Yesterday I was sailing along. I’d finished a whole slew of to-do’s, baked so much that my oven begged for mercy, read the news (and not just People.com), and successfully choreographed a dance to Katy Perry’s “California Gurls.” I even cleaned my computer screen. Things were going swell.
To spend some time in the sunshine, Daniel and I hopped in the car and headed towards the waterfront for a leisurely stroll through Pike Place Market. For me to browse and consider doling out $5 for yet another jar of homemade jam that I simply cannot live without. En route to said market, I was in a car accident. Nothing hurt or bruised or broken, except for my ego and spirit.
Even the most minor of fender bending is emotionally catastrophic. Getting out of the car, I instantly forgot my name, where I keep my driver’s license, and what exactly car registration is. Blurry from the bang up. But, after information was exchanged, numbers tossed about, and a few sad-eyed “well, thankfully we’re all okay,” we nixed the waterfront walk and headed home, bumper in the backseat.
Daniel soothed me. I said to him, eyes on the brink of spilling over with tears, “I just feel like I’m not good at anything.” His reassurance?
“Of course you are. Think about how good you are at forming fake eyeglasses with your hands when you’re bored. Or how good you can read with only one eye open. And what about how good you are at watching videos of kittens on YouTube?”
Thanks for that.
Within thirty minutes, I was able to put it into perspective and collect myself. And by collect myself I mean make an ice cream sandwich. Less because I like ice cream sandwiches, and more because biting into the cold, gummy fudge wafer filled with vanilla bean ice cream makes me feel age ten again. Peeling open the cardboard Hood box and unwrapping the fork poked chocolate bar. Something beautiful and comforting about that slightly over the top vanilla flavor, something cheap about the taste makes me feel nostalgic and safe. The way the fudgy chocolate crumbs stick, melted to your fingerprints.
I like to think that I have high standards when it comes to food. Quality counts. But when we’re speaking of ice cream sandwiches, don’t get fancy with me. I’ve played around with extravagant combinations- molasses cookies filled with maple pecan ice cream, oatmeal raisin cookies stuffed with salty caramel cream. But what I come back to is the classic. Chocolate meets vanilla.
These 5″ rectangles aren’t quite Hood. In fact, I’ve quadrupled the chocolate factor. The base is, get this, black bean brownies. I’d heard a &%$# load of people praise the merits of adding black beans to brownies. “You won’t even taste it!” I couldn’t believe them until I tried them myself. And guess what? You can’t even taste them. This is a recipe I made for Foodista yesterday morning. After reading a few different variations and fiddling around with ingredients, I pieced together a pan of fudge brownies that are dense, fudge-like, and moist. Not your traditional brownie in any way. They have almost no cakey-ness. And they’re thinner than most. In fact, they don’t rise much at all. But they’re light, pleasantly chocolatey, and that’s all that counts. You really can’t beat that feeling of accomplishment when you’ve successfully turned butter and sugar nutritious. Delectable on their own, even better when sandwiched with ice cream. But isn’t everything.
Here is a link to the recipe: Black Bean Brownies. To nix their virtuous and healthy appeal, make them into ice cream sandwiches like I did. Don’t have a car accident first, though.
I first cut a 5″ by 2″ rectangle out of the cooked pan of brownies, then sliced that in half width-wise to make two thin 5″x2″ rectangles. I plopped ice cream on top of one rectangle, covered and smooshed down with the second rectangle, wrapped her in plastic and set her in the freezer for 30 minutes. Then I just took a sharp knife and sliced off the edges to reveal a clean block-like look. Wipe down the blade of the knife in between slicing.