Out, Again.

Recently, I decided to take up baking bread, both for the fun of it and because it saves a few pennies every week and yields a much tastier product versus store-bought bread. Most of it went well, except for one disastrous batch where I may or may not have killed the little yeastie beasties...

But this is not a baking blog, this is a blog about my journeys in England. Let me show you where this is going:

Everything you can buy in America comes in a number of sizes, and one of those options is usually 'super size.' There is no dispute about the hugeness of American cars, meals, and (yeah, yeah, we've all heard the Americans are fat thing...) people.

Americans like hefty things. They like bulk. Most of the time, I love the smallness of the UK (though I am terrified to learn to drive on those eensy-weensy streets!). But sometimes I need bulk.

Like when I'm baking, and I screw up, and I have used up the last of the flour. I can go to the store and lug home three or four of the largest bags (1.5 kg), or I can buy it as I need it. At Liam's house in Norwich, this was a bit of a trek. We bought our flour from the Tesco in town - a twenty minute walk there and the same back. That doesn't so bad, but one of those bags for life full of groceries is surprisingly weighty a half mile into the walk!

Okay, so I might need the exercise going back and forth, but at seven p.m. on a Sunday night, when the English thing to do is shut shops at four (!!!), it would be nice to not run out of flour after one bread recipe...