I have veered far from the original purpose of this blog: to share my love of chocolate far and wide. This doesn’t mean that I haven’t eaten 3/4ths of the huge jar of Nutella my friend T ‘accidentally’ left in my bag. It also doesn’t mean that my commitment to chocolate has wavered. It is a love I don’t question.
That said… more cocoa (and perhaps the errant but not commitment-defining crabcake recipe) coming soon…
Rufus Wainwright sang at my college during my senior year, in an old basketball gym he called ‘very Carrie.’ Among his list of needs and necessities in his contract, he requested ‘homemade brownies.’
Homemade brownies.
Guess who was recruited to make them?
The morning after my birthday, I woke to the sound of dresser drawers being repeatedly opened and closed. My downstairs neighbors have odd habits. I covered my head with a pillow, thus amplifying the sound. After twenty minutes drifting in and out of irritation, I finally got up and left my bedroom to find my friend/ overnight guest/ interior design graduate student, Kara, quietly thumping one end of a couch back onto the floor. One couch had been bounced across the room, our coffee table had a new home, and all the cushions had been rearranged. She looked gleeful, apologetic, manic.
‘I got up early,’ she explained.
I walked past her and into the kitchen, where I broke off one, two, squares of chocolate, and stood in the pantry for a minute or so.
Then I walked back.
‘Okay. Show me what you did.’
