Possibility: GF Chocolate Brownie and Peanut Butter Mousse Cake

Brett, my husband, turned 40 last week.  There was a long period…maybe 4 or 5 months…where he was NOT handling it well.  He would grumble about the months passing too quickly and snarl “it’s just a number” and roll his eyes at his little brother’s attempt at “age humor.”  Especially when it threatened to included a collapsible cane and a subscription to AARP.  I thought he was overreacting.  And told him as much. 

But now that his birthday has passed…I’m starting to get a little nervous.  Because I realize…I’m right behind him.  Creeping along that well worn road of “unmistakable adult,” where I no longer get carded for a glass of wine and must set regular appointments with my stylist to cover the patches of gray hair that insist on reappearing each month. 

It boggles the mind, to consider the fact that our lives could very well be, half over.  And at the very least, the most exciting, full-of-possibility, pain-free half of our lives.  I say that, with a bit of humor...but I work in the aging church...where most of those I minister with, have long given up trying to cover their gray hair and wistfully remember the "good ol' days."  I hear litanies of pain and listen for laments of lost freedom and humdrum.  And even I want to shout to the new college freshman, "Don't forget this moment...it really is the best...everything is in front of you.  Every possibility.  Every turn and every fork in the road.  Every love and every loss.  Every exploration and every hesitation." 

But even as I type that...I know that it's a choice...it's a choice to decide that "possibility" is no longer in your vocabulary. 

So, rather than freak out or settle into a serious state of depression… I’ve started my own version of a bucket list...my Possibility List.  I’ve got things like “be an extra in a movie” and “spend the night in a tree house” and “take a pottery class” and "eat more (really) good chocolate" – you know, frivolous fun stuff!  But then I’ve got other, more intentional things, like “be a more active presence in the life of Alzheimer patients“ and “volunteer regularly at Hope Haven“ and “work to change the systems that keep people food-insecure.”  This list has already taken me out of my little, comfortable box that I live in…it's brought fear and the unknown back into my life.  In a good way.  And I like it. 

So here's to checking things off the Possibility List...starting with "eat more (good) chocolate" and Brett's birthday cake...





















What you'll need:

 

Gluten Free Brownies:

1/2 Cup unsalted butter, melted
1 1/4 Cup sugar
1 Tablespoon water
2 Eggs
1 Teaspoon vanilla
3/4 Cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 Cup white (or brown) rice flour
1/4 Teaspoon salt
 

Peanut Butter Mousse:

1 Cup heavy whipping cream, cold

10 Ounces cream cheese...or like, a package and a half, at room temperature

2/3 Cup powdered sugar

2/3 Cup creamy peanut butter (the stuff I used, had added sugar...so I cut back on the powdered sugar just a smidge) 

 

Chocolate Ganache:

4 ½ ounces semi-sweet chocolate, chopped finely

½ cup heavy whipping cream

What to do for the Gluten-free Brownies:
Preheat oven to 350*.  Combine butter and sugar in a large bowl mixer.  Add eggs, water, and vanilla, mixing well.  Add cocoa and incorporate well.  Add flour and salt, mixing until smooth and a little glossy.  Divide between two 8 inch round cake pans that have been buttered and lined with parchment.  Bake for 35-40 minutes.

What to do for the Peanut Butter Mousse (besides drool):
Whisk the whipped cream on high until stiff peaks form.  Set aside (I put mine in the fridge because it was so bloomin' hot in the house..."enjoying August" is not on my Possibility List). In a different bowl, gather cream cheese, peanut butter, and powered sugar together, whisking on medium speed, until fully incorporated and fluffy.  Add whipped cream and whisk on medium high until peanut butter mixture and whipped cream are fully incorporated and the texture is light and fluffy and tastes the way you think heaven might taste.

 

What to do for the Chocolate Ganache:

Break up your semi-sweet chocolate and put it in a small-ish bowl.  In a saucepan bring cream to a boil. Once the boil starts, pour over chocolate. Let sit for about a minute or until your patience runs out.  Whisk until mixture is smooth and glossy.

And then assemble.  Layer...or, if you don't care about presentation...just take a big spoon, scoop up a bit of brownie, a glob of mousse, and dip the tip into the ganache...and eat to your hearts content.

You'll note: There are Reeses Peanut Butter Cups on this concoction...they are Brett's favorite candy...but they completely ruined the flavor profile (Gaw...I'm fancy.  Or spending too much time watching the Food Network).  I would suggest leaving them off.  Or replacing them with chopped Snickers bars.  But that's only because those are my favorite. 

My Homies: Otherwise Known As Friends

I've been lucky enough to have some really great friends in my life.

In grade school, it was my friend Erin.  She was a military kid who lived just a few blocks and few right turns away from our apartment in Colorado Springs.  She loved stationary and Scottish Terriers and her mom made these Chocolate Chip Cookies that were round and puffy and tasted like ice cream (I know, weird, right?).  We were in Girl Scouts together and had pre-teen disdain for the same people and crushes on boys that were best friends themselves.  She hung out with me, even when I flew over my ten-speed bike handle bars and split my lip open, looking hideous and weird (especially when my Father drew a mustache on the bandaid that covered my stitches).  And the day we left Colorado Springs to move to Missouri...I cried real "loss" tears, probably for the first time. 

Then in Junior High, it was my friend Amy.  I was still considered the new kid and she had been separated from her friends when everyone split off to new schools, so we were sort of in the same boat.  In 7th Grade, we had every class together and our lockers were right next to each other.  She loved clothes (she had the BEST clothes) and cats and her mom always had Little Debbie Snack Cakes around the house.  We muddled through Junior High band together and had teenage disdain for the same people and crushes on boys that didn't know we were alive.  She hung out with me, even when I wasn't very pleasant to be around and consoled me, when I was grounded (which was pretty much throughout Junior High).  I never thought I'd find another friend like her.  She was phenomenal.  Still is, for that matter.  And together, we journeyed to High School.

In High School, we met Melissa and Monica (who happened to be twins) and for four years, we were giggling, note-passing, hair-teasing, boy crazy, inseparable friends.  And in college, I met Shane and Lesley and Mindy and Sarah.  Shane would give away these hugs that would change your whole outlook on life. And Lesley made me appreciate Texas a little more, with her Texas shaped pasta and Texas shaped heart.  Then together, Mindy and I figured out what it meant to turn into adults.  And I stood by Sarah as a bridesmaid and watched her marry the man she almost chickened out of dating. 

And then in Seminary, I met Melissa.  And my husband.  But Melissa was my roommate and my confidant and my theologian, long before Brett was my boyfriend.  We shared communion on our back porch and on Thursday's we ate brownies and ice cream while glued to ER and Friends.  I loved her dad as if he were my own and grew to appreciate coffee because of her influence. We cried when Bush Jr. was elected President of United States and decided to switch rooms at 2:00 in the morning during finals week, one semester.  She taught me to play Gin Rummy and how to think, holy.

Since then, friendships have been hard to come by.  New ones, anyway.  When you work in the church, there's a weird, fine line that you hesitate to cross.  Because when you make a choice to jump from that "professional/pastoral" relationship, into friendship, and that person tells you about their failing marriage or their porn addiction or their spiritual crises...it's hard to know which hat you're wearing.  Are you listening as their minister?  Or as their friend?  And many might say, "there shouldn't be a difference...".  But there is. There absolutely is.

So, it's nice to find a friend outside of the church...and I've been lucky enough to find a friend in Kristen.  In ten years, I think we've been within hugging distance...three times?  But when she writes, she speaks to my soul. She struggles and hopes and loves and prays and gives name to all those 'things,' in ways that inspire.  She makes a nice, deep black coffee using a french press when you visit her and has the most impeccable taste.  She likes frozen custard maybe as much as I do (though the jury's still out in the Andy's vs. Tedd Drewes saga), is a small business advocate (including mine!), and she stirs my creativity when I find myself dry.  And she's done all of that, through her blog, third story(ies).

Which... is up for an Apartment Therapy, Homie Award. 

So please, affirm friendships everywhere...check out her blog and vote for my homie...otherwise known as, my friend.

Part 2: Love Is Kind

The next year, Brett knew he had some making up to do – we were a good year and a half into our dating career together… so a hug and a slice of pepperoni was not going to cut it this time around.  To make everything easier, we had decided that we would make the gifts, right…because that always goes well. 

Which of course, lends itself nicely, to a Friends reference:

 

So anyway, at around 6:00 that evening, I show up at his door in my pj bottoms and a t-shirt, and knock slightly, on the door.  Knock, knock. No answer?  Knocking a little louder and still finding myself standing out in the cold, I opened the door slowly… as smoke came rolling around my ankles and down the front steps, sensing an escape rout.  

Adequately alarmed, I peaked inside to hear the sounds of pots and pans being thrown about, just as Brett walked around the corner, dressed dapperly in a pressed button down shirt, which was now splattered… with what I can only hope is marinara sauce… and I quickly see that this evening, is not going as planned. 

There was a fair amount of consoling and ramen noodles to be had, as together, we tidied up the kitchen, saying farewell to charred asparagus and dried up chicken.  And then… it was time for presents.

Now, I’m not ashamed to admit it… but one of my "Love Languages" (to borrow a popular phrase used in a marriage counseling book of the same title) is presents or gifts – giving and receiving presents makes me feel loved, valued and embraced.  There’s just something about the idea of someone taking the time and the energy and the resources to find that perfect “thing” that will make me laugh or smile or cry that really tugs at my heart… so when it was time for us to open the presents – homemade and heartfelt presents… I got pretty excited. 

For Brett, I had put together a scrapbook of our time together, including pictures from every outing we’d had together, all our friends, places that were important to us as a couple….I had worked for weeks on this scrapbook and was thrilled with the finished product.  And more importantly, he was thrilled.  He oood and awwwd the appropriate amount…flipped through each page…commented, exclaimed, and said "thank you."

And then he handed me my present. 

It’s one of those things, that a decade years later, I really wish I had kept, just so I could show it to you today…so you too, might be able to soak it all in.  But basically, as I sat there in the middle of a smoke filled apartment, I unfolded a marinara spattered piece of posterboard with a picture of Brett’s face in the middle – a picture he had taken at Walgreens earlier that day --  and “I love you” scrawled on the bottom in red Sharpie.









Aaaaaaaaaaand, with that...sweet old Cupid was officially banned from our calendars. 

Paul says "love is kind."  And I think that's true. Love laughs as billows of smoke signal a ruined dinner while it acknowledges the sentiment behind the charred chicken.  Love wipes down marinara spattered walls while the other is in the shower, just so you won't be reminded of a "failure."  Love says that years later, you'll still remember that poster board and jab the other in the ribs and playfully roll your eyes, but still recall it with a smile. 

Love is kind.  At least it has been for me.  

There's probably a part 3...so check back soon!

Part One: Love Is Patient

Valentine’s Day is a mere two weeks away, and if you hang out long enough in the card section of WalMart, you can see the panic starting to set in.  Actual beads of sweat line the foreheads of lanky teenage boys and rosy cheeked girls, stand wide eyed with their hands full of sentimental options.   I just can’t muster up too much excitement about Valentine’s day anymore.  It lost its appeal somewhere along the journey.  The commercialization, the frenzy, the sub-par floral arrangements.  It no longer says “love” to me. 

But it hasn’t always been that way.

That first Valentine’s Day when my husband and I were dating...well, I figured Cupid had landed on our doorstep and it would be rude to deny sweet ol’, adorable Cupid all the chocolates and candy hearts and presents wrapped in red wrapping paper, that he deserved.  So Cupid and I set off for the mall. 

In my shopping bag went Brett’s Favorite Chocolate Covered Peanut Butter hearts, a beautifully written card that spoke of my unending and committed love, a small stuffed teddy bear holding a puffy heart that read “life is only bearable when you’re around”… and the crowning glory… a deal-of-the-century, end of winter sales, black leather coat.  If they gave out awards for Girl Friend of the Year, I would surely be snagging one this year, I thought.

The big day arrived and Brett invited me to come over to his place at 6:00.  Knowing few details….assuming it was all a big surprise…I dressed in my finest and headed over to his apartment… I knocked and he greeted me promptly, at the door. 

Taken aback to find him dressed in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, I ignored it and figured he simply hadn’t yet donned the appropriate attire for our big night out on the town. 

Excited about sharing presents, we settled into the living room couch to open the Valentine loot.  First I handed over the card.  Then the Teddy Bear. Those chocolate hearts!  And then… that coat. That beautiful, handsome coat. 

To which, he briefly oood and awwwed, said "thank you"…and setting the coat aside, turned on the television while simultaneously uttering the words, “pizza should be here any minute.”

The Bible says that "love is patient." I'd say that's not entirely true. 

I figure love is challenging and expectant, hurried and all dressed up even when it's just pizza night.  I think love is found in the harried brush of anothers lips as you head out the door and the fleeting grasp of a tiny hand, that soon will leave her parents behind.  And love is demanding because it trusts the other enough to be so.  But patient?  I don't know.  

Stay tuned for part two, of this sordid love story...

Bird Lovin' and Other Things That Scream Spring

Bird lovin' is in the air. Just outside my window. At 4:30 in the morning.

We have a Boy and a Girl Cardinal in our back yard... and they MUST get together. Seriously, I'm about to set up a Match.com profile for one of them, just to get the ball rolling. Boy Cardinal screams and squawks and flutters around like she's the last Girl Cardinal on the planet. And the Girl Cardinal coyly twitters and giggles in the bows of the overgrown willow tree in our back yard. Flipping her tail feathers, batting her eyelashes, and playing hard to get. I swear... she's been reading too many teenage romance novels.

And Boy Cardinal is chatty. I mean, REALLY freakin' chatty. All day long... starting at the crack of dawn and quiting sometime after the sun goes down. And I'm about to go insane. Think Cathy Bates in Misery, insane. I'm plotting things in my head, that no good human being should be plotting. In might involve BBguns or major explosives... I haven't decided yet. It really just depends on what's legal.

Lack of sleep, has made me a very cranky girl.

But all that's to say, with Spring most certainly in the air... and one more pumpkin recipe to go... I needed a new project (that didn't include the demise of woodland creatures). And so I've started our garden. And I "may" have gone a little overboard. But I have it in my head, that I'm going to CAN this year!

*Hey, wipe that smirk off your face!*

We've been nurturing the compost for a full year now... and have planted every bloomin' seed in northern Missouri... so we feel really equipped. Despite the fact that we can't agree where the garden should go. Or that we lack the tools of harvest. Or canning. Or that, come July, I will despise every livin' minute out in the heat. But otherwise, we're good to go.

I've named that one on the left, Hope... and the one on the right, Promise. Brett has named them Ha, and Ha. We'll see if he gets to eat any of my canned Squash Butter, on those long winter nights...

So, here's to minor strains of botulism and a new lease on my blogging-life.

And in the biggest stretch ever, to relate a recipe to what I've just blogged about... here are Compost Cookies! Now that Christmas, New Years, Earth Day, and Easter are all over with... it's a great way to get rid of all the leftovers. And now that Brett's triglycerides are twice what they should be... it's a good way to get all the junk out of our house.

Here's what you'll need:

1 Cup butter

1 Cup sugar

3/4 Cup light brown sugar

1 Tablespoon corn syrup

1 Teaspoon vanilla

2 Eggs

1 3/4 Cup all purpose flour

2 Teaspoons baking powder

1 Teaspoon baking soda

1 1/2 Cups baking leftovers (I used white chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, toffee pieces, and bittersweet chocolate. I wish I had put some coconut in them.)

1 1/2 Cups snack foods (I used pretzels, almonds, and whoppers. David Lebovitz suggests using potato chips. Your call.)

Cream the sugars and butter together for about 3 minutes. Add the vanilla and eggs, and no joke, cream those guys for 10 minutes. I literally ran an errand while they were creaming. Add the flour, soda and powder and just barely incorporate. Fold in all the goodies.

Refrigerate the whole mess for at least 1 hour (and up to, a week). Preheat oven to 400*. Ball and bake for 7-10 minutes. Cool completely on the pan, before removing them.

They were okay... they're flat, chewy little things, with lots of stuff. I don't really ask for much, when it comes to my cookies... sugar cookies with a little icing are money for me... so these were a little over the top. I'd give them a B. Good enough to give to someone you're trying to impress, but maybe not so good, that there'll be any expectations later.

May you find love this beautiful Spring day... just please... don't do it outside my bedroom window.