Also attempted soft pretzels for dessert. Pretty boring bread recipe, only one-and-a-half risings. Shape pretzels, dip in boiling water to form crust. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar, bake.
They came out well. I personally feel that the crust was not thick/tough enough, but they had that distinctive pretzel taste, and all the extras got eaten. The only complaint I heard was that there was not enough sugar and cinnamon, and nobody must have minded too much, because nobody took me up on my offer to add extra.
I didn't use to inflict my cooking experiments on people, but I'm getting braver. I blame all the people (like this freak: killianpooh) who have sung the praises of my neophile cooking, and tolerate my inability to actually follow a recipe without improvising.
I'm starting to suspect the joy I get out of cooking for people is just a harmless little outlet for my control-freak tendencies. ("bwa ha ha! I control what you eat!")
And as for me, I welcome the chance to stop thinking about quantum physics or imploding social dynamics or the space robot or my published algorithms or whatever the hell I worry over uselessly in my mind. My thoughtspace narrows to the feel of the knife in my hand, or kneading bread. The smells of yeast and cinnamon and garlic and thyme and olive oil and bread baking. The awareness that there are people waiting, that they might actually enjoy the result.
Good way to get rid of stress, that. Mmmmmm.