I’m cooking a lot lately. A lot. I used to, and then I stopped, and now I seem to have started again. I forgot how much I like it. And I’m grieving. It’s a process. (This is a line from Analyze That. Billy Crystal’s dad dies and he keeps saying it. Now I keep saying it. I can use it to explain away just about any odd behavior.)

When the no knead bread recipe started showing up everywhere on the intornets (known to some others as the internet, but to our family as the intornets) I ignored it. It was like one of those songs they play over and over on the radio until you go so far past hating it you almost like it. Almost.

This week I found a version of the no knead recipe that seemed too easy not to try. It makes a very small loaf, which Rowan and I have agreed is silly.

Rowan went with peanut butter. I added some of Kelly Lovejoy’s honey from happy bees, which we hoard as the liquid gold it is. Rowan has her own jar. I have my own jar. If anyone wants to touch our jars they need to come through us. Fingers may be bitten off.

(Oh, and Kelly, send more honey.)

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