{"id":151574,"date":"2014-04-09T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2014-04-09T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gracious-khorana.45-76-20-142.plesk.page\/localmex12014x104x1soft-sweet-buttermilk-honey-bread-htmlx1\/"},"modified":"2023-07-13T14:25:57","modified_gmt":"2023-07-13T14:25:57","slug":"soft-sweet-buttermilk-honey-bread","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/localmilkblog.com\/2014\/04\/soft-sweet-buttermilk-honey-bread.html","title":{"rendered":"Buttermilk Honey Bread"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"Buttermilk<\/a><\/p>\n

\"Buttermilk<\/a><\/p>\n

\"Buttermilk<\/a><\/p>\n

\"Buttermilk<\/a><\/p>\n

I bake a lot of bread. Mostly because it makes me feel powerful, like a regular Rumpelstiltskin. Well, that, and I like to eat fresh bread. Like the overwhelming majority of people I know, making me wildly popular (haha). I also write poems. Sometimes, not often anymore. As far as volume is concerned, the loaves of bread trounce the poems. I\u2019d venture to guess it has something to do with poems not making me feel very powerful at all. Rather, they mostly serve to remind me of how firmly situated I am within a headspace that isn\u2019t conducive to poetics of any sort at all. But I keep writing them, so I probably get something out of it. \u00a0That would make sense. Right, so I wrote this poem ostensibly about surviving in the wilderness. But really it\u2019s for a call girl I \u00a0knew when I was living in New Orleans. A song made me think of her.<\/p>\n

She was perfectly normal, save the whole occupation. You wouldn\u2019t have known unless she told you. It\u2019s a you\u2019re okay, I\u2019m okay, we\u2019re all okay<\/em> sort of poem. Prose poem.<\/p>\n

Anyhow, here\u2019s a loaf of buttermilk honey bread to go with it as bread and poems and all the slow things make sense together. It\u2019s soft and sweet with flakes of salt on top, and I imagine it would make nice sandwiches. I don\u2019t know. The last loaf I made lasted approximately 0.54888888 hours and was devoured with hands and some haphazard pats of butter by myself and three accomplices standing \u2019round the kitchen island. So, good luck with making it last longer than we did. Whether you bake it or don\u2019t, buy a loaf from the bakery or the bi-lo, or whether you say to hell with it all and grab some chips from the gas station, this post is about being proud of yourself no matter where, in this moment, you find yourself. We\u2019re all works in progress, growing trees that can only be where we are when we\u2019re there, and all that other good stuff therapists say. Trust the process. That said, as far as survival is concerned, eating bread is superlative to having to cut off your own arm, hustle, or beg.<\/p>\n

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