The last few nights we’ve made bread in the bread machine to have nice fresh bread for sandwiches for lunch. Last night, Andy was the lucky baker. During a commercial break in “House,” Andy jumped up to take the bread out. The smell was wonderful, and we were both salivating over that first slice of hot bread with butter.

Now, the thing with bread makers is that making bread in them is sort of a gamble. If you don’t measure things quite right or if the humidity is wonky or if the moon is in the wrong phase, the bread won’t turn out. It will only rise half way or it will rise so high it pushes the lid open. Sometimes the crust is too done or maybe it’s still a bit mooshy on top. I know I always get a bit nervous when I approach the machine after it beeps completion.

Last night as I sat on the couch under a pile of kitties, I heard Andy in the kitchen say in a sad voice, “The bread didn’t turn out. It’s flat and dense.” I was sad, too, but I figured it’d be salvagable enough to get a pair of sandwiches out of it. But then Andy kept talking, “It appears that…umm…I forgot to add a sort of key ingredient.”

My laughter tossed the kitties off my lap and onto the floor. I laughed and laughed. I told him to take a picture, but he pouted and said no. The poor, yeastless bread was indeed a sad sight at about one inch tall.

I suggested we could cut thin slices off and use them as crackers, but I’m not sure if we have an appropriate hacksaw blade. Instead, I think maybe we’ll feed it to the chickens. I don’t think the ducks could handle it with their rounded bills.