Every few years, there is a new food trend.  Going way back, it was oat bran, kale, quinoa, acai, Bone Broth, or whatever.  I get it.

But by all that is holy, STOP WITH THE HOT HONEY—just freaking stop.

A long time ago, when I was in college, we had a system for ordering pizza.

You ordered the size of the pizza based on how many people were eating it. Three people? Get the pizza that gives everyone four slices. Four people? Get the pizza where everyone gets three slices.

There were rules. I don’t know who made these rules. I don’t remember voting on them. But we followed them.

Then one day my friend Bob had an epiphany. Why couldn’t we just order a large pizza even if there were only two of us?

Whoa.

I realize this doesn’t sound particularly revolutionary. You’re probably thinking, Yes, Ross. That’s how ordering food works. But somehow this had never occurred to us.

You mean…the pizza place will sell us a large pizza even if we don’t have the appropriate number of people? Apparently so.

There was no pizza auditor. Nobody from Domino’s was going to knock on the door, count the occupants, look suspiciously at the large pizza and say, “I’m sorry, gentlemen. There are only two of you. We’re going to need six more people here before we can release the pie.”

From that fateful day forward, I’ve ordered whatever size pizza I damn well please. Usually way more than I need. Because here’s another thing adulthood teaches you: Leftover pizza exists.

Flash forward almost 40 years.

I was making chocolate chip cookies. Everything was going fine until I reached the step directing me to add two cups of chocolate chips.

Two cups? Hold on.

Don’t tell me what to do, Cookie Police.

We’re not rationing chocolate chips. This isn’t wartime Britain. There is no national emergency requiring me to conserve semi-sweet morsels for the war effort. I stood there staring at the bag and suddenly had the same revelation Bob had nearly four decades earlier.

I can put in as many chocolate chips as I want.

Two cups? Screw you.

I’m an adult. I bought the chocolate chips. I own the bowl. I own the mixer. I own the house in which this baking operation is taking place. Who’s going to stop me?

Three cups went in. Maybe more. I stopped measuring. Freedom doesn’t come with measuring cups.

Then I reached the final instruction:

“Drop rounded spoonfuls onto an ungreased cookie sheet.”

Oh, really? A spoonful? Nope. You don’t tell me how to live my life.

I reached into the drawer, grabbed an ice cream scoop, and started making cookies the size of hockey pucks.

I won’t live in your world, Toll House.

NO KINGS.

Take your fascist recipe and get the heck out of my kitchen.

Today I took a cooking class at a kitchen in my neighborhood. I’ve taken a few classes there over the years with mixed results. Maybe “results” isn’t the right word. Some classes have just been more useful or enjoyable than others.

For example, their Knife Skills class was excellent. My son and I once took a DIY Steakhouse class that was fine, but it was clearly designed as a date-night activity, and we were the only two people there not on dates. Slightly awkward. The same son and I also took a Bagel Brunch class that was really good. We made bagels, hot smoked salmon, cucumber salad, and herb cream cheese.

Those classes were all under two hours. Today’s class ran from 10 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. Long day. But after doing it, I have a much greater respect for bakeries. Churning out fresh bread and pastry every day is not easy work. It’s physical, messy, time-consuming, and requires a level of patience I probably don’t naturally possess.

In total,we made six different breads: homemade pizza with sourdough crust (which we ate for lunch), French baguettes, Dutch oven sourdough country boules, ciabattinis (individual ciabatta loaves), a seeded “Birdsонд” batard, and brioche with a cinnamon swirl. We also got to take home some sourdough starter.

I’ve made pizza dough and baguettes before, but I never really caught the sourdough bug during the pandemic. After today, I kind of get it. The ciabattini and batard were excellent, but my favorite was the brioche. Ridiculously good.

I was seated with two younger women. I’m not the most social person in the world, but we had a genuinely nice time just chatting while making bread and eating lunch. I really do enjoy hearing about how other people live their lives. One woman was originally from Colombia, had a 9-month-old baby, and worked for a lumber company doing what was essentially actuarial analysis for forests. I didn’t even know that was a job. The other was a legal assistant who is a dedicated sourdough maker.  It was interesting to hear about her job, and she was helpful when we had questions about the bread making.  She wasn’t from Chicago so it was interesting to hear about growing up in other places.

Even though I’m introverted and socially awkward, I actually like meeting people. In small doses.

The three chefs running the class were wonderful. The head chef was an excellent teacher – patient, clear, answered every question, demonstrated techniques, and constantly circulated to help people. The other two handled setup and cleanup and kept everything moving smoothly. You could tell the whole thing only worked because all three of them knew exactly what they were doing.

I also took home an absolutely absurd amount of bread. I honestly don’t know if we can eat it all before it goes bad, but fortunately, they taught us how to freeze it.

All in all, a very good day.