In my house, making brownies means war. I’m not talking about a knock-down-drag-out-fight type war, but its war nonetheless.
Let me explain and I’ll start from the beginning.
Newly married, I knew one of my hubby’s favorite desserts was brownies, so I decided to make them for him one night after dinner. He was in the living room taking care of the baby and I was in the kitchen cleaning up the mess leftover from dinner. Knowing brownies from a box are a quick make, I turned on the oven and proceeded to mix the ingredients together.
Once done, I turned on the timer and went into the living room with the spoon for my hubby to enjoy. I didn’t think anything about leaving my oven unguarded.
I didn’t think I needed to keep an eye on it, or its contents.
Oh how wrong I was.
When the oven timer beeped, I made my way into the kitchen to pull out my surprise only to have the surprise turned on me.
You see, there in the middle of the pan of warm chocolaty love, was a huge divot. Quite literally a crater. As if, somehow, a plug had been temporarily pulled on the pan while the brownies were baking.
All I could do was stand there. Gaping at my now misshapen dessert.
While I was busy trying to understand what had happened, my hubby came in behind me. With a wide grin he asked if they were finally done. As I looked at him, I noticed he had chocolate on the corners of his mouth.
Squealing, I threw my oven mitts at him as I demanded to know what had happened to the brownies.
Shaking his head at me as if he couldn’t understand why I was even asking he plainly stated, “Since you didn’t leave me the bowl, I had to take it from the pan.”
I don’t know about you, but when I bake, everything from the bowl goes into the baking pan. I don’t leave anything behind. I scrape the bowl darn near clean of batter before dropping it into the sink. I had always assumed that my offering of the batter-laden spoon was enough.
Apparently, I was wrong.
And so started the Brownie Wars.
Now, when I make the yummy dessert, I have to take precautions to make sure most of the batter makes its way into the oven. I’m still of the mind that all the batter makes its way into the oven. Because of this, I have to either guard the oven for half an hour, or make them while he’s at work.
His stance? He says he’s like an angry volcano and needs a heaping spoon of sacrificial batter to appease his taste buds.
I think he’s just a mischievous two year old wanting to eat raw dessert batter.
reblogged from Indie Chicks Cafe