This post goes out to alan - dude I'm working on scores like a madman and will nail your quality I hearby challenge you to a duel but it must be to spec b.d.t ...
Alphonso he sent some of his boys up from Miami to meet and greet the guy..... and it is said he was never seen or heard from again - so a word of warning:-) He is the Baggy Don, son of 'BigTuff' Tony Di Ciabat and you have your work cut out for you if you don't have an alias, an unknown location and a crew of your own for protection. You are getting there though...... if you live long enough, you might have a shot to kneecap the Don and live to post about it. But I'm betting on the Don Baggs:-) Nice crumb for sure.
I have lineage to a town in Sicily called Bagleone, just 25 km west of Logginsend Messina as the cronut flies . And I was christened Don Alfanso Bagleone by Patricio "Buns" Pattimeltini, a member of the local Muffinoso.
While it may be true that my Popover was Big Tuff Tony Di, he was more of a creampuff and an old dough kinda guy, not at all like Uncle Legs Rickets, who was crusty and hard as grisini. I always looked up to and prefermented him to my own pate, that is until the day that he called me a floury little batard. A poolish mistake. I really didn't care if he was a biga shot or not. Now he was just another crumby sour don't. I didn't stand for that sheeter from anyone. I had a short fuse back then. Nobody Pullmans my chain and so I decided to e-laminate him for once and for all. And so I pulled out my gatt with the hollow ground bouletts from my lederhosen. He made a run for it, but I was able to peel off a few rounds, and in the mixer of the action one spiraled its way into his glutinous maximus. I pumpernicked another in there too. He was levain large until that moment, and just like 1:2:3 he French folded and dropped like an epi. I was held on a Filone charge. But that was dismissed as I already had all the fudges in the court system baked into my jellyroll. That was my only close brioche with the law. Any other stooge would have had to give up his 36 month autolyse on that new car and steam on out of town. Not me! It was proof positive that I had a formula that worked. Still a bit unnerved, and so I fell asleep on my living room couche that night, a baker's dozing, if you will.
In Miami there is a small chain of bakeries called Don Pan, but they belong to a rival gang. The first and only time that someone from that clan pulled a knife on me, the ruse was up when I noticed that it still had butter on it. I was able to whip out my curved lame and give him a close shave. It was the yeast I could do. His face bloomed with a bloody grigne from ear to ear. Talk about scoring! Back then I had a swagger like a young Robert Miche-um.
Wow, um...
Hmmmm... (Complete look of bewilderment)
Ok so Dabrownman and alsanso just completely took down this challenge without even showing their guns. Intimidated and walking away with tail between legs. Gotta say that was the brilliant two posts ever seen. While its true the young guy takes down the ole boss but in this case I think the don continues his reign.
On a serious note how the bleep did you get so many puns in. That was genius !
I should've,instead offerred a truce and proposal to join forces with don bags. See he has the east coast and I am on the west - we could dominate and start an empire that controls the entire north American turf. Let europe and the old country do their thing - its all about the new world so,what do you say don bags ? Or do we go to the mattresses ?
A ways back I thought about expanding into Canada just north of Duluth, so I sent my key button man, “Thunder Boy” Pugliese to do some research. He arrived on these shores as just a po’ boy, but soon worked himself up to be a real hero once he was feeling his oats. He comes back from the frozen tundra and reports that he has cold feet. I couldn’t decide whether he was just playing me for more bread or wort else was going on with him. We thought we'd have a 3-stage build-up to move north, but instead decided to degas the bulk of the operation. A pita, really. We were already stretched thin and pinched for dough so didn’t matter. At first we thought “rye not?” but barley had thyme for a bran new venture wheat all that we knead to do around here. You’re safe. (and I’m done!)
Thank you for your rye-assurance that you won't expand your quest beyond the edges of your banneton like an overproofed dough. If that happened, it would certainly leave a sour taste in our mouths and degas the good relationship that we have here on TFL. May your dough rise and your sourdough flourish! ;-)
Nice crumb.
Alphonso he sent some of his boys up from Miami to meet and greet the guy..... and it is said he was never seen or heard from again - so a word of warning:-) He is the Baggy Don, son of 'BigTuff' Tony Di Ciabat and you have your work cut out for you if you don't have an alias, an unknown location and a crew of your own for protection. You are getting there though...... if you live long enough, you might have a shot to kneecap the Don and live to post about it. But I'm betting on the Don Baggs:-) Nice crumb for sure.
go check out his latest blog post! ;-)
I have lineage to a town in Sicily called Bagleone, just 25 km west of Logginsend Messina as the cronut flies . And I was christened Don Alfanso Bagleone by Patricio "Buns" Pattimeltini, a member of the local Muffinoso.
While it may be true that my Popover was Big Tuff Tony Di, he was more of a creampuff and an old dough kinda guy, not at all like Uncle Legs Rickets, who was crusty and hard as grisini. I always looked up to and prefermented him to my own pate, that is until the day that he called me a floury little batard. A poolish mistake. I really didn't care if he was a biga shot or not. Now he was just another crumby sour don't. I didn't stand for that sheeter from anyone. I had a short fuse back then. Nobody Pullmans my chain and so I decided to e-laminate him for once and for all. And so I pulled out my gatt with the hollow ground bouletts from my lederhosen. He made a run for it, but I was able to peel off a few rounds, and in the mixer of the action one spiraled its way into his glutinous maximus. I pumpernicked another in there too. He was levain large until that moment, and just like 1:2:3 he French folded and dropped like an epi. I was held on a Filone charge. But that was dismissed as I already had all the fudges in the court system baked into my jellyroll. That was my only close brioche with the law. Any other stooge would have had to give up his 36 month autolyse on that new car and steam on out of town. Not me! It was proof positive that I had a formula that worked. Still a bit unnerved, and so I fell asleep on my living room couche that night, a baker's dozing, if you will.
In Miami there is a small chain of bakeries called Don Pan, but they belong to a rival gang. The first and only time that someone from that clan pulled a knife on me, the ruse was up when I noticed that it still had butter on it. I was able to whip out my curved lame and give him a close shave. It was the yeast I could do. His face bloomed with a bloody grigne from ear to ear. Talk about scoring! Back then I had a swagger like a young Robert Miche-um.
So, yeah, keep your distance from Donnie Baggs.
Love it!!!
Donnie Baggs Classico before it Dutch Ovens itself into boldly baked Baggory .
it's just a hobbit, I guess. Consider it a Tolkien of my friendship.
There's an awful lot of folks who'd rather string me up than put up with a comment like that one...
you and dabrownman :)!
well I guess I will just have to hobbit along and start the day with a gringe
Leslie
Choose your baguette's.
Okay, I've decided I'm never even attempting baguettes now. Or at least if I do, I'm never posting on TFL about them. You guys win, hands down!
Thanks for the belly laugh; I needed that. :D
"Staying out of the turf wars
Okay, I've decided I'm never even attempting baguettes now. Or at least if I do, I'm never posting on TFL about them. You guys win, hands down!
Thanks for the belly laugh; I needed that. :D"
The baking itself is worlds beyond what I would ever aspire to, but the commentary is a level of pure gold! Thanks so much to all of you!
You can do what you want in your home country but leave us in the frozen tundra alone. Nothing to see here... move along... ;-)
A ways back I thought about expanding into Canada just north of Duluth, so I sent my key button man, “Thunder Boy” Pugliese to do some research. He arrived on these shores as just a po’ boy, but soon worked himself up to be a real hero once he was feeling his oats. He comes back from the frozen tundra and reports that he has cold feet. I couldn’t decide whether he was just playing me for more bread or wort else was going on with him. We thought we'd have a 3-stage build-up to move north, but instead decided to degas the bulk of the operation. A pita, really. We were already stretched thin and pinched for dough so didn’t matter. At first we thought “rye not?” but barley had thyme for a bran new venture wheat all that we knead to do around here. You’re safe. (and I’m done!)
Thank you for your rye-assurance that you won't expand your quest beyond the edges of your banneton like an overproofed dough. If that happened, it would certainly leave a sour taste in our mouths and degas the good relationship that we have here on TFL. May your dough rise and your sourdough flourish! ;-)