Friendship Bread

Nothing illustrates my haplessness quite like Friendship Bread. A well-meaning friend of mine--whom I'm sure was given this stuff by some well-meaning friend of hers--gave me the starter not too long ago. It was this zip-top bag of whiteish goo accompanied by some instructions. At first I was filled with rosy thoughts of creating some delectable treat for my family. The first instructions seemed easy enough: mash the bag. I thought I could handle it, so I brought the starter home and promptly forgot about it.

The next day, I saw it on my kitchen counter and read the instructions further. That's when I discovered that this Friendship Bread stuff is the housewife torture equivalent of a chain letter, complete with a warning not to break the starter chain because only the Amish (or some sort) know the secret for starting this stuff.

So I was faced with a dilemna: chuck this goop that more and more reminded me of baby spit-up or keep the Friendship Bread chain alive?? Guilt won on that first day--the instructions were easy--I mashed the bag. Day Two (or was it four--I found a weird caveat that the days must coincide with the day the starter was made--I was lost already, but...) I mashed the bag again. Days three through about seven: yep, I forgot about it. My husband found the goop and asked what new experiment this was.

I was immediately overcome by some strange sort of domestic guilt--which I am convinced is the only reason women do this stuff--but I had no choice, I had to throw it out. Which was a good thing...I don't think I had the ingredients I was supposed to add to make this stuff work. That and I don't have any friends that I would want to torture, er um, I mean bless with this stuff.