I Can’t Make This Stuff Up

I remember reading about bread dough toxicity sometime around ’03 when it was first reported (the uncooked yeast emits ethanol in the dogs stomach, causes ethanol toxicity and could theoretically make their stomach explode )http://www.aspcabehavior.org/articles/71/Foods-That-Are-Hazardous-to-Dogs-.aspx.   At that moment I made the fateful error made by countless people all over the world,  I thought to myself “that will never happen to me.” 

You know, like when I was blissfully childless and proclaimed in a smarmy eye-rolley, judgey, kid-free manner: “my kid will NEVER behave that way in a restaurant”, only to fast forward about 3 years to  my child standing in his high chair surrounded by the flotsam and jetsam of the food that was on his plate, screeching, while the diners at Denny’s shoot me the stink-eye.  Granted, we did take a long break from restaurant dining after that. 

Anyhow, back to our topic, baking is not my “thing”.  Especially something that requires as many steps as bread.  Furthermore, the grocery store is filled with all kinds of bread that requires the one step of sticking it in the oven to get yeasty deliciousness.

Well, I like to cook up a “special Sunday night dinner” for the family.  I was on www.allrecipes.com trying to find some inspiration when I spied a recipe from “Chef John” for Parmesan Garlic Rolls (http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Garlic-and-Parmesan-Dinner-Rolls/Detail.aspx ).  There was even a video on how to make them.  Looked easy enough and I had all the ingredients on hand (including fresh parsley in my garden). 

I made yeast-goo, let it marinate awhile, then made dough goo which also marinated inside my nice warm oven for an hour, then smushed the garlic, bought fancy parmesan, made the rolls, “proofed” them in the oven (all in all a good two-hour process). 

The rolls were on the counter getting ready to go into the oven for the final bake. 

My husband summons me from his office (AKA, the guest bedroom), “got a sec? ”

 “Well, not really”, I reply, “I’m cooking”. 

“Check this out, it’s cool”, he beckons. 

I reluctantly amble over, dreading having to feign intrest in some kind of breathlessly boring stock market fact.  To my relief, It was actually a preview for “The Avengers”, which was super cool. 

Except that when I got into the kitchen, my heart leapt into my chest and tears sprang into my eyes.On the counter was an empty cookie sheet with just one lonely roll on it. 

 The only sound I could emit was a strangled gasp.

My husband immediately knew what happened.

The kids immediately asked if the bread was poisonous (they are well-trained).

Mia was nowhere to be seen.

What could I do, but mourn the untimely demise of my  rolls and get out our bottle of peroxide (which in our household is only used for making dogs vomit). 

I got my handy-dandy 20cc dog peroxide administration syringe and about 10 minutes later, Mia produced a pile of pungent, parmesan puke.  (Like that? A little alliteration for your grammatical enjoyment).

Gluttons for punishment that we are, we cooked the remaining roll, to further gauge the heartbreak of our loss. 

It was yeasty, garlicy deliciousness. 

I guess better to savor one roll than to hork down all eight and regret all those calories, right? 

These are the rationalizations of a Lab owner. 

Mia and a big pile of formerly delicious garlic parmesan dinner rolls
Guilty dog and subsequent vomit. (The big blue thing on top of the cage is a "weagle", half-whale half-eagle that my son and I made in 2nd grade).
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4 thoughts on “I Can’t Make This Stuff Up

  1. You saved yourself a bundle being able to take care of this yourself.

    I, too, have been guilty of saying, “That can’t happen to me” and ended up having Stan (at least I think it was Stan) eat a large, blue rubber band. My first thought was that it was large and thick enough to not be a problem and it would pass. Paranoia got the best of me so a call was made to the emergency clinic.

    Stan isn’t the most mellow kitty. He has to be anesthetized for a checkup. But he got loaded into a carrier and off we went. Of course, he barfed big-time on the way to the clinic. (No big, blue rubber band.) They gave him an injection to make him vomit. He didn’t. He was scoped. (No big, blue rubber band) and x-rayed (didn’t expect to see it, but might as well try).

    $858 later, no big, blue rubber band, but a very groggy and unhappy Stan. He was sequestered for two days, but still no big, blue rubber band in the litter box.

    The main thing is that Mia and Stan are both all right now.

    1. I KNOW right? Somehow my little brain didn’t equate gooey, sticky uncooked bread dough with food. Learned my lesson.

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