ofalltheginjoints:

i love you ciabatta i love you brioche i love you focaccia i love you challah i love you sourdough i love you rye i love you multigrain i love you bagel i love you pita i love you pretzel bun i love you baguette i love you english muffin i love you naan

theriu:

theriu:

theriu:

theriu:

GUYS

Do you remember this classic Squidward moment:

I didn’t know if it existed and certainly never expected to see it

BUT BEHOLD

HONEST-TO-GOODNESS CANNED BREAD

I have no idea how this ended up in the Ohio food pantry I was volunteering at but they said I could have it

Should I report back with updates as I embark on this new adventure

OKAY GANG, I had a busy day yesterday and so the Canned Bread Adventure had to wait. But now we begin the journey! Hopefully the price will not be too great. (Mentally, of course, as the can was free.)

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Now, this is marked as ready-to-serve, but there ARE instructions for heating up and even baking it. But of course we need to try multiple options to get more of the experience. Interestingly, the instructions SPECIFICALLY say to open BOTH ends of the can. You are also advised to use a spoon if the bread proves recalcitrant.

As the can opens, I begin to see why; it is clearly In There.

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So regarding my first reactions, there is an… interesting aroma. Very rich, hauntingly familiar yet somehow foreign. Where HAVE I smelled that before…?

Oh well lets get it out!

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The bread was indeed happy in its can and Not Having Any Of That with just the spoon, so I was forced to take extreme measures and run a knife along the inside. BEHOLD THE TOWER OF CANNED BREAD! On a positive note, the can lines make excellent cutting guides.

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Time to taste! I admit to some hesitance. WHAT IS that smell?? It’s so FAMILIAR and yet makes me wary! I am getting flashes of old homestyle cooking and pioneer theme parks.

Oh right. Maybe I should check the ingredients list.

So it turns out this canned marvel consists of, among other things, mostly molasses and rye wheat. And baking soda! That’s right, friends, we are looking at a log of pure heftiness in terms of flavor profile. It is sweet and moist and yet somehow also savory and utterly drying. I immediately require cherry 7UP. My friends, I can confirm that if you like molasses, THERE IS DEFINITELY MOLASSES. The texture is very soft and, again, moist; if I had been presented a slice of this at a church benefit dinner, I would have called it some type of cake (then possibly politely nudged it to the side of my plate).

Now, research (aka my aunt googling it at the food pantry) suggests this is indeed one of those polarizing foods—if I remember correctly, one source predicted that you will either love it of have an instant hatred, and that it has been known to cause sharp family disagreements. I believe this to be accurate, as while I would not say I HATE it, I’m reluctant to eat the whole slice and can confidently place it on Weird Things To Try Only Once.

But that doesn’t matter, because this is FOR SCIENCE, and there are INSTRUCTIONS WE MUST FOLLOW

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I’m unsure how splitting of the loaf (for lack of a better descriptor) would affect cooking times, and I do not have a toaster oven besides. So we will be popping this whole baby (minus one slice) in the oven and then trying it out with and without some cream cheese.

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Mmm canned bread burrito.

I will be DELIGHTED if this crisps it up like a more traditional bready crust, but I am reserved in my hopes. Regardless, I shall report back later!

Quick Extra Note: That molasses smell PERMEATES. I am at least 15 feet away from the table where I opened the can, and it lingers around me like the faint savory-sweet ghost of an Appalachian kitchen from the 1800s.

WOW, I think like FIFTEEN new people followed me today (who either aren’t bots or are very well-disguised bots!) and I can only conclude this surge was from a burning curiosity to know the final results of the Canned Bread Journey. Well, wait no longer, friends, for here we go!

First, I have to say that the smell of bread baking apparently does ALWAYS smell good, regardless of the type of bread. My kitchen smelled lovely.

The molasses scent reasserted itself the instant I opened the tinfoil, but oh well. I grabbed my cream cheese and my apricot jelly and headed to my desk for the unveiling.

So first thing I noticed (besides the odor de molasses) is that it looks EXACTLY the same! Probably because of the tinfoil, or maybe this kind of bread just can’t form a crust, idk I am not a baker.

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I then cut a plain slice, because again, for SCIENCE, we must try multiple avenues here. 

Verdict: It tasted… pretty much the same as before going in the oven? Very sweet/savory and moist and with that bitter rye flavor that some people like (I do not). But it was warmer, and that definitely had a positive effect. Most things that taste a little funny generally taste better at something other than room temperature, though. ESPECIALLY if it comes from a can. I ate one bite and did not feel compelled to experiment further down that road, so I just added the cream cheese spread (plain) to the piece and took my next bite.

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Verdict: Okay! Now we’re getting somewhere! This is a nice balance – the sweet creaminess pairs well with the savory tones of the bread! I could finish a slice of this!

Now let’s add some jelly (apricot) on this bad boy:

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Verdict: Nice! Nice! Refreshing balance! Ate two slices before rye aftertaste became too powerful. This is a very filling little bread, though, so I was satisfied.

Overall River (that’s me) Rating: 5/10. To be fair to the bread, I am not a fan of rye OR molasses (or other bitter flavors, like coffee or dark chocolate). But to be fair to ME, my and my aunt’s google searches suggest that this food often forms Strong Opinions in both directions, but especially if you are from Massachusetts (possibly Boston specifically), which as far as I can tell is the only place in the whole U.S. that knows about and sells this stuff. They also eat it with beans and hotdogs—it actually says so under the heating instructions (which I missed, but I just ate spaghetti and do not want to open a whole can of beans, so some other brave non-MA soul can try that if they so desire.)

In conclusion: If you like strong, savory/sweet flavors like rye and/or molasses, you may enjoy this! I didn’t think it tasted particularly “canned” (although there were some flecks that MAY have been pieces of the can caught by my knife removal technique). It has a cakey texture that I did not find unpleasant. But if you dislike such flavors wholesale, or just feel an uncontrollable aversion to anything that bears the same shape as cranberry sauce freshly removed from the can, you may want to abstain.

[For Comparison:]

This was fun to try, though! Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and remember, don’t be afraid to try new things sometimes! =D As for the rest of the loaf, I have foiled it up again and plan to give it to my oldest brother, who historically likes rye AND molasses (and every single other food in the world EXCEPT, for some reason, marshmallows).

Bonus: Stormy finds the canned bread uninteresting. But she is a cat, so her opinion should always be taken with a grain of salt.

~River

Thank you for this flattering assessment of my post, I am honored, although we’re only at like 300+ notes, so it may be a bit premature. Not that I won’t be delighted if you have received the dodgeball of prophecy, mind you !

I am finally joining you in the “watch hundreds of videos about baking bread and fantasize about a dope kitchen with an oven” stage of life.

critically, I became a cake man

I’ve become someone with a rigid routine. Same meals for lunch and dinner, same bus and train schedules. Gotta control something in a world that feels chaotic, you know.

My Saturday meals (satmeals) are the highlight of this rigid life structure. Salad, soup, cheese, bread, beer, dessert. SSCBBD.

Salad is almost always a large caesar salad. The importance of the sharpness or tanginess of caesar salad dressing cannot be overstated. A real tongue whip, smack to the senses. The lettuce is the means to deliver that flavor, and along with the croutons forms the textural foundation. The extra cotija or parmesan brings it home. This is the church around which I developed my devotion to this idol, the satmeal.

Soup is jambalaya when available, minestrone when it’s not. Wholesome, filling, and something about these feels homey and inviting, like my mom’s heavily tomato-based Mexican home cooking. I always think I should try a chowder or potato leek, but those cream-based soups never quite scratch the soup itch.

Cheese always refers to a softball-sized ball of fresh mozzarella. Unlike the sharp cheese flavors from the salad, the fresh mozzarella is more subtle, and not as excessive or heavy as a ball of cheese might sound. It’s like eating a lightly salted cloud. Calvin Trillin’s “Mozzarella Story” brought these into my life and while I’ve yet to attain the authenticity of Trillin’s mozzarella tales, I don’t believe one can go wrong with a ball of fresh mozzarella. The smoked variant is my favorite.

Bread is where I feel I’m lacking. In keeping with my approach to the mozzarella, I like to handle these with my hands. Just a roll of bread (or two), torn apart by hand and dunked into the soup. No knives, no butters or spreads. I’m absolutely trying to be a man I’m not, but it still feels good and of the moment. The lacking aspect is I don’t go to a bakery to grab fresh bread, and perhaps I should. Wouldn’t you?

Beer, I can’t believe this one. I very clearly remember not caring about beer. Now I do and I’m flummoxed. It’s always a single serving, a stovepipe can. Never the cheap stuff that tastes like skunk (where did that idea come from?) Almost always a pale ale which, let me say, isn’t exactly a fine flavor either, and yet it feels essential to have a good, hardy, strong beer as part of the meal. With so much food in here, and a deliberately carefree sense of fuck it, there isn’t even an edge to take off. I guess, yeah, sometimes a beer is just a beer.

Finally, and critically, I became a cake man. Like beer, I used to relegate cake to the lowest rung of stuff I want to eat. I’d take any pie, and certainly a flan or custard, over a slice of cake. Then I met tuxedo truffle cake. Imagine your standard, dry layers of pointless cake, then replace most of those layers with chocolate and vanilla mousse, top it with chocolate ganache, and add a side of more chocolate mousse for good measure. I wasn’t just a cake avoider, but I also barely cared about chocolate. This cake brought it all together, wove something special out of elements that could not stand alone. And sometimes, if the mood is right and the time allows, I instead grab a pint of honey salted-caramel roasted-almond ice cream, as decadent as the word count implies.

I can be mercurial enough that this won’t matter in a year or five, but at this point in time there are satmeals and the process of piecing together a perfect moment.

critically, I became a cake man

I’ve become someone with a rigid routine. Same meals for lunch and dinner, same bus and train schedules. Gotta control something in a world that feels chaotic, you know.

My Saturday meals (satmeals) are the highlight of this rigid life structure. Salad, soup, cheese, bread, beer, dessert. SSCBBD.

Salad is almost always a large caesar salad. The importance of the sharpness or tanginess of caesar salad dressing cannot be overstated. A real tongue whip, smack to the senses. The lettuce is the means to deliver that flavor, and along with the croutons forms the textural foundation. The extra cotija or parmesan brings it home. This is the church around which I developed my devotion to this idol, the satmeal.

Soup is jambalaya when available, minestrone when it’s not. Wholesome, filling, and something about these feels homey and inviting, like my mom’s heavily tomato-based Mexican home cooking. I always think I should try a chowder or potato leek, but those cream-based soups never quite scratch the soup itch.

Cheese always refers to a softball-sized ball of fresh mozzarella. Unlike the sharp cheese flavors from the salad, the fresh mozzarella is more subtle, and not as excessive or heavy as a ball of cheese might sound. It’s like eating a lightly salted cloud. Calvin Trillin’s “Mozzarella Story” brought these into my life and while I’ve yet to attain the authenticity of Trillin’s mozzarella tales, I don’t believe one can go wrong with a ball of fresh mozzarella. The smoked variant is my favorite.

Bread is where I feel I’m lacking. In keeping with my approach to the mozzarella, I like to handle these with my hands. Just a roll of bread (or two), torn apart by hand and dunked into the soup. No knives, no butters or spreads. I’m absolutely trying to be a man I’m not, but it still feels good and of the moment. The lacking aspect is I don’t go to a bakery to grab fresh bread, and perhaps I should. Wouldn’t you?

Beer, I can’t believe this one. I very clearly remember not caring about beer. Now I do and I’m flummoxed. It’s always a single serving, a stovepipe can. Never the cheap stuff that tastes like skunk (where did that idea come from?) Almost always a pale ale which, let me say, isn’t exactly a fine flavor either, and yet it feels essential to have a good, hardy, strong beer as part of the meal. With so much food in here, and a deliberately carefree sense of fuck it, there isn’t even an edge to take off. I guess, yeah, sometimes a beer is just a beer.

Finally, and critically, I became a cake man. Like beer, I used to relegate cake to the lowest rung of stuff I want to eat. I’d take any pie, and certainly a flan or custard, over a slice of cake. Then I met tuxedo truffle cake. Imagine your standard, dry layers of pointless cake, then replace most of those layers with chocolate and vanilla mousse, top it with chocolate ganache, and add a side of more chocolate mousse for good measure. I wasn’t just a cake avoider, but I also barely cared about chocolate. This cake brought it all together, wove something special out of elements that could not stand alone. And sometimes, if the mood is right and the time allows, I instead grab a pint of honey salted-caramel roasted-almond ice cream, as decadent as the word count implies.

I can be mercurial enough that this won’t matter in a year or five, but at this point in time there are satmeals and the process of piecing together a perfect moment.