But that was only five days.
The rest of the days were… less than inspiring.
That’s my way of saying my cooking consisted of flops.
I was all set to tell you about a pie I made for my mom’s birthday that, though delicious, had pretty much been an emotional sponge. I made it in a disaster of a mopey mood and the custard turned a sad brownish gray and slumped across our plates when it was meant to stand up and hold the imprints of our forks. It made me want to read ‘Like Water For Chocolate’ again.
Which is a wrong sort of feeling. Pies are the best.
But that feeling was reinforced when I made a vegan pie for Ginger and wanted a new crust, more apples, a bucket of caramel and a thicker layer of crunchy crumbly cookie gunk to press into the top.
My baking brain never thinks I’ll need very much crumb topping. My baking brain is foolish. Maybe it’s too full of sugar.
I tried making orangettes. I couldn’t handle the suggested sugar to water ratio so I cut back on the sugar and ended up with overly sweet orange peel mush. I forgot that I was making candy. And that candy is full of sugar. And that I need to get over that.
I made a mess of a soup. I was trying to clean out the fridge and had been curious about the creamless creamy soup idea (where you put bread in broth and blend it). A failed experiment. It’s still loitering in my fridge waiting for someone (ok, me) to grow a set and dump it out.
I made weird banana pancakes.
I ate day old doughnuts.
Times are rough.
Did something go wrong with your day? Need to reset? Cleanse?
Juice is dumb. Go get some heavy cream.
See the cake under that layer of creamy chocolatey magic? Another flop. Perplexingly bland for something with chocolate, stout, homemade vanilla extract, bourbon, sour cream and a good dose of butter. The crumb coulda been better too. Ok, now I’m splitting hairs but it was my time consuming sad sack of a chocolate cake and so I’ll be* a little unreasonable in my complaining. I mean, look at that sexiness. Shoulda been deloicious.
Anyways, all of these kitchen failures were bumming me out a bit. Then I realized this cake was still covered in ganache. And that I had left over heavy cream. And coffee ice cream in the freezer.
I made whipped cream and ate the slice up in that picture but wasn’t entirely satisfied.
I then also remembered that I totally had more bourbon.
And that bourbon is beautiful.
These beauties go together.
I don’t think I need to tell you guys how to make a milkshake. I figure those of you who are in the milkshake** lifestyle have already science-ed your way through this one.
Booze complicates things slightly what with the lack of freezing and all, so if you’re looking for a thick milkshake that requires a hoover for a mouth to get anything up a straw, skip the bourbon and throw in just a little bit of milk in it’s place. And if you want to make a group size version of this (for yourself or an actual group), blend up the ice cream and cake and let people do their own booze-ing to avoid things turning extra liquidy faster. Plus, then those uninterested in the alcohols aren’t left out, you’ll hang on to more of your bourbon and the kids who break into your house to steal desserts won’t accidentally get drunk! Win win win.
Boozy Cake Shake:
3 parts coffee ice cream to 1 part bourbon and 1 part cake covered in ganache.
Leave the cake out till the very end if you want bigger chunks.
Cover in whipped cream.
*Pandora is playing ‘It’s Getting Hot In Here’. My words brain froze. I had to bust a move. Forgive me.
** I had a ‘milkshave’ typo. I was a little into it.
***Don’t listen to me. That’s a horrible instruction. Consume it. Rapidly. Then be responsible and drink some water before driving. Safety first.