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I can think of worse ways to die... We’re eating a chilled “pie” made of layers of fudgy coffee brownies, rich airy peanut butter mousse, crumbled Reese’s peanut butter cups and finished with a drizzle of ganache. It’s a well-known fact that sweets are not really my cuppa beer.
When we arrived to America, I was quick in growing to love American traditions and foods and general popular culture. I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with great zeal and often dreamt (and still do) of pizza . Hamburgers and French fries, chicken nuggets and fish sticks, potato chips and chocolate chip cookies , sweet potato and broccoli, Fourth of July clambakes and Thanksgiving turkeys – I embraced it all as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I forced these unknown traditions on my parents, arguing with them, a bold and foolish teenager that I was, that these were the new ways of the world, and that we had to let go of our old world traditions because they were archaic that no one, besides my parents and their Russian friends, understood. I was eager to assimilate and become truly, completely, wholly American.
When I bought the jar of Nutella last weekend I made a vow ( yes I did ) that part of the Nutella will be made into cupcakes. I’ve always planned to do that whenever I buy one but it never gets that far. Darn those nutella sandwiches and occasional spoon licking.
(Chocolate Covered Marshmallow Cookies) The July Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Nicole at Sweet Tooth . She chose Chocolate Covered Marshmallow Cookies and Milan Cookies from pastry chef Gale Gand of the Food Network. Avert your eyes now if the idea of a supersized chocolate covered marshmallow cookie cake, sounds like too much to digest. To explain, let me start at the very beginning.
I admit it: We’re Thin Mint addicts in our house. I try to limit the number of boxes I buy each season because they aren’t particularly healthy or earth-friendly. But, I have many friends with daughters in the Girl Scouts, and the Thin Mints are just so yummy.
How to Make Your Baby Pterodactyl Mad In 4 Easy Steps. [No, I didn't have sex with a dinosaur nor was I inseminated with whatever and I didn't splice some dino dna with frog dna a la Jurassic Park like some mad scientist] First, you need to find yourself a 17 year old daughter then when she starts complaining tell her she sounds like a baby pterodactyl. Squawk! That looks about right. Second, embarrass her by telling a family friend that when she was younger she didn't have an ounce of gaydar in her whole entire body.