Brownie Juggling and Peppermint Seizures

Or "Ms. Knitingale's Adventures in Holiday Baking"

Turns out that dark chocolate truffle does not, in fact, substitute for floor wax. Who knew? Actually, it doesn’t really do all that much for the refrigerator shelves, the front of the vegetable drawer, or the vent at the front of the fridge, either. But you can’t say I’m not a creative cook.

It started with the truffle brownies. Y’all remember my brownie recipe that I put up at the very beginning of this adventure in blogdom. You stir ‘em up in a bowl and you spread ‘em in a pan…..you remember. For the truffle version, you put a layer of chocolate truffle on top instead of the caramel (or with the caramel if you have a burning desire to experience coronary angioplasty at a young age), you chill it, you add a layer of white chocolate on top of that. (Yes, it’s quite sinful. Evil is not too strong a word to describe these. In truth, I don’t even bother to eat them. I just tape them directly to my ass because that’s where they’re going anyway.) So last night, I baked the brownie layer. Then I made the truffle layer (melt a half a stick of butter in 2/3 cup cream, once it’s hot take it off the heat and stir in a 12 ounce bag of chocolate chips until melted and thick; add a splash of vanilla) and spread that on the brownies. Then I went and sat down to knit on the noro (which is, as it turns out, quite selfish with my attention and will not tolerate my paying attention to any other projects. The shawl has been whining, but the noro is a harsh mistress and will not yield).

An hour or so later, I went back into the kitchen and melted down 12 ounces of white chocolate with a little butter to keep it slightly soft. I stirred it briskly and then opened the fridge and pulled out the brownies w/truffle. And flipped it over completely. COMPLETELY. It flipped away from me, swiping thick, chocolate truffle all down the inside of the fridge, into the vent, and finally splatting face down on the hardwood floor (because, of course, it would have been too much to ask that I might drop it directly down and break a few but leave some intact and not paint 40% of the kitchen with it. The kitchen gods would consider that to be hubris.) It was like an action movie where the car suddenly careens off the cliff in slow motion, and you watch transfixed but unable to do a thing to stop it. Yeah, it was like that. Only with uncensored swear words.

Since that went so swimmingly well (if swimming in truffle counts), I decided to try a different variation on a theme today: peppermint brownies. For this, I was flying by the seat of my pants (easy to do since I didn’t have any brownies taped there). I’d never tried this before, but I had an idea. Once again, a brownie base. Once it cooled, a layer of cream cheese/peppermint goodness, made with crushed candy canes and powdered sugar and a splash of milk. Oh, and a single drop of red food coloring so as to make the palest of pale pink. I’m back in the game. (Regardless of what I told my grandma as a child, it really is pride that goes before a fall, and not summer. She wasn’t amused by my variation, as I recall and the kitchen gods weren't, either.) I spread the cream cheese stuff on the baked brownies and set them in the refrigerator to chill. Mindful of the similarities to the Truffle Brownie Disaster of 06, I used two hands to very slowly remove the chilled pan and set them on the counter. Then I melted down several ounces of good quality chocolate for the very top. And then learned once and for all that when the experts tell you that the tiniest amount of water in your melted chocolate will cause it to seize, they’re serious. (One of my favorite quotes from a foreign movie is “serious as a kick in the…..” well, you get the picture. They’re that serious.) So I stirred around the mess and swore again (I really do use language that isn’t profane from time to time…although I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it.). Mr. K wanted to know what was wrong and I told him, grumpily, “I didn’t dry the bowl well enough and my chocolate seized.” To which he replied, a bit dazedly, “Your chocolate... had a seizure?” Which is why these new creations, now finally repaired and more or less presentable, have been christened “Peppermint Seizures”. What else could they be, really?



They don’t taste half bad, either.

I wanted to thank all of you kind souls out there for your diligent efforts to replace my lost bejeebers. I have finals this week, and I’m pretty sure I’ll need some bejeebers to be scared out of when I see the 100-question test in Anatomy and Physiology. I guess Walmart is fresh out of them, but I feel certain that someone has some. Maybe e-bay. Heck, you can buy ANYTHING on e-bay.

Someone who apparently has all her bejeebers intact and in hand is this little lady:

This photo was taken through the living room window and Mr. K kept knocking quite loudly in an effort to get her to look up so you could see her very sweet face. No dice. She’s even closer than she appears and she cared not one whit about the racket. Apparently she knows we’re no threat to her OR her bejeebers. But isn’t she lovely?

Oh, and a word to Faren: I told Mr. K about the propane torch and the pretzels (check her comment on my last entry if you haven’t—but make sure you’re not drinking pepsi when you do it. Pepsi burns when you snort it up your nose.). I predicted that he would wonder why that was funny, but he did me one better by grinning hugely and saying “Hey, I want to try that!” (If I had a bejeeber left, it would be running from the house with its tail between it’s legs going “yipe, yipe, yipe, yipe!”) He also said something about using the belt sander to peel potatoes, and the power drill to stir cake batter. Faren, I’m blaming your hubby for this one.

Lastly, a perfectly dreadful photo of me (I swear my face isn’t quite this huge in person) wearing a sweater that I did not make, but which has more or less the sort of neckline I think I want for the noro (a tad bit higher, perhaps, in order to minimize the free-range boobage). What think you?