Baking buns

I like to cook. I like to bake. It's just something that gives me pleasure. The only thing I don't like is cooking or baking something that just doesn't turn out. Our first year of marriage was one of many, shall we say, interesting foods that caused a prompt drive to the restaurant. Of course, ten years of marriage have made that a thing of the past, but I can still remember the hockey puck buns, the ginormous pot of soup that wasn't edible, and the various dishes that all met an ignoble end.

So, after the barf debacle the other day, I decided the whole family could use some good ol' buns and borscht. My favorite meal (besides cabbage rolls, pizza, bbq ribs... who am I trying to kid? I really like food!) and something the whole family loves. Couldn't go wrong, right?

OK, I blame being tired on what happened next. As I was kneading the bun dough I realized my mistake. It was feeling, well, stiff. And as I punched the heck out of it, I thought back to those hockey puck buns. Not again! I had a decision to make. Bake the buns with the dough I had or throw it all out and start over. Being the person I am, I decided to chance it.

That whole day, while waiting for the dough to rise, putting the buns on the pans and waiting for them to rise I had a sinking feeling. Maybe I should have just started over. Maybe I shouldn't have tried this on a day with no or little sleep the night before. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It's funny how those thoughts just ruin a whole day. And for what? At the end I came away with buns that tasted slightly like biscuits. Not the best batch I've ever made, but not the worst either. I just wish I hadn't wasted my day dwelling on it.