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Nov. 28th, 2008 05:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
which_chickI went to a bookstore after pony today. I was looking for a book entitled "Introduction to Patisserie" or similar. The bookstore did not have a book that was the book I wanted so I obviously didn't buy it. (There is no book like this. The internets suggested several likely books and I'll be ordering one of them used here directly. I also, though it totally pains me to admit it, need a fucking baking scale. Volume measurements are for amatuers.) Since I was already there, I took a moment to browse the shelves.
I bought a blank book for recipes because my large soft recipe book has never recovered from being put on a burner that I accidentally turned on. It's got concentric scorch marks through half the pages. (I am slow on the uptake sometimes.) The scorch marks obliterated the apple pie recipe among other things and now bits of charred paper fall off the fucking book when I flip through it to find something. (It's been burned for about two years now so this isn't something that the book is going to get over.) I am tired of the recipe book being all fucked up. So, I bought a blank book. It has a leather cover. I believe it was intended for people who keep dead tree Journals.
I don't keep a dead tree journal these days, just a livejournal, but I did, once upon a time. (Most of my junior and senior years of high school are covered by the dead tree journal.) People who would like to remain my friends should not point out that there WAS no livejournal back when I kept a dead tree journal. When I kept a dead tree journal, I wrote in shitty cheap spiral bound notebooks using shitty, cheap ballpoint pens. When I got done with a notebook, I carefully removed the spiral part with wire cutters and then put the notebook on three large snap together rings like for a ring binder only there was no binder. I still have my dead tree journal and it's fine, in case anyone was wondering. To the best of my knowledge, only two people [other than me, obviously] have been offered the opportunity to read swaths of the dead tree journal. I reread parts of it occasionally, mostly to glory in the pure and certain knowledge that I am not that fucking miserable anymore and I shall never be so again.
Besides the recipe journal, whose structure will have to be contemplated so that I can add things to it in a way that they may be located later on, I bought a book. It was a hardcover book, a new one. I know I said I was not going to buy it, but dude. Forty Percent Off.
I bought a blank book for recipes because my large soft recipe book has never recovered from being put on a burner that I accidentally turned on. It's got concentric scorch marks through half the pages. (I am slow on the uptake sometimes.) The scorch marks obliterated the apple pie recipe among other things and now bits of charred paper fall off the fucking book when I flip through it to find something. (It's been burned for about two years now so this isn't something that the book is going to get over.) I am tired of the recipe book being all fucked up. So, I bought a blank book. It has a leather cover. I believe it was intended for people who keep dead tree Journals.
I don't keep a dead tree journal these days, just a livejournal, but I did, once upon a time. (Most of my junior and senior years of high school are covered by the dead tree journal.) People who would like to remain my friends should not point out that there WAS no livejournal back when I kept a dead tree journal. When I kept a dead tree journal, I wrote in shitty cheap spiral bound notebooks using shitty, cheap ballpoint pens. When I got done with a notebook, I carefully removed the spiral part with wire cutters and then put the notebook on three large snap together rings like for a ring binder only there was no binder. I still have my dead tree journal and it's fine, in case anyone was wondering. To the best of my knowledge, only two people [other than me, obviously] have been offered the opportunity to read swaths of the dead tree journal. I reread parts of it occasionally, mostly to glory in the pure and certain knowledge that I am not that fucking miserable anymore and I shall never be so again.
Besides the recipe journal, whose structure will have to be contemplated so that I can add things to it in a way that they may be located later on, I bought a book. It was a hardcover book, a new one. I know I said I was not going to buy it, but dude. Forty Percent Off.
