What's the most logical thing to do at 9 PM on a Thursday night when both you and your wife are crazy-hungry? Make brownies, of course.
That's jsut what I planned on doing as I tore through those cupboards that are too high up to reach from the floor. You know the ones. Hanging precariously from the ceiling above the refrigerator. Perfect for squirreling stuff away that you rarely need and often times forget even existed. I call those cupboards the baking cupboards. They're usually full of a random selection of cake mixes I snatch up with coupons and boxes of brownie mix I find on clearance at Target. This was a surefire thing. Brownies had to exist here.
Except that they didn't. The brownie mix had vanished. Likely mixes into actual brownies, baked, consumed, pooped out and flushed away. I would have to improvise.
That's when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Betty Crocker Cooky Book stuffed beside the microwave. Surely I could find some sort of recipe that would tide us over in here.
Bam. Homemade brownies. Sure, my old lady has her own tried and true recipe for homemade brownies from her mom but I'm always up for trying something new. That is, after all, why we have a sex swing. So I dirtied up a corner of the kitchen melting margarine and chocolate chips and stirring the batter together.
35 minutes later, after some cooling time, we had brownies that were the perfect consistency, sweet and chocolatey. I'm still alive today which means that the eggs were fully cooked and free of salmonella and if I can stay awake through the day on the 5 1/2 hours of sleep I got I'll be having a couple more brownies later today.
Hooray for brownies. Now where's my damn chef hat?
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