I'm not sure how many times I've tried to make brownies from scratch. I usually get discouraged at the inevitable cake-like texture that so many recipes yield. It's completely horrendous. Who wants cake when they are expecting the moist, dense, rich, delicious brick we all know and love so, so well? I discovered the perfect recipe last night during my attempt to stay awake until dawn (all zombie-ness and no sleep make Jordana go crazy).
Angie's Best Brownies recipe are the best brownies indeed. Although, to be completely honest, I'm not sure I can actually tell where Betty Crocker boxed mix lies on the scale. That woman sure knows her KitchenAid mixer.
Best Brownies
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Oil/butter and flour an 8x8 pan
Ingredients:
1/2 c butter
1 c sugar
2 eggs
1 t vanilla
1/3 c unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 c AP flour
1/4 t salt
1/4 t baking powder
Directions:
Melt butter in medium saucepan. Remove from heat. Add sugar, lightly beaten eggs, and vanilla.
Stir in cocoa powder, flour, salt, and baking powder.
Pour into prepared pan.
Bake for ~25 minutes.
(When doing the toothpick test, I like to ensure the toothpick still has bits of brownie on it).
I did not frost these brownies. They are just sweet enough. Perfect. Also, I did not beat/whisk this batter at all. I think that beats in too much air and yields the cakiness I loathe so much. I think next time I will try to use parchment paper as well, as the brownies did not lift so famously from my oiled, non-stick Wilton pan. I suppose it matters only if presentation is your thing.
Other news:
Parental units are visiting this weekend
On Sunday I am going to eat birthday cake until I can eat birthday cake no more
I am working tonight
Jenny is coming to play soon
I finished my Public Health Nursing course last night
I am TOTALLY DONE with Pitt forevermore (hell to the yeah!)
Jon Scott got us tickets to see one of my favorite UK singers
Selena and I leave for Puerto Rico in 15 days
That is all.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
All you can eat bacon
will apparently give you heart palpitations. Thank you, thank you, Harris Grill, for I thought this was a condition that would be medically unknown to my cardiovascular health until at least the age of 52.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
AH HA!!
I've figured it out. I think I have. I've heard a few too many ghost stories, compliments mostly of my bff. She and her family have this long history of creepy happenings. Shan't get into those presently.
It's not that. It's not that I'm afraid there's a ghost lurking about (although, I must say, aside from a confusing odor permeating this building, the air is a touch different. Just, different). I have no clue about this man. Why does that bother me? The unknown is so scary! I've been literally afraid to leave my apartment in the morning before work. I've been afraid to come home at night after work. I've been too afraid to leave after dark to go someplace, anyplace else, because I'll have to go through the lobby on the first floor, which is close to the basement. The chandelier has its lights out. I work early in the morning and late into the day and the sun hasn't peeked its face through the windows quite yet. It's still dark. So I've been anxious trying to get anywhere that's not here. When I'm not here, I get anxious before the ride/walk/drive home. And I certainly can't speak aloud to anyone about this while I'm physically in my apartment.
On the bike ride home from work tonight, I had a private brainstorm session. I thought it might make me feel better. Who was this guy?
He might have had a job.
He might have had a daughter or two.
He might have been paying child support.
He might have hated HHP like I do.
He might have liked to cook. He might have had a specialty.
He might have been annoyed when it rains.
He might have been missed. He might not have been.
He might have went to his mother's house on Christmas.
He might have always been on time with his bills.
He might have said hello and thank you to every bus driver in Pittsburgh.
He might have been a good student in school.
He might have grounded his kid for getting bad grades.
He might have loved his boss.
He might have liked to shoot the breeze with Nick. He might have gotten annoyed if with Nick if he didn't have the time to chat.
He might have been a vegetarian. He might have been allergic to eggs.
He might have liked to go to the drive-in in the summertime.
He might have been really sweet.
He might have hung out at the library every day. He might have been one of the patrons that drive Daniel assuredly insane.
He might have liked to have a beer after work with his buddies.
He might have liked to garden. He might have over-watered every plant he ever tried to grow.
He might have read the paper every day.
He might have separated all of his recyclables from the trash and put it out every week like clockwork.
He might have liked to shop for antiques.
He might have built model airplanes.
He might have had a really irritating family.
He might have held the door open for others at the grocery store.
He might have cut people in line at the grocery store.
He might have had a season pass to Sandcastle.
He might have worked out 7 days a week.
He might have kept a journal.
He and I might have made eye contact with each other sometime in this tiny city.
I made a point to myself. He had a personality, whether he was an asshole, kind, patient, grumpy, shy, or reclusive, as I had once heard. And I think that makes it a lot less scary. I'm not sure what it is about the fear of the unknown. I have to keep making up stories for this reason. He was probably like lots of people I've met before, and if I make that association, I can be sad instead of afraid. I haven't been able to sit alone in my living room, which is closer to the door, which is closer to the stairwell, which is closer to the basement, since Wednesday. Now I think I'm okay to go out there. It's Sunday night and I think I hear The Simpsons calling my name. It's about damn time. Brent keeps texting me random Simpsons quotes and I've been getting extremely envious that he's taking the time out of his "busy" school schedule to spend some quality hours with the tube.
It's not that. It's not that I'm afraid there's a ghost lurking about (although, I must say, aside from a confusing odor permeating this building, the air is a touch different. Just, different). I have no clue about this man. Why does that bother me? The unknown is so scary! I've been literally afraid to leave my apartment in the morning before work. I've been afraid to come home at night after work. I've been too afraid to leave after dark to go someplace, anyplace else, because I'll have to go through the lobby on the first floor, which is close to the basement. The chandelier has its lights out. I work early in the morning and late into the day and the sun hasn't peeked its face through the windows quite yet. It's still dark. So I've been anxious trying to get anywhere that's not here. When I'm not here, I get anxious before the ride/walk/drive home. And I certainly can't speak aloud to anyone about this while I'm physically in my apartment.
On the bike ride home from work tonight, I had a private brainstorm session. I thought it might make me feel better. Who was this guy?
He might have had a job.
He might have had a daughter or two.
He might have been paying child support.
He might have hated HHP like I do.
He might have liked to cook. He might have had a specialty.
He might have been annoyed when it rains.
He might have been missed. He might not have been.
He might have went to his mother's house on Christmas.
He might have always been on time with his bills.
He might have said hello and thank you to every bus driver in Pittsburgh.
He might have been a good student in school.
He might have grounded his kid for getting bad grades.
He might have loved his boss.
He might have liked to shoot the breeze with Nick. He might have gotten annoyed if with Nick if he didn't have the time to chat.
He might have been a vegetarian. He might have been allergic to eggs.
He might have liked to go to the drive-in in the summertime.
He might have been really sweet.
He might have hung out at the library every day. He might have been one of the patrons that drive Daniel assuredly insane.
He might have liked to have a beer after work with his buddies.
He might have liked to garden. He might have over-watered every plant he ever tried to grow.
He might have read the paper every day.
He might have separated all of his recyclables from the trash and put it out every week like clockwork.
He might have liked to shop for antiques.
He might have built model airplanes.
He might have had a really irritating family.
He might have held the door open for others at the grocery store.
He might have cut people in line at the grocery store.
He might have had a season pass to Sandcastle.
He might have worked out 7 days a week.
He might have kept a journal.
He and I might have made eye contact with each other sometime in this tiny city.
I made a point to myself. He had a personality, whether he was an asshole, kind, patient, grumpy, shy, or reclusive, as I had once heard. And I think that makes it a lot less scary. I'm not sure what it is about the fear of the unknown. I have to keep making up stories for this reason. He was probably like lots of people I've met before, and if I make that association, I can be sad instead of afraid. I haven't been able to sit alone in my living room, which is closer to the door, which is closer to the stairwell, which is closer to the basement, since Wednesday. Now I think I'm okay to go out there. It's Sunday night and I think I hear The Simpsons calling my name. It's about damn time. Brent keeps texting me random Simpsons quotes and I've been getting extremely envious that he's taking the time out of his "busy" school schedule to spend some quality hours with the tube.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Reason #286 May Cannot Come Soon Enough
My Jonnyboy Scott and I were off to Wednesday night banjo club. Sitting in the backseat of the car, I hear a Le Tigre ringtone...and quietly hit ignore. When the tone goes off a second time, I inspect further to learn the root of this minor interruption. It is none other than my neighbor Amit who lives in the apartment next to mine! What on earth could she be calling about?
Hey Amit!! What's going on??!!
No, I've been out at work since 6 this morning and spent about 20 minutes at home tonight. I got home and pretty much left...I'm in the car now. Why? What's up?
Well...have you noticed that really bad smell in our apartment the past week or so?
Ummmmm...no...
Well, I came home today and there was an ambulance in front of the building. Apparently there was a guy who lived in the basement...he died. The groundskeeper found him today. They think he was there a month.
WHAT THE HELL HOW DO I RESPOND TO THAT???!?!?!
Once upon a time, back in the summer of 2009, I was outside examining the mail boxes near the front door of my apartment building. Twelve??? Who lives in apartment 12? These bastards at HHP really need to get their shit in gear and update their mailboxes, for there are only 11 apartments here!!!
That's what I thought. I have a sweet relationship with my next door neighbor. Nick, who lives the next house over. He's always out grilling, reading, lounging, and always asking, "Hey kid, how ya makin aht so far?" Considerate ole guy. Was out one day having one of my weekly Chats With Nick. We were BSing about my landlord. The number of apartments/mailboxes was the topic of the hour. He informed me that there's this big, black, reclusive dude living in the basement, in apartment number twelve. His deal? No one really knows. And my neighbor knows EVERYTHING about EVERYONE in this 'hood. Known tidbits:
He's big.
He's black.
He's a recluse.
He lives in apartment 12.
Apartment 12 is in the cellar. Its entrance is on the side of the building.
Yep, that pretty well covers it.
Oh wait, and he died. And no one knew. For at least long enough for the other tenants in this building to go, hmmm, what a funny odor.
Amit had told me that the smell had improved greatly today, since the ambulance came. I hung up the phone with her and about two minutes after I did, I realized...YES, THERE HAD BEEN A FUNK FLOATING IN THE LOBBY THE PAST FEW DAYS!!!! Silly me thought it was some strange unappetizing ethnic dish. I'd be an asshole if I said, yes, some might call it that.
The thing that jerks another tear to my eye (and sends a chill up my spine)? This is the second story involving stench, lonely people, death, and basements that I've heard in two weeks. That's far too many. I feel like some of these should be in those Scary Stories books from Ohio.
Hey Amit!! What's going on??!!
Hey, have you been home at all today?
No, I've been out at work since 6 this morning and spent about 20 minutes at home tonight. I got home and pretty much left...I'm in the car now. Why? What's up?
Well...have you noticed that really bad smell in our apartment the past week or so?
Ummmmm...no...
Well, I came home today and there was an ambulance in front of the building. Apparently there was a guy who lived in the basement...he died. The groundskeeper found him today. They think he was there a month.
WHAT THE HELL HOW DO I RESPOND TO THAT???!?!?!
Once upon a time, back in the summer of 2009, I was outside examining the mail boxes near the front door of my apartment building. Twelve??? Who lives in apartment 12? These bastards at HHP really need to get their shit in gear and update their mailboxes, for there are only 11 apartments here!!!
That's what I thought. I have a sweet relationship with my next door neighbor. Nick, who lives the next house over. He's always out grilling, reading, lounging, and always asking, "Hey kid, how ya makin aht so far?" Considerate ole guy. Was out one day having one of my weekly Chats With Nick. We were BSing about my landlord. The number of apartments/mailboxes was the topic of the hour. He informed me that there's this big, black, reclusive dude living in the basement, in apartment number twelve. His deal? No one really knows. And my neighbor knows EVERYTHING about EVERYONE in this 'hood. Known tidbits:
He's big.
He's black.
He's a recluse.
He lives in apartment 12.
Apartment 12 is in the cellar. Its entrance is on the side of the building.
Yep, that pretty well covers it.
Oh wait, and he died. And no one knew. For at least long enough for the other tenants in this building to go, hmmm, what a funny odor.
Amit had told me that the smell had improved greatly today, since the ambulance came. I hung up the phone with her and about two minutes after I did, I realized...YES, THERE HAD BEEN A FUNK FLOATING IN THE LOBBY THE PAST FEW DAYS!!!! Silly me thought it was some strange unappetizing ethnic dish. I'd be an asshole if I said, yes, some might call it that.
The thing that jerks another tear to my eye (and sends a chill up my spine)? This is the second story involving stench, lonely people, death, and basements that I've heard in two weeks. That's far too many. I feel like some of these should be in those Scary Stories books from Ohio.
Oh, Alvin Schwartz, you really do put the Oh in Ohio.
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