I only turn on the oven at weekends for very special
occasions. Usually when I am baking a
dessert. And I found one that almost
made me lick the computer screen when I saw the pictures.
I had my tongue out.
It was a close call.
Check this
out. I have provided a link to the recipe (and the demise of your waistline) below.
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| Copyright Wholesomeireland.ie |
These are a seriously good, seriously squishy, melty,
stringy marshmallow delight.
All I needed to get was Horlicks, (such a crazy name!) a few
marshmallows and some good dark chocolate.
The supermarket on the main street in my home town is a
virtual Aladdin’s cave. You will find
the most random items in there and located amongst the water pistols and glaze
cherries, was Horlicks.
I grabbed two inviting looking bags of Princess Marshmallows
and hoped five euros would stretch to my three items.
Not only is the supermarket great for crazy stuff, sometimes
their prices surprise me. The marshmallows
were just one euro per bag. Bargain!
I had already been relieved of twenty one euros in the Euro
Store minutes beforehand buying pump action water pistols for the boys.
One of which was broken within a half an hour on arriving
home. Then I spied Juno chewing a forty
eight euro pair of Clarks Doodles sandals.
Ruined.
I was so utterly cross I had to bake something in order to
calm down and so I turned on the oven to make these seriously squishy brownies.
They need to be cooled completely before cutting into and
serving and this was proving to be the hardest part.
“When can we have some?” “When will they be cool?” “Can you not check again?” “I can’t wait any
longer!”
So on and so forth.
Finally, eventually
they were ready.
This is what the boys thought of them.
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| See? Sticky & Stringy. |
Oldest Boy. Aged 7
years: “Yum! That’s what I think.
Marshmallow is sticky and they taste like brownies. Thanks for making them.”
Shy Boy. Aged 5.5 yrs. “Yummmmm. This is good!”
Lovely Liam: Aged 4. “Mmmmnnnnnnnn. Thith ith lubly.” Translation: “Mmmmmmm. This is lovely!” His mouth was full.
Smallest Boy. Aged 2
years and 2 months. “Nom nom! Nonner wan.” Translation: Nom nom!
Another one.
Baking didn’t calm me right down; three hours of “me time” in a hair salon having balayage highlights applied wasn’t a bad way to start. Getting the strap sewn back onto the sandal for just €3 helped a whole lot.
It also saved a dog and a four year old from being rehomed.
In a certain very flattering light and with a whole lot of
photo shopping going on, this is how I look today with the highlights. Ahem.
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