A Love Letter to the Over-Fermented Ugly Loaf

Oh, ugly loaf.

You were left on the counter to rise.

And rise you did…

and did…

and kept rising until you deflated like a balloon that lost its will to live.

I meant well. Truly.

You were mixed with care. Folded with tenderness.

And then—forgotten.

It wasn’t personal.

I got distracted with laundry. Then a tantrum. Then the dishwasher decided to leak.

You, dear dough, became collateral damage in the great battle of the Tuesday That Got Away From Me.

By the time I returned, you were more soup than structure.

You looked at me with the same expression my toddler gives when I ask if she flushed the toilet.

Somewhere between guilt and chaos.

I still baked you, because I’m not a quitter.

Your crust? Barely there.

Your rise? Well… you did rise — just not in the way anyone hoped.

Your crumb? Tight. Moody. Slightly resentful.

Your flavor? Let’s call it “unexpectedly tangy with notes of neglect.”

You still arose, bless you.

But it was the kind of rise that says, “I tried, okay?”

And honestly? Same.

So here’s to the dough that didn’t go as planned.

To the homemakers who try anyway.

To the carbs that flop but still feed.

And to the reminder that even when things over-proof and underperform —

there’s still goodness to be found (usually under a heavy hand of kerrygold).