Fucking Metal

I'm making brioche this morning.  It's loud, old-hair-metal-trying-to-prove-their-still-rock'n'rollers-reunion-tour loud.  We were up super early (6:30am) this morning because my comrade has her final written Master's exam today.

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the cat is running at full tilt around the apartment, problem exists in that we have wood floors.  Very slippery, jingle jingle scrabble scrabble sliiiiiiiide.
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Last test is some 12-15 pager to be written in 8 hours.  So we loaded her up with snacks and books and sent her off to the office.  I came home to make delicious french baked goods.

So back to brioche being super loud.  A big part of making the dough involves grabbing it in a loose fist and slamming it down onto the counter top, ostensibly to stretch it out and make it more elastic.  In reality it is obviously to toughen the forearms to better resist German invasion (haha its a joke about French people.)

The result was me making a lot of noise in our upstairs apartment secretly hoping our french downstairs neighbor would come up to ask what all the goddamn noise was and I would explain that I was making brioche which would instantly smooth out any trouble because of my culinary worldliness and she'd apologize for interrupting and offer some veggies from her garden as a way of begging pardon which I would dine to accept.......as may be obvious slamming dough to the table doesn't really occupy the mind all that much.