Dear Fleur.
I have been sitting here writing my essay forever now. And it's past midnight. Awesome. Because I have to get up early tomorrow and babysit and iron my hair and make bread.
I found a new cookbook and died.
It's Jim Lahey's My Bread. And I already read it cover to cover twice.
It made me want to go to Rome and never come back.
I really like bread. I don't know if I ever said that before. Probably. But I'm going to keep saying it. Bread is possibly my favourite thing. Next to flowers. But it's whatever. Actually, it's delicious.
But anyway. I'm going to use the Lahey method and bake in a dutch oven with no kneading and let it rise for 18 hours. O man. It makes me feel special just thinking about it. That is probably so weird too and I don't even care.
I'm reading Ruth and Isaiah. Drinking coffee right now too. And Julia Child rules my brain. I think I should probably inform everyone that Jim Lahey also gave his first girlfriend a loaf of bread just because. And that just makes me think of Boaz from the book of Ruth in such a weird way. I can barely wrap my mind around it.
I should really finish this essay. Maybe tomorrow. I need a breather. And more coffee.
Bell.
Dear Fleur.
I am writing my final essay. It's on cooking. I decided to go Julia Child on my teacher. I hope I can pull it off. He said I could. He actually said I would. But sometimes I doubt myself.
I was remembering the first time I made a baguette. It was with Kirsten. I was so proud. I think that's what made me want to do this essay. That, and I got to stay up till midnight the other night watching the old French Chef show and learning how to make souffles.
Does anyone know where to find the how to make a duck video she did?
I cannot find it.
Today I got a pink letter in the mail. I was so glad.
And my Daddy bought me a teacup this morning.
Good things have been happening to me.
I like it.
I am sitting in the kitchen, and there is a big branch in a milk jug in the sink. It's silly. Because there's yellow flowers blooming in my kitchen sink. And it's freezing in our house.
I kind of want to type out my latest story. But wouldn't that be procrastinating? Because I'm supposed to be writing my essay.
But all I really want to do is play with my typewriter.
The story has Russian words in it. Gah. I always liked Russian. I even named the boy Sven.
You know what I really want to do?
Get out my KitchenAid and try my hand at chocolate souffles in little porcelain ramekins.
Love Bella.
Dear Fleur.
I'm reading My Life in France by Julia Child. Love it. Absolutely love it.
Today I'm making brioche and wishing for real butter. I'm also mapping out more of Charlie Meets the Sky. It's mind-boggling. Where in the heck am I going to find a girl with big hips willing to dash through a field of corn. Where?
I like writing it though. (The outline at least). It's sweet. And musical. And the words are light.
Did I mention Charlie? He's supposed to be super tall and played by an Italian.
This story is a mess. I love it.
There is a blue barrette in my hair this morning. I have Art History homework. I need to spritz up my essay. Go to the post office. And we have to check the van out. Gah. There is a coaching test I need to take too. Today is going to be busy.
I've had a hankering to make puff pastry and chocolate souffles. But for that I need real butter and something like one dozen eggs. This is the moments I wish I lived on a farm.
Now for Charlie.
Love, Bells.
