Random

It’s Wednesday–a day for beauty and working out, but I’ve got stinky hair on my mind. Isn’t it awful when you are standing in a line and are assaulted by a foul smell, one reminiscent of stale cigarettes or that musty, funky odor that occurs when one hasn’t bathed? Women are particularly guilty of not washing the hair for days, overlaying one stink with another, believing that a nice hairspray or perfume will mask the fact that the hair is simply dirty.

Let’s be clear. Oils on the hair attract odor like flies on paper, and is just about as attractive. Nothing cuts through a possible amorous interlude than stinky hair, even with one’s spouse. Eeeewwwww. The good news is hair I know what the campers and hikers are thinking–‘you can’t help it in the wild.’ Not true. Even in the wild, stinky hair can be helped.

Stinky hair culprits: smoking, overuse of hair oils (for shine and smoothing), men’s hair gels, hairspray, camping, living by a compost, exhaust fumes….

Common excuses for washing hair daily (or more than several times a week)…

1. styling (women pay good money to have a blow-out once a week, why throw the money away)…
2. camping (no water)
3. dry scalp. A subject in and of itself. 
4. drying the ends of the hair

Since I’ve been asking others to review my books, I should return a universal favor and post a review or two myself. But let’s be clear. No one (author, agent or other self) has actually asked for my opinion. I’m giving it up for free, so that establishes the weight of my opinion in the world of literati. My only qualification is I read several books a week.

Great book-4.5 stars. Fast, interesting read of art heists, solutions and lots of factoids. Read this and sound interesting at your next cocktail party.

For my 4 day vaca this summer (3 days of rain + 1 afternoon of sun) I chose Stealing Rembrandt. On the surface, a truly boring subject–art heists. Yet I like ‘heisty-type’ movies (that was a Sarah-don-king-ism), like The Italian Job, and for three days in a row, I was pelted with new reports, an interview on the radio and then a replay of same. The author gave great soundbites (the thieves weren’t brilliant, they were ballsy) and I liked the factoids (Rembrandt is the most stolen art) and a person in Sammamish Washington (a stones throw away on the ‘plateau’ for locals) actually owned one that got swiped. More fascinating to me were the stories of reclaiming the pieces, how the wealthy don’t report thefts, and how many museums actually pay the blood money to get the art back. What a racket! I had to read it.

I got the Kindle, download the book moments before we went a-trailering, and read by flashlight when the lights from the campfire dwindled. It took two days of soaking up most every word (I admit to skipping some of the boring details of art) but overall, I enjoyed learning about the art in a reporter-style writing. It was informative without being cumbersome. The best aspect of Stealing Rembrandt was the MI6-James Bond-meets Robert Ludlum approach in the narrative. This is due to the co-authors. The informative part was from the head of security for the Gardner Museum of Art and his co-author, an investigative reporter. The editor(s) did a nice job balancing the two. Only once or twice did I have to resort to skipping over art-professor sections. Now I can speak intelligently about wood carvings, originals, metal plates and plate making, the period pieces for portraits, how the Dutch led the world for a while in all things monetary and artistic and ultimately, how Rembrandt died pretty much broke. (And FTY, I had no idea his true love died quite young. Why is it so many artists have such tragic personal lives? What a curse. But then, I must not be a true artist. I have a pretty good life, my health, no deaths, but no fame or riches either).

The only complaint I had wasn’t something the authors or editors could do a darn thing about: the lack of more art resolutions. For instance, many of the museums (or private collectors) that had art returned wouldn’t acknowledge how or why. Those that did chose to announce the recovery months or years later (if at all). This is due to the desire to keep thefts (and return money) out of the press. I’m a girl that likes closure, but I understand the issues. The book includes enough resolutions to make it  worthwhile, the most interesting experiences coming from 2 thieves directly, after months of interviews from within (and outside) of jail. Kudos to the authors for the years of work on this thing. I’d definitely recommend it anyone who likes a fast, interesting read (the art is a bonus).

A real Boehms Frualine– I actually no her! She works there!

To satisfy the unwashed masses who have afeared for my safety, I’m here. In spirit that is. My physical body is beaten down, an inch smaller from this new naturopathic program that eliminates sugar from the ol’ diet. Sadly, this includes Boehms chocolates. It’s been 8 days and 2 hours that I’ve been away from it. But like a dog to its vomit, an hour doesn’t go by where the craving doesn’t rear it’s ugly head. I’m sure meth would have been cheaper, but I’d have teeth loss, Starbuck’s more expensive; I’d have my teeth, but they’d be black. (I know, I have a fixation with teeth). (FYI-Boehm’s has great father’s day selection. I got my dad the toffee and an assortment of milk chocolate…and FYII…on Saturdays, all the young girls actually wear the traditional Swiss outfits. Apparently, Julius, the founder, was quite a ladies man with an eye towards….busty, young woman. Don’t hold that against him though. Apparently he was a great skiier, and that has to count for something).

In other news, I’m ready to throw my husband out for invading my space. Ok, not out as in, out-out. But out of my little hobbit hole I call my writing space. He’s announced he’s taking July off to focus on “my business,” which, loosely translated, means the business of Sarah Gerdes writing. What business, you ask yourself? 3 national orgs have come on board to have in-store events in July, though I can’t announce the names. The studio is going to give away 3 walk-on roles to people who register by downloading Chambers. Great idea. $2.99 gets you a shot at hanging with Angie and Brad. It’s surreal actually. One day, I’m typing away in anonymity, the next, I’m on the phone with a division vp who runs entertainment and merchandising for a national chain, then I’m talking with the producer, who will be signing autographs.

“What about security? do you have a hander to move people through? how many seconds for each autograph? where will the stand be?..”) All good questions, for which I have no answers. Yet. Will I know it soon? “You betcha” (my one and only channeling of Palin).

This week has been full of the minuteau of things like trying to track down a videographer, a photographer, extras, what to put on the registration cards…blah blah. If you have a vision that “authors” arrive at an event, sit down and look glamorous, perish the thought. Reality is perhaps a bit less exciting (I’ve heard that truly famous authors ride around in limos until the last minute, whisk in, smile and leave), but as my Dad says “I don’t want to hear it!! Don’t diminish my vision of you!” Yeah, whatever. This is bloody hard work, that’s all I’ve got to say.

On the bright side, I’ve never been so motivated to get rid of the stuff and puff that lines my muffin top and jawline, leading us full circle back to the no sugar thing. It’s actually working, by the way. Good thing. I need the energy!

I’d never thought about grieving etiquette until yesterday. For the last two weeks, I’ve had the feeling to call a fairly recent acquaintance. A tall (6’2″), gorgeous woman, thin, after five children, married to an emergency room doctor, all of 42. The type of woman that would engender the hatred and jealously of all others were it not for the simple truth she’s funny, outgoing and self-deprecating. Our friendship began when she invited me to speak to a group of young women in her church, basically about keeping standards high in a world where standards are low. Our conversations were brief but fun, and I showed up with few expectations about the event or her. I was surprised on both counts, glad I recorded the 40 minutes and left with a new friend.

These last two weeks, I refrained from calling until the bitter end. Sometimes, impressions start out quietly, then get louder, progressing to the point where I think I’m starting to lose my mind. It’s reminiscent of not being about to get Born this Way out of my head actually; a rhythmic beat that won’t begone. Eventually, my will gives out. I emailed her three days ago, then called several times. A day later she responded, told me that her sister (also named Sarah) had unexpectedly died 10 days prior. She’d gone to the funeral, assisted with Sarah’s 6 children and husband, and provided much needed assistance. The day I contacted her, she had returned from the trip. She invited me to come to her house and I jumped on it, having never been. She said she’d “appreciate the distraction,” and though I had no idea what to do for a person who’d lost her sister and best friend, I went. No food. No flowers. Just me and my young daughter.

As an aside, everything in that home was tall and big (including her ceilings, high enough to accommodate her 6’6″ husband, 6’8″ fifteen year old son, 6’2″ 14 year old daughter, and so on). I felt my body grow taller and slimmer being in the environs. In any case, the woman kept me talking, non-stop, for over an hour. It was slightly odd, being turned away from directing the conversation to her. She successfully thwarted every attempt I made to ask about her in any way. Finally, after I’d been going on with diarrhea of the mouth, I put an end to it. This took the conversation in a surprising turn.

“Normally I wouldn’t do this,” she began, “but I want to hear about other people, other things, anything but myself.” She went on to ask me if I’d ever lost anyone close to me. No, not really, I’d replied. “I’ve been doing everything wrong!” she said emphatically. “All wrong–I’ve left everyone alone, thinking they needed ‘family time’ she continued, “when in fact, that’s the last thing they want–or I wanted. Cards, flowers, phone calls, from people I don’t even know made me feel so good. But most of all, I want company.” She proceeded to explain a person suffering from a loss doesn’t want more alone time–“I’m already alone in my heart, I want company.”

Ever the cataloger of all things helpful, we talked about advice for the support group. It came down to a few tidbits she’s learned:
1. don’t be shy about calling, writing or just dropping by. A person in grief won’t ask for help, and won’t want to bug anyone else. Don’t call and ask if a casserole is needed. Just bring it by. If no one answers, leave it on the doorstep with or without a note.
2. cards and notes and calls are all welcome. doesn’t matter if the person who passed was a distant acquaintance or friend of friend. The memory and thought counts and helps the grieving process.
3. next to food, babysitting is the most helpful service to provide. Picking kids up from school, helping out the spouse of the person with the loss is appreciated (taking the kids home from church so the husband can attend to his duties).
4. coming over, and like I learned, being comfortable with talking at length about fun things. “Don’t forget the fun things!” she said. This was particularly hard for me. It was a big week, what with the ebook and movie stuff being announced and launched. Yet time and again, it was what she kept coming back to (her husband even got in the game, asking questions to assist in the novel he’s writing). a person dealing with hardcore issues wants to hear about fun, exciting events, not more depressing stories.
5. don’t worry about empathizing and crying. Enough tears have been shed. It’s okay to be happy. The funeral for my friend’s sister Sarah was a joyous occasion, as much as it could be. A celebration of life rather than mourning over the death.

The entire conversation was extremely helpful to me, and though I won’t look forward to death, I’ll definitely keep this etiquette in mind when it comes my way.



spooky halloween cakepops



Never heard of them before? You aren’t alone. I too, was Moses, wandering in the dessert desert, wondering how my life could get richer when lo, an angel appeared to me in the form of a Christmas present from my Las Vegas-based cousin who realized I was without the mother-of-all sugar formations.

This is what you need:

1. The book:The Bible of Cake Pop books. Cake Pops: Tips, Tricks and Recips for morethan 40 irresistible mini treats.
2. Box of your favorite pre-mixed cake mix
3. 9×13 cake pan
4. mixing bowl
5. 16 oz ready made frosting (this is America, home of the packaged and parceled after all. all my wonderful, incredibly civilized European readers will gag, but you have to understand this isn’t just food. It’s an experience).
6. wax paper and 2 baking sheets
7. Plastic wrap and toothpicks
8. Plastic or paper sticks

When you are ready to decorate, pull out and get creative. We used 6 different kinds of decorative gel (found in most supermarkets) and lots of easter egg type glitter.

A month or so ago, I gave this a whirl with my five year old, attempting to make Easter Pops. They turned out like mutant pops, so sugary my face puckered and even Porsche spit them out. No matter. The girls loved the decoration part and proudly displayed their egg pops.

The final product. A bit scary for Easter, but gets the point across.

The entire production was less than 20 dollars, and provided hours of fun. the book has amazing ideas for all holidays….do what my cousin did and get someone the entire set of items (from cake mix to sticks). It makes for an inventive gift as well.

I’m not Russian, nor do I drink tea, so its strange we somehow went from mother’s Swedish Pancakes to Russian Tea Cakes. She loved to serve the fancy little dollops of sugar and fat on silver plates, but I liked them warm. Never could wait until they cooled, as is the proper way.

The batter-mix until it barely sticks together

Cook time: 9 min

Ingredients

3 full tsp of powdered sugar

3/4 cup flour

(walnuts if desired)

1. Place butter and vanilla in a mixing bowl, and using paddle attachment, mix well (a minute or so) on med
2. Add the powdered sugar.
3. Add the flour and salt until just mixed (the dough will come off the sides of the bowl). If not, add a bit more flour

Form small balls (ab nickle size around for kids. Larger for adults)

4. Remove and form in to small balls. As you can see from the picture, 2/3 butter recipe made more than enough for 13 5 year olds and teachers, or a silver plate.
5. Bake for 9 min or until the cakes are bouncy on the top
6. Remove and allow to cool
7. Roll again in powdered sugar

Bake, then sprinkle w/powdered sugar (can roll in sugar  instead)

The finished product, 18 min later!

Another note on dryness: this recipe is interesting, in that the ‘best’ tea cakes, according to the mother-of-all-cooks, (mom), are flaky to the point of nearly falling apart. I’m not a fan of the falling-apart anything. It’s messy. I’m sure she meant crumbling in the mouth. Regardless, play around with the measurements to fit your liking. These are by far, the easiest, tasiest morsels you’ll make.

I’m a proud carnivore that has rarely encountered a piece of flesh I won’t try at least once. Due to slowing matabolism that now proceeds at the pace of a sap oozing out of a tree in fall, I rarely eat red meat, perhaps a few times a month (red meat takes 3 days for the bod to process). My husband is more fussy with cheeses and cholestoral-rising food than I, so together, we make a crazy combo.

Several nights ago, we both had a nervana experience that brought us one step closer to near red-meatless diet: vegie meatballs. Sounds lame, and that’s what I thought when I bought a pack at Costco. Lured in as I was by the “organic and natural” packaging, and oxymoron for most items sold at the big box chain, I figured the five bucks was going to save a cow, reduce Rog’s cholesteral and help me lose weight in one.

Tired of my day old lasagna (my favorite actually), Rog tore in to the package, cleaned up one plate without offering me so much as a bite, and proceeding on his second. I think he had about 20 of the poppers. Shocked, I stole on, ignoring his screech of dismay. In two chomps it was gone and I knew we had a winner. No sauce, only salt and pepper. We then went on to dissect the ingredients–all commonly found vegies.

The next step was seeing if I could replicate the experienced. Five bucks is cheap for 30, but I thought I’d be able to improve on the health factor a tad. The on line recipes were/are awful, in my opinion, since they all want some type of grain. The only one I went for was brown rice, though this gave the balls an odd aftertaste. I don’t like oats in anything other than my cereal or chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, so that was out. I settled on old fashioned bread crumbs. The rest of my experiment included celery, carrots, potatoes (a wonderful, though starchy addition), onions–always sauteed in butter, though purists can go for oil), and then whatever else I wanted to throw in (a bit of colored peppers gave it a zing, not unlike my crab cakes).

I went French on this recipe, going by feel and texture than a singular recipe. When it came time to roll it all together, I added in an egg balanced this with the bread crumbs. (always do these last two at the end). You know what? The recipe was near identical to crab cakes, save for the spices and oils I put in both. The wettish mixture is dry and formable (my donkingism for the day), awaiting my glad-handing shake of the salt and pepper bottle, some Hungarian Paprika, oregano, thyme and a few other mish mash items that sound good at the time (e.g. celery salt).

Raw, the mixture was good (yes, I always taste it raw. I’m not a nut about the whole avoiding-raw-egg thing). Sauteed the balls in a pan covered with a thin layer of oil. The next time I make these, I’ll add some pics or something. Verdict? Rog ate more of my homemade than he did of the store bought. AND, without the butter (and depending on the crumbs, if vegan) the entire dish can be vegan as well. (My mom is going to vomit now), but I’m quite proud of myself.

Here is the recipe, as best I can remember.

Prep time: 15
Start to finish: @45
Makes: @30 veggie balls

Ingredients
1/2 onion
1/4 butter (salted)
3/4-1 cup bread crumbs
1-2 eggs
cheese (if desired)
1/2 of a red, yellow and/or orange bell pepper (you can sub w/green if you prefer)
2 carrots
3 celery stalks
1-2 potatos (cooked, w/or without skin, depending on preference)
choice of herbs, such as oregano, thyme, celery salt, hungarian paprika

Preparation

1. Boil the potato.
2. Sautee the onion in the butter, adding the carrots and half way.
3. Remove and drain the potato, chop fine, or mash and add to the onion mixture (add more butter or oil if necessary).
4. Blend with salt and pepper, hungarian paprika and other dried herbs. Mix well (the aroma is divine)
5. Finely chop the peppers. (If you want a bit of zing, throw in a jalepeno, Rog loved this variation)
6. Remove the onion mixture, and add the peppers. Conduct a taste test for blandness, a common issue with vegie balls. if you want more zing, douse it with some cayenne pepper and/or tobasco. I use both and they are awesome (you can get vegetarian-friendly equivalent for hot sauce, though Rog, the purist he, refuses to use them).
7. Add the egg, mix well, then add the bread crumbs bit by bit. Test the consistency for molding, and add the other egg, and or more bread crumbs as necessary.
8. Heat the oil on the stove over medium heat, or if you have an old-school pan set at 300 degrees. (I have this huge, Italian metal frying pan with a temperature gauge that is perfect for all things meatball).
9. It takes about a minute to cook on each side, and I’ll use tongs and/or forks to turn and cook. Another cooking technique is to use a cast iron bacon press and make the balls more like pancakes. It makes for a more even cooking job, and great for adding a topping but not technically, ‘balls.’

I’ve tried a whole lotta sauces, from aeoli to dipping sauces ideal for vegies, and then some savory, though meat-verboten ones–like spicy teriyaki. Not bad. I’ve not settled on one perfect one, although I did whip up a cream cheese, roasted red pepper thing that some guests loved. That is probably my favorite thus far…

I used (these are rough measurements, as I’m becoming more French by the day-as in-winging it)…

• 1 8 oz package of full-fat (eg original)
• Red pepper, in the oven–convection or broil for a few minutes, until soft and quasi brown/black. remove and let cool.
• Put both in the blender (Cuisinart) and pulse a few times until just blended.
• Add salt and pepper to taste and wala!

PS–this sauce is meant to be a little bland–to cut the spiciness of the vegie balls.

Dad has been on my mind a lot lately, and for all the oddest of reasons: His hard, ripply fingernails that resemble the top of an old, metal washboard, except a whole lot smaller, though not at all lacking in the steel-like quality. He nails could cut a lot of things, skin included.

Just don’t ever do this,” he said, filing his nails with his bottom teeth. I greatly admired my father’s soft, round edges, the kind a professional manicurist would envy. Unfortunately, his Superman fingernail genetics skipped right over me, for I have thin nails, normal to ugly shaped, and not at all feminine looking. He did manage to pass me his thick, cow-milking fingers, nice and wide for gripping those ‘teeeets’ as my family says, and palms the size of a bear claw. Ever shake my hand and you’ll recognize the grip of death followed by a quick retraction before you can actually verify I’m a man and not Pat in disguise.

All manliness aside, I strive for long, lovely, hard nails, and realized magazines make millions of dollars accepting ads for all types of nail hardeners (this is what I think about when I’m stressed). Don’t go there. Instead, go out and buy yourself a small round of Heathly Hoof nail hardener. I was turned on this by my very first college roommate, oh-so-long ago. She hailed from Colorado, had horses, and said it was the oldest trick in the book. “Women have been using this stuff for decades!” she said. What? you say, in disbelief? It’s true, the same way it’s true that male hockey players wear women’s nylons (preferably in the natural tan color) because it reduces the hair getting caught in all that stinky gear. “The Trainer’s Choice,” is the tagline for Healthy Hoof, and so it should be. In a matter of days, my nails were noticably harder. A few weeks out, the nails were long and strong. No breaking, chipping or flaking.

Usage tip–take a bit of the cream and rub it at the base of the cuticles, then around the top of the nail. Do this a few times on each finger-one hand then the other. A couple times a day for faster results, but once a day will do the trick just fine. Soon you won’t need anything else on your nails–except a color now and then to mix it up. However, it doesn’t work on nailpolish–so that will have to come off when you apply the cream. Now all I have to do is figure out how Dad keeps his hair so nice looking. 

Tomato and Mozerella bites

Prep time: 10 min

Start to finish: 15 min (maybe less)

Ingredient cost: @$7 bucks

Ingredients:

Pre-prepared, organic, Formaggio all natural Fresh Mozzarella. I purchased mine from Costco.

Tomatoes

Light olive oil

Rosemary or thyme

Dash of salt

Preparation

Cut the balls in half

Take the tomatoes, cut in half as well

Using a toothpick, slide the tomato on first, then a half of the mozzarella, flat side down

Drizzle the bottom of a serving platter with oil

Sprinkle either rosemary or thyme on the bottom to add color

Place the final apps in rows

Cover and chill until serving

Mission accomplished, I remembered that I’d recieved a text yesterday suggesting I blog on home security.

Sadly, we’ve been violated several times since moving in to this area. It’s not prestine mind you; more Beverly Hillbillies than Hills. Yet it’s not trailer trash central either. Without giving rise to would- be stalkers, we are within five miles of mass civilization, but the proximity to land preserves means we have bears, deers, wolves, foxes, and an occasional burglar on the property.

When we purchased this home, it was a dump. Five acres of horse poop surrounding a home with an indoor outhouse (I’ll dig up some pictures in case you don’t believe that). It was all we could afford, and figured we had to start somewhere. In any case, we had no need for a fence or gate. The house was worth less than the land, and we couldn’t give our natural compost away. It wasn’t until four years later that we had to erect a gate. I’m all for freedom of speech, and the Jehovah’s Witness marauders are really decent people (plus quite creative: they pair a man with a young girl to remove the threat). They weren’t as bad as the weird breed of Sunday drivers (aka looki-loos) who mistake Private Property signs for Come-on-In, that put us over the edge. Instead of a much-needed trip to Hawaii, I got iron bars with spokes.

That kept out visitors well enough, but not the neighbors. We were cursed with a pond dug by the previous owner. It fills on its own, thanks to being at the bottom of our property. Nonetheless, the old codgers in the neighborhood are vigilant about water usage. A few have feuds dating back decades, a modern day version of the Hatfields and McCoys. These are the same folk that stew about our pond having more water than it ought, (thereby leaving their man-made horse pond dry), then redirect run-off gulleys directly in to a down-road neighbors driveway, just to flood it water. (For no other purpose that being an evil). But I digress.

I grew tired of having my garden hose ‘mysteriously’ turned off in the middle of the day. My solution was to head to Home Depot, purchase green stakes and some fenching material, a hammer, and erect a flimsy barrier. It wouldn’t keep out a determined person, I knew, but figured it would deter a seventy-something busy body.

In truth, it deterred neither.

One winter night, I left Rog in the bedroom and descended to the bottom floor where I could turn the heat up to temperature of the sun without nary a complaint from Rog. Our home is odd, constructed by a Boeing engineer and a few logs, the thing has two internal doors, lots of open space and at its base, is surrounded by concrete. I can’t hear Rog snoring from the depths below, another reason for my choice of leaving him that particular night.

At one in the morning, I noticed the light was on, and I woke up, bleary eyed, telling Rog to turn off the light, then promptly went back to sleep. A while later, three am by my clock, the light was off, but I saw Rog standing right in front of my bed.  I asked him why he was still awake, and if I anything was wrong. He said not a word, left to go upstairs, or so I thought. That pissed me off. I yelled at him to get back and talk to me (and I’m big enough to admit this) sitting up just in time to flick on the lights and see a man dressed head to toe in black running out of our home.

My immediate reaction was a) that’s not Rog b) he’d been in our home at least two hours, c) he’d been standing over me for who knows how long.

I could barely breath I was so terrified. I tried to scream and nothing came out. It was like those horror movies and bad dreams come true. I literally had no voice eventhough I was ‘giving it all she got’ (captain) (Sulu/Star Trek). Rog finally heard me, rushed downstairs but the figured was long gone.

2-check the footprints. Also, the nights prior to this event, the ground had been hard with frost. I’d noticed footsteps around the backdoor, but once again, thought it was Rog. No one was ever that close to our doors. The detective walked us around the house, showing how the intruder had clearly cased the joint.

His conclusion? “Anyone who got this close to the property was watching you for a while.”

Not good.

I’ve made this recipe dozens and dozens of times. It was frustrating to me that it required a lot of trial and error to understand the “why’s” behind a few of the originally recommended techniques. At the same time, it’s been fun to change the recipe, and improve the outcome based upon my modifications. (sorry Ina!) The result is a brownie recipe you can serve at a nice dinner or fancy party. See the end of the recipe for serving tips.

Tip and techniques:

Metal bottom sheet cake pans are really the only ones that work with this recipe. Ceramic and glass don’t work. The center will be raw and the sides burnt. Trust me. Not good.

The quality of vanilla is important as well. Most folks probably can’t taste the difference, but cooks and discriminating eaters can. 

A last tip on this recipe. A single batch is too much for a regular size pan. Again, it has cooking issues. I happen to have 2 professional size sheet cake pans. These can be purchased at most cooking supply stores. Increase the batch to a double, and you will have enough for a party, your family, the neighbors…..

1 lb salted butter

1 lb, plus 6 oz semisweet chocolate chips

6 ounces unsweetened chocolate

6 extra large eggs, room temperature

2 tbs pure vanilla

2 ¼ cup sugar

1 ¼ cup all-purpose flour

1 tbs baking powder

1 tsp salt

3 cups chopped walnuts

Note: I leave the walnuts out, or add it to half the pan, since a lot of people are allergic or don’t like nuts.

Preparation

For parties, allow to cool, then put on a Saran Wrap, very very tightly, and refrigerate overnight. This hardens the brownies without drying, ensuring the brownies settle, are very dense, and easy to cut in to all types of shapes. Remove from the pan and use fun cookie cutter shapes.

Your guests will love you!!