This still isn’t my food blog.
I’ll let you know if I ever get a Pinterest-perfect kitchen. Then, maybe I can have a food blog.
But I make these amazing brownies. I’m crazy fuckin’ proud of these brownies, because even people who are like, “oh, I don’t really eat sweets” don’t finish the sentence because they can’t on account of the massive brownie filling up their word hole as they reach for another one.
Yeah, they’re that good.
And here’s the thing: they’re easy to make. Like, once I got the recipe down I actually said, “I don’t know why the box mix people are able to rip us off like this—brownies are not difficult!”
They do start with a pound of melted chocolate, plus a pound of melted butter.
They are not “healthy” brownies. They are “holy fucksticks, gimme moar” brownies. It is for this reason that I only make them when there is a gathering of at least 30 people, because I do not want to bring brownies home. Experience has taught me they will go directly into my mouth, and from there to my already-jiggly butt.
I made The Brownies recently for my haunt, because haunters need calories and I feed people so they’ll like me.
Oh yeah, it’s officially that time of year, where you’re going to start hearing about Halloween-y-ness—probably waaaaay before you’re ready, you philistines—and hauntitude. Because we’re opening soon.
ME: It’s September.
ME: Which means it’s almost October. Which means SPOOKY SEASON HAS OFFICIALLY BEGUN!
ME: (cheers) Wooh!
ME: Why do you hate spooky season?
HIM: I don’t—
ME: You’re very unenthusiastic about spooky season.
HIM: I like how you skipped over my birthday.
ME: … Oh.
Whatever. We’re here to talk about those brownies… sort of. I mean, I had a whole post written about shopping for the ingredients—understand that the decision to make The Brownies is the beginning of an epic adventure to procure ingredients, as I am not a person who typically keeps several pounds of chocolate in the house—and making the brownies, who got to lick the bowl, who got to taste them to make sure they were good enough to share, etc.
But then I realized if I was going to actually post all of that I might as well give you the damned recipe, and for that I’d need to photograph making the brownies… and then I looked at my sad, tiny, now messy kitchen and said
But I do hate to leave you empty-handed… and I really hate to delete all that work without keeping anything…
Let’s save this and call it even.
ME: I have to go cut brownies.
ME: I have to go cut brownies.
HIM: Okay? Nobody’s stopping you.
ME: I’m very comfortable.
HIM: … Only inertia is stopping you.
 No, I still haven’t found a St. Louis therapist. I’m open to recommendations, though, because clearly I need it.
 I could be, but then I’d never fit through the door. Then I’d run out of chocolate. Disgusted with my inability to procure more chocolate, I’d eventually lose just enough to squeeze my way out (being unable to eat pounds of chocolate on a whim would help) and, upon waddling down to the car, the cycle would begin anew.