Hope springs eternal. That’s why I hope to never go on a Girls’ Weekend without a can of pepper spray again.
You know that saying: “You never really know someone until you travel with them”? Well I’m the one that came up with that one. Yep, just made it up from experience. But listen, it’s not all bad traveling with someone you thought you knew, as long as you limit your time with crazy. Just don’t go past the danger zone, which is 2 days… 3 days tops. Two would be preferable because at day two, you still don’t have the temptation to stab the annoying culprit in the neck while simultaneously spitting in their eyeball.
Another annoying fact is that when you’re traveling, the food isn’t the greatest either. I never pass up the opportunity to drive right past a roadside diner or greasy spoon without stopping. Not because I’m a snob, but because I prefer to limit my bacterial infections to two a year.
So when I decided to go to Mammoth Lakes this past week with some
crazy bitch girlfriends, I had totally forgotten that I should prepare myself for some very mediocre food. Normally, I would bring my own, but I was so stupidly excited about getting away from it all with the girls, it had slipped my temporarily-insane mind… and I say that with the nicest of meanings because think about it: who in their right mind wants to cram four women into a vehicle, drive five hours, and have nothing good to eat?! I mean, that’s not normal, is it? Who came up with the idea of a Girls’ Weekend anyway, Satan?
But there was shining beacon of hope (there’s that stupid word again), and that was Schat’s Bakkery. Now, from my understanding, the word shat is actually the past participle of the word shit, even though it doesn’t end in “ed”. Hmm, maybe it’s just past tense, not past participle because then the word would be shatted… or shitted, which I don’t think is a word. Some people think that the word shat isn’t really a word, but it’s used in Great Britain so it’s… oh who gives a shit!
or should I say, shat?! *snicker*
Anyway, this bakkery (their spelling, not mine) contains a plethora of sugar-inflected carbs, masses of doughy delights, giant bins of bread-ey goodness! They have rows upon rows of anything that has to do with bread or baking! Those crazy Dutch sure know how to bake, too, which is good because they aren’t good for much else. There was so much to choose from, it was difficult to decide what I wanted. Ultimately I got the pull-apart bread, which is a sweet treat chock-a-block with cinnamon (yuk, but it works here) and other goodies. The one I got is topped with caramel-ey brown sugar and nuts and butter and other yummy stuff, and the bread is segmented so you pull it apart to eat it, hence the name, which made it so much more fun than a weekend away with the goddamn crazy bit… anyway, it wasn’t too sweet either and was perfect with massive slatherings of butter (un-salted please).
We all ended up buying something different to so we got to try a few different things, which was great since it was difficult to choose just one or two, and I never pass up an opportunity to stuff my piehole with various sweets. Even the devil’s spawn gave me some of her orange pound cake to try and luckily, it didn’t taste bitter in the least!
So if you’re on a road trip with the girls and things get tense, sweeten things up a bit and go to Schat’s Bakkery, because right across the street is a place where you can get a can of pepper spray. You know, just in case.
763 N. Main Street