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I suppose you never know when you’ll need a good language lesson, perhaps in an unexpected realm of the cultural transition. I spent a good portion of today with my hands in bread dough. Longer than I should have. For the dough ended up being made in two shifts, thanks to my recipe-reading goof. The fun with French recipes started off harmlessly enough. At first I was just laughing at mental images of literal word translations: shall we “dig a fountain” in the flour? or maybe we’d rather “put a shirt” on the baking tray?
But towards the end of the process, as the dough was ready to be rolled, we realized that we had a rather small amount, considering the number of people in our party. I blanched when I realized what I must have done wrong. And yes, sure enough: I had started with 250 mL of flour, not 250 g, ending up with approximately half of the amount needed. So round two of dough-mixing commenced . . . it’s a good thing folks here enjoy taking their time to dine :-)