Twisted

Mom swears that she actually remembers making pretzels with Grammie B when she was little.  It's possible.  It's also possible that mom is just addicted to carbohydrates and looking for a nostalgic excuse to whip some up.  Whatevs.  Cami and I don't really care WHY, we were just psyched that we got to make soft pretzels the other day.  It started off a little slow -- I'm not sure what the yeast and sugar were doing in that bowl exactly, but it didn't look all that appetizing and it sure "smelled stinky."  But once we got the dough rolling it was on like donkey kong.  We made all of our initials, even V for Veg, and made a few attempts at actual pretzel shapes.  Then I got to brush them with a little eggy and throw a bunch of salt on them.  Into the oven they went and a short 15 minutes later (which really didn't seem so short to mommy because she spent the entire 15 minutes trying to keep our grubby little paws off of the hot oven door), we had hot, soft, delicious pretzels.  Yummers.

Checking out the yeast action.

"Like playdough!"

"Here, this one's for Cami."

Eggy time. 

Salt.

Dinner.