In order to be economical and healthy, I make my own bread. (I do not stand in the kitchen for an hour kneading it, I use a bread machine.)
Two weeks ago I bought some hamburger buns (oddly enough they were labeled "hot dog buns" but were most definitely hamburger buns) and Joey and I didn't eat them all.
I was planning my menus on Saturday and thought that croutons would go perfectly with the chicken caesar salad I'm making for dinner tonight. Storebought bread makes better croutons than homemade bread because it's not quite as dense and, as we had quite a few leftover hamburger (hotdog?) buns, this made my economical self quite pleased.
Last night I determined to be organized and make my croutons ahead of time. I whipped up a quick batch (seriously it takes about 2 minutes), turned on the oven, and set the timer.
The recipe called for 25 minutes, so that's where I set it.
I ran to the grocery store and left Joey in charge of the kitchen.
I was gone for the whole 25 minutes because I got distracted in the floral section of the grocery store. (So many pretty flowers!)
When I walked in the front door, I immediately noticed that something was amiss. The air was hazy and there was an oddly acrid smell permeating the apartment.
"What happened?!" I asked.
"Well...." Joey said, pointing to a cookie sheet of charred croutons on top of the oven. "I took them out right when the timer went off, but they were already long gone by that point."
I could see that he was right. They looked like mini bricks of charcoal, and they smelled positively carcinogenic. I dumped them into the trash.
I gave them another go this morning before work. This time I set the timer for 15 minutes.
They were perfect. Can't wait to have them for dinner!
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