Wanted: Type A personal assistant. Job duties will include: reminding me what day it is, reminding me how many days I have left to write a cookbook, eating pancakes, and listening to me talk to myself as I grocery shop.
Wanted: Dude dishwasher.
Wanted: Courage… to get back on my bike again.
Wanted: A sunny winter and a kitten for Christmas.
Wanted: Cakey doughnuts with none of the fuss and all of the glaze.
That one’s just too easy. Done and done.
Maybe I should just start a blog about peanut butter and chocolate.
That seems to be most of what goes on around here, right?
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I went to a meeting yesterday…
I went to one of those fancy LA-type meetings. Think: television executives, fancy open office, exposed brick walls, Apple computers, too cool for school/ultra hip staff… and me in last year’s twelve dollar Target sandals. Um…..
It was intimidating. I sat up straight and hid my shoes.
Know what we talked about? Chocolate and Peanut Butter. Seriously…. it really broke the ice.
And then one of the executives said I looked like a flight attendant. That’s a compliment, right?
Peanut butter and chocolate. The great equalizers.
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So… you know that part in Scent of a Woman… yes, hello, 1992…. when blind Al Pacino sniffs out pretty ladies… literally… and somehow worms his way into their good graces? Have you seen Scent of a Woman staring Al Pacino and Chris O’Donnell? Of course you have.
If blind Al Pacino were to sniff me out, I’m pretty sure I’d smell like these brownies. This fact is both troubling and awesome. Now I kinda want to reinact the tango scene.
To quell your puzzled looks, let me answer a few questions. Yes… I just watched Scent of a Woman. Yes… it was amazing. Yes… I questioned my sanity.
I’m going to keep this short. I have to go watch Curly Sue and learn a few card tricks.
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This dessert is not healthy. It’s not subtle. It’s not revolutionary. It hurts.
Chocolate and peanut butter piled on top of peanut butter and chocolate. There’s sugar too… and it hurts.
These cupcakes hurt your diet. They hurt your teeth. They destroy your morning workout. They’re bad for puppies. They upset kittens. Big-eyed baby cows are pretty pissed about these things.
They’re mean. They’ll punch you in the shin and say awful things about your hair.
You should probably stay away from these cupcakes. Sure… they’re the most delicious cupcakes eeeevvvveeeerrrrr… but they’re also dirty rotten scoundrels. Sorry.
Sometimes I turn chocolate into cookies.
Sometimes I turn chocolate into cake.
Once I turned chocolate into sorbet.
I usually sleep with a chocolate bar on my nightstand. You probably think I’m kidding. I’m not. It’s strangely comforting.
Chocolate bread? Ok… that seems like a good call.
Chocolate for breakfast? Duh.
But my all time favorite way to work some chocolate into my system is with a simple brownie. Dense. Fudgy. Unadulterated chocolate magic.
A few years back I was in my early twenties. I remember laughing… a lot. Everything was funny.
A handful of years ago I was in my mid twenties. That’s when I discovered what a pain in the butt tax time was when I could no longer claim myself as a college student.
These days I’m in my late twenties. I’m not complaining. No siree. I know how treacherous tax time is and I still find myself laughing my fool head of… often. Strangely… I still find it difficult to think of myself as an adult. The thought of adulthood is daunting, even here in late twentyville.
With this in mind, I’ve decided that I’ll be fully comfortable with adulthood when, and only when I:
-learn how to fold a fitted sheet.
-don’t run screaming at the sight of a spider or anything with wings and dangling legs.
and…
-can figure out how not to sit in gum while wearing my favorite jeans…. or at least figure out how to get the dang gum out.
While I figure out this adulthood madness, please enjoy some macaroons. I dipped them in chocolate. Kosher chocolate. I’m hardcore like that.
Hi darling. Hey sugarbear. What’s shakin’ sweetums? Lookin’ good sweetpea. Hey loverboy! Oooh darlin’.
I’m practicing my terms of endearment. Yea… I want to sound natural when the time comes to use them.
Can I practice on you? How does this sound?
Hey loverbear, will you come on in here and help me with these dishes?
Darlin’, will you hold the oven door open for me?
How about…
Sweetpea, stay away from those cookies. You know we have company coming.
My favorite…
Sweetums, I made you cupcakes… cause I love you like crazy.
How am I doing so far? I’m a little stiff aren’t I? I’ll keep working on it.
Jump on over. I have a lot to tell you!
Let’s just go ahead and let the Hot Fudge Sundae Cupcakes do the talking…
Yes. I am thoroughly satisfied with myself.
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It would seem that you can throw just about anything into an 8×4-inch loaf pan and have some sweet smellin’ magic come out of your kitchen after an hour or so. What’s more, pulling a beautifully risen quick bread out of the oven is sure to make you feel like your a prime-time, super legit baker.
Here’s a peek at my favorite quick bread recipes.
Oh! Happy Wednesday to you. Also… you look pretty today. I like what you did with your hair.
Low Fat Oatmeal Banana Bread. Still moist. Still all sorts of delicious. I even counted the Weight Watchers points on this one. Whaaaat!? Yea. That happened.
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I’m putting on an orange leotard tomorrow. An orange leotard.
I’m also putting on bright blue leggings tomorrow.. and white leg warmers… and sweat bands.
I’m going to encourage the big, puffy, curly hair that I spend most days trying to tame. Yes, there will be blue eye shadow.
I’m going to step out in the world tomorrow as an 80′s aerobics instructor. The only little hitch? That I actually have to step out of the house in a skin tight orange leotard and skin tight blue leggings. Oooh lordy. Whose idea was it to take the Halloween celebration beyond my solo living room dance parties? Yeeps!
Ironically, the only thing making me feel better about my very bright and very tight 80′s debut are these S’mores Icebox Candy Bars. There are fifteen in a batch and I’ve worked through four just writing this post. Send help. Orange leotard, people…. send help.
Have I introduced you to my little sister Lauren?
Lauren… this is everyone.
Everyone… this is Lauren.
Lauren and I grew up in the kitchen together. We made brownies, we burnt cookies, we frosted crooked cakes, and we could plow through a box of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch in 10 minutes flat. We were always in the kitchen either creating or consuming. True.
Things aren’t all that different for me and Lauren these days. We spend a lot of time baking up treats, talking about Paula Dean, and arguing about which awkward teenage phase was worse: my Blossom Hat Phase or her Sweatpants and Vest Wearing Phase. Just typing those out… they each seem like equal tragedies. Thank heavens we’ve moved past that.
I’m introducing you to my sister because these two things are true:
1. If Lauren were not in the world, I would surely be unable to breathe… that’s how much I love this girl.
2. I shoved my camera in Lauren’s hands last week, told her to bake something and take pictures of it. In her unending brilliance, she returned to me a camera full of pictures (including the self portrait below) and six of these cookies. Holy heck! A food blogger could get used to this kind of treatment. For real.
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Dear My Bank,
We’ve known each other for a long time. You know how I deposit my humble paychecks every so often, how I rarely use the ATM, and how I hate to use my debit card at the gas station. I know that you like to decorate with bullet-proof glass… guns, I get it… have pens that don’t always work, and always want me to sign up for your credit card. As much as I hate to admit it, we sort of have a thing going.
Let’s be honest Bank. We’re not friends. We don’t even really like each other very much. I know that you have rules. You know… if you’re being honest with yourself, that I do my very best to follow your rules. And I do… Bank…..! Unless, I suppose, I just forget to add one payment to my balance books, leading me to believe I have several hundred dollars in you, Bank… instead of less than zero.
Here’s my beef with you… Bank! Jerky bank. When you penalize me several times in a row for spending money that I thought I had, well… that doesn’t get me any closer to having the money that you’d like to take. How on Earth did you determine that $33 was an acceptable overdraft charge? Why are you allowed to take money that I don’t have? You know what I think? I think you’re taking advantage of my mistake. You know me, Bank. You know that I don’t like to spend money I don’t have… and when I do… accidentally… you use that as an opportunity to take advantage of me.
That’s reeeeeaal crappy.
Nobody likes you. I’ve done the research. It’s true.
Nobody will ever… not even once… make you cookies just because you’re nice. Why? Because you’re not nice.
Now you know.
Love,
Joy
Ok… first of all, stop looking at me like that.
Yea, I can see that crazy look on your face. But it’s me. The same person that brought you amazing Cream Cheese Cinnamon Rolls and Perfect Lemon Pound Cake. We trust each other. We have an understanding. Just go with me on this.
Something about hot summer weather gets me to thinking (or melts my brain) and brings some strange recipes to the surface. Remember last year’s Blueberry Ice Cream with Homemade Hot Fudge? Yea… I got a few strange looks for that too.
Because I still see those raised eyebrows on your face, let me tell you a little about this beast of a cake. Believe me, I was super skeptical too.
The vegan chocolate cake is dense and moist, and everything you might want from a chocolate cake minus the eggs and butter. The fat in the cake is almond oil (or anything you have on hand) and one whole mashed avocado. It’s lovely, and I didn’t taste a lick of avocado in the cake.
The avocado buttercream is a dash more strange. Yes, it’s bright green. Yes, the only fat in the buttercream is avocado meat. It’s sweet with slight hints of citrus. I had my doubts, but when combined with the chocolate cake… holy wow! It actually worked! It was honest-to-goodness delicious! Not to mention vegan and full of healthy fats!
Your thoughts? Have I scared you off?
Dear Girl (that sat next to me on the plane last night),
Hi. How are you? This is just a quick note to let you know that you sat on my glasses. I know that you know that you sat on my glasses. You did, after all, hand them back to me crazy mangled. I trust that you know what shape glasses generally assume.
I understand that there are two active parties in this tragedy. There’s the person that accidentally left her glasses in the middle seat next to her while she properly stowed her purse under the seat in from of her…. that’s me. There’s also the person that was in such a hurry to get into that second row middle seat, that didn’t let the girl with the glasses on the aisle properly acclimate before barging in… that’s you. So, you sat on my glasses.
My favorite part about you sitting on my glasses, was how you showed exactly zero remorse for the damage you caused. That was awesome. Hey… remember that part when I was very obviously trying to bend them back in shape in front of you? Yea… that was pretty fun too. That was me being passive aggressive. I bet that was your favorite part.
Oh well, they’re just glasses, right? Next time, I’ll watch where I put my glasses if you watch where you put your body. Deal?
Sincerely,
Joy
And now… dark chocolate cookies. Let’s do this.
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Before I made this cake on Sunday afternoon, I sat down with a nice, tall root beer float. Sure, it was 10:30 in the morning. I suppose that technically that means I had a root beer float for breakfast. That’s one of the great thing about being an adult, you can have a float for breakfast with no resistance.
Something about a root beet float puts me on a conveyor belt back to some really random childhood memories. The taste, the bubbles, the increasingly creamy soda… it take me back to constantly skinned knees, playing in a beat-up old red wagon with my sister, and sitting in front of an old black and white television watching baseball with my grandfather. Funny what a little ice cream and soda can do in your brain, right?
But cake!? Root Beet Float Cake? I have so many questions. Will it have the same memory inducing effects as the real deal? Is that asking too much? Wait, is this cake chocolate or root beer? Can I eat it for breakfast? Will it change my life for the better?
Answers and cake, just a click away.
I was notorious in my family for being the child that could only be comforted by my mother.
Most playful family weekends, the scene went something like this: I’d be in the backyard playing with my little sister, my dad and Scamper, the family dog on our creaky, rusted and awesomely fun swing set. My favorite move was to swing as high as I could, count to three with my sister and jump out of the swings onto the grass. Sounds innocent enough, but I was always getting my little girl fingers stuck in the chains of the swing as I dismounted.
I’d hit the ground and look at my dad with the silent cry face… the face kids give their parents before the completely lose it and burst into tears. My dad would invariable come over and try to talk me out of losing it, but I was already halfway into the ugly cry by then. It was then that no one but my mom could handle the cajoling and kissing of my finger. I’d run into the house, screaming like a maniac and clutching my (not even bleeding) finger, looking for my mother who had found just a few moments peace to take a shower or a short nap. I’d force myself into her lap, lift the offending, pained finger, and wait for the mom comfort to blanket me. So good.
Come to think of it, that swing set caused as many injuries as it did smiles.
Come to think of it, jumping off the swing set is always worth the hurt finger.
Come to think of it, this pudding has much the same healing qualities as my mom’s lap.
Everyone has their own way of enjoying toasted marshmallows. It’s very much a personal thing… this I understand.
I like my roasted, toasted marshmallows extra crispy… extra well done. I want that sucker on the end of the misshapen close hanger, stuck right into the depths of the fire. I want it to come out flaming. That’s right, I’m a marshmallow torch girl.
Apparently, the marshmallow torch is not how you make friends at all-girl sleep away camp. I would always get groans of disapproval from the girls that were trying to keep their precious marshmallows just far enough away from the orange coals to perfectly toast them. Maybe they were less than thrilled with my marshmallow torch because I usually managed to set at least one of their darling marshmallows on fire just out of sheer proximity. I considered it a favor. Them..? Not so much.
But these brownies aren’t really about my summer camp misadventures, are they? These S’mores Brownies are more about fudgy, dense chocolate that bakes up with graham cracker bits and toasted marshmallows. Toasted, not torched.
Pie takes time. Pie requires attentions. Pie demands love and care. Pie, even for an everyday baker like me, is a lost art.
I needed a good, old fashioned, pie contest to help me slow down, take a breath, and dream up the most delicious pie I could.
The most delicious thing I could dream up was this: bananas, homemade peanut butter, chocolate, graham crackers, butter, whipped cream, and as much sugar as I could reasonably pack into a single pie dish…. and some chocolate shavings for good measure.
The result: one mad Peanut Butter Banana Cream Pie. The contest: inspired by Whitney and several bottles of wine. The contestants: as serious about pie as they are about being incredibly fashionable and audaciously cool. The competition: stiff. The winner: one devastating, delicious and perfectly tart Key Lime Pie.
How are you going to share the love the Valentine’s Day? How do you share the love every other day of the year?
At the restaurant, this Saturday night’s reservations are already fully booked. We’re going to be packed to the gills with love birds. We’ve got people calling trying to pull the VIP card. What’s that? Oh.. you happen to think you and the chef are bffs this week and you’d like a table for two at 8? Tough luck. Really…
But Friday night…? Not a soul.
What a day Valentine’s Day is… so ripe with expectations, how can you satisfy?
I remove myself from the whole game. There are so many other gorgeous days of my life that I prefer to share love with the world around me. How do I do it? It usually involves butter, brown sugar and cocoa powder, but that’s just my style.
Sometimes love is as simple as sending someone a goofy postcard. As deliberate as looking someone in the eye and smiling as you pass on the street. As tiring as staying up extra late to make your Mom a birthday cake. We share more love than we might realize. Everyday, in the little things. Let’s remember that this week. Let’s remember that always. It’s those little touches that make this life seem loads brighter.
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