Bobby Fischer (1962)
WHERE IS HE?
Okay. If you haven’t made bread before and you’re at all mildly even possibly interested in trying to do so, make No-Knead Bread. Seriously. It is so easy a four year old can do it and people love the resulting bread.
I do a version where there are four ingredients including water (PBS suggests cornmeal, which I’ve honestly never done) and I take shortcuts on this recipe to make it even easier (after first 12-24 hour raise I just kinda scoop the dough into a ball in the bottom and then re-cover the bowl with plastic wrap/aluminum foil for two hours instead of messing around with a towel, skipping all of PBS’s step 2 and half of step 3). If you don’t have a dutch oven (I never have) you can use a round casserole dish or an oven safe pot (check the heat tolerance on that one though) with either its own cover or a baking pan laid on top. I preheat the casserole dish for about half an hour instead of twenty minutes, because if your container isn’t extremely hot when you put the dough in it’ll stick like a mofo and your bottom crust will get stuck to the bottom, but as long as your oven is capable of getting up to 450 fairly quickly and hanging out there for a bit you should be fine.
If you can read a measuring cup and stir, you can do this recipe. It’s so delicious, and so easy.
you guys. you guys. EVEN I made this successfully, with admittedly some handholding. two days ago I ate leftover cheese and two-day-old champagne for dinner, but EVEN I CAN MAKE THIS BREAD so GODDAMNIT you can too.
On a recent night, a microphone during the broadcast of the Penguins game picked up an exchange on the team bench as Crosby diagrammed an intricate play for Malkin on a dry-erase board. Malkin looked to Gonchar for an explanation.
Those who speak Russian said this is what Gonchar offered: “Just get (expletive) open, and he’ll get you the (expletive) puck.”
DJ rev run fuckin loves cyndi lauper pass it on
"Like I said, it’s the NHL. No matter how bad it’s going, it’s not as bad as you think it is. We have a great group of guys. We just wish we were better." - Taylor Hall to TSN (x)
once upon a time, in the beautiful land of san jose, there was a trashbag. a trashbag full to the brim of donuts. she sat in line for the bathroom, trashbag legs crossed, pretending to casually flip through her phone when really her donut brain was like TB IF U DON’T GET TO THE BATHROOM RTFN, UR GONNA LOSE IT ALL OVER THIS CONVENTION CENTER FLOOR. it was in this vulnerable state that the trashbag looked up and saw the radiant kerry washington, dressed in sensible jeans with a bright salmon top, hair braided like a goddamn fairy princess, a light breeze blowing exclusively on her face, walking past.
DON’T SAY ANYTHING, TB, whispered the donuts.
UR NOT MY FUCKIN MOM, hissed back the trashbag, and then blurted in a loud farting sound, “HELLO KERRY WASHINGTON.” why did you said it quite like that, trashbag?? why did you say it like you had voice immodulation disorder, which is definitely real and not just for birds??
kerry washington looked at the trashbag, pale as a sheet with how badly she had to pee, trembling, donuts spilling out everywhere. “oh, hi,” she said, before moving on to the beat of a choir of angels singing she will be loved, by maroon 5.
"that’s it, i’m goin’ in the mens room!!!!" screeched the trashbag, and hid in the bathroom stall across from the urinals, wondering if this meant that she and kerry washington were close enough for the trashbag to call her "kwash."