Steve and I have this thing where we go as long as humanly possible without going to the market and we have to eat every last thing in the house and by the last day we’re staring at each other a lot like Bugs Bunny stares at Elmer Fudd (is that even right, I’m not a fan of cartoons. Don’t even get me started on my pure, white hot hatred of Tom and Jerry) in the life raft. (Like a big old ham bone, for those of you who did not grow up in So Cal on a steady diet of Saturday morning KTLA.)

(And while I’m on the topic of Southern California, let me just say that I was on a friend’s blog looking at her comments and someone is talking about boycotting In-n-Out because of the Prop 8 lameness. Now I’m not even sure In-n-Out supported Prop 8 or what, but give me a mother fucking break. PLEASE. Boycotting In-n-Out? They pay their managers 80 grand a year, all of their food is fresh, not a single freezer or microwave in the place, the food is cheap cheap cheap and they often have the only clean restrooms on very long car trips. I think we need to choose our battles, people. Boycott actual shitty establishments that do actually commit grave human rights abuses, contribute to poverty, obesity, and illiteracy and not places that may or may not have contributed to a political campaign, but for the most part, have one of the few decent business in a landscape that is now COVERED by multi-national chains. Boycotting In-n-Out is lame.)

Anyway, we did the thing where we didn’t shop for many moons. And we haven’t had any bread in the house for days. And so, gentle reader, I looked in my pantry and I had everything I needed to make wheat bread. FROM SCRATCH.

IN YOUR FACE IN-N-OUT BOYCOTTERS. AND PROP 8 SUPPORTERS.

Isn’t it pretty? I’m going to put some of my homemade peach jam on it too. Because I’m rustic. And down home. And main street-y. And a lot like a pitbull in lipstick (see above rant).