After the last red paper cup had been thrown away and the last crisp swept up, my attention turned to my family celebrations. Grandma was throwing a big family party and I had promised to provide what would be one of many desserts. I picked the ultimate indulgent treat: the king of over-eating and the master of buckling belts, the humble yet mighty chocolate brownie.
I love making brownies. Anything with that amount of chocolate cannot possibly go wrong, and the slightly crisp outside with the gooey centre takes this important credential and produces the chocoholic’s dream. I have a failsafe recipe for brownies; it involves melting dangerous amounts of chocolate and mixing in chunks of chocolate, so you know it means serious business. True to form, it did not let me down, and everyone stuffed themselves full of deliciousness. The problem was that this was before dessert. Sitting beside two birthday cakes, the cakes were chosen only by my very loyal boyfriend and my cousin’s new boyfriend, Richard, who earned some serious brownie points, not only for eating my cakes but by coping very well when faced with my family dressed in accordance with the theme ‘What I want to be when I grow up’.
While it is safe to say that the brownies did not tempt everyone to test the belts on their fancy dress, they did not go unwanted; when the last streamer from the party canons had been cleared away and the last crumb wiped from the table, I could think of no better way to relieve the bitter realisation of a year-long wait for my next birthday than by returning to the best baked friend a girl could have, the faithful chocolate brownie.
No comments:
Post a Comment