One of the things about food that I've never understood -- and my knowledge has not been helped by finding people who calmly and decisively argue the point in either direction -- is whether, when you eat a pound of cookies, you gain more than a pound. My gut (ho, ho) feeling is of course you do; but I have seen people say, with a hint of surprise, that where could the more-than-a-pound have come from, then? Damned if I know. The god of the gut, for all I care. This happens.
I haven't eaten a pound of cookies (lately), but I kind of had something like that happen this morning. Its the last day of the cycle to make Amish Friendship Bread, and I was happily apportioning it. There should have been four cups of output; I put one cup in a bag for a neighbor, two cups in a bag to put in the refrigerator, and where the hell did the rest of it go? Because I was out. I looked at the recipe three or four times, counting the number of cups-o-stuff that went in -- like, three cups of flour, three cups of sugar, three cups of milk -- how could I possibly end up with only three cups of output? Huh?
Then I noticed that, oops, I had not yet put in the 3 total cups-o-stuff for today. My bad. I added it and -- the volume went up to five cups. But I added three cups of stuff! How could it only go up by two cups?
Magic, is what I think.
2 comments:
Thank god. I thought I was the only one who thought of such things. This sort of thing drives me crazy. I always wonder why a simple half-pint of ice cream seems to add five pounds to my waistline.
Nope, you are unique in many ways, L, but this isn't one of them. Sorry.
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