Bad Baker

At around 11 pm
after a dinner of grilled cheese
I set upon my freshly cleaned kitchen
to make brownies for myself and my sleepy lover.
"Babe, do you want to hang out with me while I make these?"
"Nah, I'm settled" - meaning on the couch in the other room.

I grease a pan with butter.
I preheat the oven to 350.
The recipe begins with baking chocolate.
I don't have any.
Fine. I am an intrepid baker.
I will use a recipe with baking cocoa.

The recipe begins with melted butter and sugar.
I don't have any sugar either. Just a bit of honey,
a big of mini marshmallows, a box of powdered sugar
and the specialty maple syrup in a maple leaf bottle
that my sleepy lover got me for Christmas.
I decide on the powdered sugar, which whips with the melted butter
into a light, snowy cream.
I also decide to halve the recipe, using only one stick
of precious butter,
instead of the ostentatious two.

The next step calls for two teaspoons of vanilla (one teaspoon)
and two eggs. (One egg)
I laugh out loud when I notice the empty egg container over by the compost bin
and realize we finished them with this morning's french toast.
I google egg substitutions, and the suggestions are mind-boggling.
I rush to the living room for a consultation.
"Okay, babe, here's the deal
I can substitute:
mayonnaise
ground flax seed
gelatin, which I don't have, but I do have mini marshmallows
or some combination of flour, baking powder, salt, and yellow food coloring."
"How about a little bit of mayonnaise,
a little bit of flax,
AND a little bit of marshmallows."
He volunteers to grind the flax.
I return with a marble mortar and pestle
filled with golden flax seeds.
Without looking up from his book,
he pats the wood floor beside the couch,
and I set our archaic grinder down there.
Back in the kitchen, I dollop a forkful of mayonnaise
into the light, frothy batter of powdered sugar and butter.
Then I fill a teacup with mini marshmallows
and a dash of water
and set it for one minute in the microwave,
figuring it will mix better if it's melted.
I pour in the vanilla without measuring, giving it three good glugs.

I turn the beater on high and start whipping the mayonnaise-vanilla-powdered sugar-butter batter
"ARGH!" I hear from the next room, and the sound of marble tipping over on a wooden floor.
I glance back at the microwave
and the marshmallows have puffed up into a cloud of stickiness
a gooey avalanche
that has just crested the rim of the yellow teacup
and is pouring down the sides.
I stop the microwave.
I am laughing like a crazy lady.
I use a rubber spatula to scoop all the melted, steaming mini marshmallow lava
into the batter.
"All done,"
I hear from the living room.
He is calmly reading on the couch,
no hint of any calamity that may have befallen him in his grinding efforts.
"Did the marshmallows overflow?" he asks me.
I laugh.
I gather the mortar of ground flax seeds
and back in the kitchen,
I dump them in the bowl,
measuring what looks like one-eighth a teaspoon of baking powder
with the handle of a fork
as per the substitution guidelines.
I pick up my beater and whip the mixture for several minutes,
imagining that if I beat these motley ingredients long enough
they'll somehow take on the characteristic of eggs.

The next step calls for one and one-third cup of flour
three-quarters a cup of cocoa,
one-half teaspoon of baking soda
and one-quarter teaspoon salt.
I decide that I am no longer halving the recipe
what with the prodigious amount of stuff I just added in.
I feel repentant about my reckless baking
so I use a measuring cup for the flour and the baking cocoa
and measuring spoon for the baking soda
and the amount of salt seems too small,
so I add some extra.

And finally, I whip my batter into a smooth, dark brown paste
The powdered sugar-butter-mayonnaise-vanilla-flax seed-baking soda-melted mini marshmallow-flour-cocoa-baking soda-salt concoction
sticks and beats and thickens
into a clay-like muck
so dry and tough
the beater begins to complain and stick.
Maybe that final choice to un-halve the recipe wasn't responsible.
I dump in a bit of water,
and that loosens it up a bit,
into a semi-manageable goo.

For a final touch, I mix in most of a bag of slivered almonds.
I smooth the whole thing into the buttered baking dish
and stick it in the preheated 350 degree oven.

I took stock of the kitchen
marshmallow goo trailing from the microwave
scattered powdered sugar and cocoa
utensils dipped in mayonnaise.
And I sigh.
I am a bit of a madwoman when it comes to baking.
I clean up, and retire to watch The Simpsons on the couch
with my laptop and my sleepy lover.

I don't set a timer
so about twenty minutes later,
I pause the episode
and jump up to take the brownies out
The toothpick comes out half covered in uncooked batter.
"Hey babe, do you like your brownies gooey?" I call, bent over the oven.
"I like them every way."
I take them out to cool
and a minute later, slice out a square,
scoop it into a plate
and present it to my lover
for us to eat with our fingers
while we finish watching The Simpsons.
"Mmmm," my lover says.
"You make good brownies."