Aimee Fritsch is a freshman at UO and an active new member of my church. She is an irrepressibly fizzy child (I say child because of the way she parades herself; there is a frightfully capable woman in there), with a mane of springy hair that recalls my cousin Annie, and a laugh that gets into your muscles and stays there, warmly nesting. The sweet dear has attached herself to me like a little mollusk, and I love it.
On January 16th we had planned to feed the geese at Alton Baker Park, but the pouring rain and Aimee's thinly veiled lack of sleep put a clear stop to our plans. Instead, I invited her to my cave for an afternoon of kitties, cupcakes, and "Big Bang Theory". It has been at least a month since I baked, but it has been even longer since I baked "just because", so this was going to be a lovely day.
I serendipitously had the right ingredients for Ben's favorite: chocolate cupcakes with a cream cheese and chocolate chip center. I increased the amount of sugar in the recipe, since I found the previous batch to be far too savory, and before we knew it we were diplopic from a sugar rush. Unfortunately, Ben gets a little crazed when he gets The Sugar. Case in point: he went to the grocery store to get me more chocolate for baking (like we needed more at this point), and came back with marshmallow creme that he intended to put in place of the cream cheese filling (as if the cupcakes weren't diabetes-inducing enough). I rebuffed his marshmallow advances.
But I could only be vigilant for so long.
My darling and adored brother-by-royal-decree, Andrew Hard, had a jiu jitsu tournament yesterday. Cutting weight has been an ordeal for him, not because he had much to lose (he is a lean one as it is) but because man was not meant to live on granola and salad alone. I was taking his pains personally, deciding to make him an epic post-fight lunch and dessert to crown his efforts. All he wants, said Andrew, is salt and fat. Salt and fat. Chicken schnitzel sandwiches should do the trick for lunch, but what about dessert? What can I make that's fatty and decadent enough to properly reward hi...
Well hello, Marshmallow Creme. We meet again at last.
To properly make epic, moxie-rich cupcakes without over-thinking it, I had to call in Mirielle. Mir is my brain-child, my muse, my crazed and eccentric blood who is rarely allowed in the kitchen because of ensuing explosions. In fact, she did get a little Swedish Chef on us, and she did knock over a painting in my kitchen. She also cross-bred two of my cupcake recipes with the genius of a Swiss geneticist, and before my inspired eyes slid into the oven a batch of vanilla-and-chocolate-chip cupcakes with a marshmallow creme center. The creme was nestled in a small ball, the batter having been pressed to the sides and spooned atop it before baking.
After twenty minutes, the nuclear reaction began.
For those of you that have never been camping, marshmallow swells. In fact, the first batch of cupcakes looked like a cross between a Julia Child show and a Ridley Scott movie: the marshmallow creme burst out of the belly of the innocent cupcake, cruelly perched over the top in perfect mushroom clouds. The bits of chocolate chip and vanilla batter still stuck to the marshmallow just furthered the effect. The mushroom clouds receded as the cupcakes cooled, leaving a rather deformed but just as delicious runt in its place. They were frightening, macabre, and... Oh my holy Saints, incredibly delicious!
Andrew and his compatriots were so grateful for the food that I was nicknamed Mother Goose during the tournament. The team shared the cupcakes (some had way more than others), Andrew and Chris Godowski got the coveted sandwiches (much to someone's dismay), and Andrew fought even better after he downed half of his sandwich (he mistakenly thought that he had been eliminated). Andrew came out of the tournament with an injured shoulder and elbow, and over his second pizza of the night (yes, we ate two pizzas) he said that the high points of his day had all revolved around food.
Happy to help, brother.
Oh, and a message to Matthew Rubenstein: if you try to steal my brother's food again, or try to get swag when you're not even competing, I will choke you. True story.
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