Dough-re-mi

I had a great interview yesterday, with a fellow whose story - and mission - truly touched me. I love little moments like that, when, over an hour and a pot of tea, I can befriend a stranger.

It's been a beautiful weekend around these parts, albeit very, very cold. I've been filling my life with small little pleasures - yesterday it was said interview, a morning run around High Park, reruns of Sex and the City, and culinary experimentation. I made dough last night, from scratch, with yeast and everything. I threw together some tomato garlic sauce - also from scratch - and put it on the dough, along with veggies and cheese and delicious hammy things. I put it into the oven, humming, and felt like Martha friggin' Stewart.

Baking, for me, is a sort of high. I love mixing shit up and producing something out of it. It seems to fulfill a very primitive itch. And before all you out there in blog-land start with the "Holy Stepford!" accusations, I assure you that my recent foray into domesticity is utterly on my own terms, and is therefore a righteous statement of feminism. And with that, I'm off to go replenish my spice rack.

The great thing about being a feminist is that you can basically reclaim anything.