparing delicious snacks in the middle of her post-waitressing night.
I peeled the foil back and showed the contents to the crowd. Mmmm. "The dough's still rising," Lisa W pointed out. Aaah. My hunger would have to wait for the lemon timer to ring, cuing Keith to put down the Times and serve up his bread pudding.
Haymarket Sunday pick-up brunch rolled along, Lisa, Arianna, Sophia, Keith and myself chatting about the paper, the politics of diamonds and gold, and the 5 gallon bucket of ice cream I'd seen a man hand to Arianna in the hallway last night. We bid farewell to Sophia & Keith to get ready for a date to the aquarium.
Half an hour later, Ben wandered in and immediately went for the trays of rising cinnamon roll. Three of us spoke warnings at once, spilling on as Ben seemed both confused and intent on ignoring us.
Arianna: You shouldn't open that, it's Ciara's. Ben don't, no, that's rising. It was -
April: Don't use that, if you're hungry there is bread pudding over there. No! Eat the bread pudding, that's -
Lisa: Hey Ben, that's actually rising, you shouldn't open that -
Ben raised his hand to stop us. "You can't tell me what to do with this..." My shoulders squared and eyebrows raised. I opened my mouth to reply. "...Because I'm the one making it."
(Pause.)
Another rush of overlapping speech.
Arianna: Oh, we thought it was Ciara's baking project and it was still rising.
April: Oops, funny, sorry Ben, you're making cinnamon rolls?
Lisa: I wonder why Sophia thought Ciara made those?
Ben laughed. "But I do commend you on your serious safeguard efforts."
And we served up bread pudding.
Goodonya Keith.
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tales from life in a co-op
under our roof
a glassblowing alternajournalist, a musical storytelling anarcho-baptist, a capoeira-playing engineer, a renaissance physicist, a scrabble champion math teacher, a neurobiologist philosopher, a filmmaker documenting the deadliest man alive, an international flutist biologist, a journalist animator baker, a hiking biking banjo-strumming math teacher, a singing bilingual editing, a backgammon playing sex therapist, a novel-writing psych nurse guitarthlete, a pensive epistilary collage artist & two cats.