How to Stuff an Egg

I've been a fool for stuffed eggs since I was a kid. You can call them deviled eggs if you wish, but I like to distinguish between the spicy, paprika, pickle and onion egg concoctions most often presented and the creamy, mild, slightly piquant stuffed eggs of my youth. That being established, I can honestly say I've never met an egg, be it stuffed or deviled, that I didn't like.

Stuffed eggs are another of those southernisms that have as many versions as cooks who make them, but the women in my family had a touch that was unique, and unfortunately they passed on before passing on the secret to me, which I still consider terribly inconsiderate of them.

To say I spent years searching for this recipe would not be an exaggeration, and although I made some lovely eggs along the way, even discovered entire books of deviled egg recipes, the formula for the melt-in-your mouth treats of my childhood remained elusive.

Then I saw this recipe in "The Gift of Southern Cooking" by Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock, (which just may be the best southern cookbook of all time), and eureka! The minute I read it I knew I'd found it, the Holy Grail of stuffed/deviled eggs was mine at long last. The secret? Vinegar and cream!
They're smooth and fluffy with just the right amount of tang and such a bite of heaven there's no way you could call them deviled. And since I don't think there's any such word as angeled, (if there was, these would definitely be angeled eggs), I call them simply sublime.


Before you begin though, a few tips. Let's face it, eggs can be a bitch to peel. The secret to getting a perfectly peeled egg is not to use the freshest eggs in the store. Buy them at least a week before using, if you can, and, that failing, always purchase the eggs with the nearest "sell by" date, (just the opposite of what you would usually do). Make sure the eggs are at room temperature before boiling them and they'll be much less likely to crack. Finally, to assure that the yolk is in the center, turn the cartons on their sides the night before. Sometimes it works, sometimes not, but, hey, it's worth a try.


SIMPLY SUBLIME STUFFED EGGS

1 dozen large eggs
1 tablespoon, plus 1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons heavy cream
Finely chopped chives

Put the eggs in a large saucepan, cover with water and add 1 tablespoon of the salt and 1 tablespoon of the vinegar. Bring to a boil over high heat. Remove from the heat and let them sit, covered, for 10 minutes. Pour off the hot water and immediately run cold tap water over the eggs to stop the cooking, shaking the pan as you do to crack the eggshells.

When cool enough to handle, peel the eggs. Slice in half and remove yolks to a mixing bowl. Finely mash yolks with a fork or potato masher (or put them through a potato ricer). Mix in remaining 1/2 tablespoon vinegar (1 1/2 teaspoons), 1/2 teaspoon salt, sugar and mayonnaise. Blend until smooth. Beat in cream. (If you want them really smooth, use a hand mixer.) Taste and adjust seasonings, adding more salt, sugar or vinegar if needed. If too dry, add a bit more cream or mayonnaise.

Using a teaspoon, (or pastry bag if you want to get fancy), fill the egg white halves. Arrange on an egg plate, (You DO have an egg plate, don’t you?), and sprinkle with chopped chives.

"That" Boeuf Bourguignon

You knew I'd have to do it -- make Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon. Once I saw the movie, Julie and Julia, it was inevitable. Either that or Pate De Canard En Croute, and I'm sure as hell not boning a duck. I'm not chopping a beef roast into little cubes either for that matter, not as long as there's a butcher or supermarket to do it for me, but if one has to make something from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, (and I did), Boeuf Bourguignon seems a good place to start.
Hey basically it's a beef stew, all right. A fancy and refined beef stew to be sure, but stew all the same. (OK, Julia would have me modify that to say that, strictly speaking, Boeuf Bourguignon is a fricassee, which is the term used to label any preparation in which the meat is browned before it is simmered. Got it?) And unlike other beef stews where you just throw everything into one pot and put it on the stove, THIS beef stew is an invitation to mess up every pot, pan and utensil in the kitchen. Is is worth it? I dunno. It is pretty darn delicious, and I'd say for an occasion you might want to go for it.

It's a lot of trouble, and time consuming, (plan on spending an afternoon in the kitchen), though not terribly fussy, and I'm guessing that after making it a few times one will learn one's own little short cuts (forgive me, Julia) to make it easier and more worthwhile. Plus, it's one of those dishes you can make entirely the day before and just reheat, and there's always something to be said for that. (In fact, it's actually better the second day after the flavors have melded and the beef has mulled overnight in the rich sauce.)

One important note; the recipe calls for a chunk of bacon cut into sticks. It is worth it to try and find fresh, uncured bacon, which isn't as difficult as it may seem. Most any good butcher or meat market will have it. If you end up using cured bacon, it will need to be blanched (see recipe), but will work fine. It's just an extra step that's good to avoid if possible.

That all being said, I still think that Julie chick from the movie is bat-shit crazy, obsessive compulsive at the very least, either that or she's lying like a dog. 524 recipes in 365 days in a 900 square foot apartment with a husband, three cats and "something" named Buffy, (according to her blog)? Give me a break. And that husband of hers? He's not a saint, he's a major enabler. I mean seriously, I live in a 1700 square foot apartment with just two cats and a husband, (no Buffy), and it's all I can do to make Beouf Bourguignon on a quiet Sunday afternoon when the Mr. is out. And guess what? We liked it so much I may just do it again.

JULIA CHILD’S BOEUF BOURGUIGNON
(Makes 6 servings)

8-ounce chunk bacon (fresh, uncured and unsmoked, if you can find it)
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 pounds lean stewing beef, cut into 2-inch cubes
1 large carrot, sliced
1 large onion, sliced
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons flour
3 cups full-bodied red wine, such as a Beaujolais, Burgundy or Chianti
3 cups brown beef stock (I used canned beef bouillon)
1 tablespoon tomato paste
2 cloves garlic, mashed through a garlic press
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1 bay leaf, crumbled

25 small white onions
1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup of brown beef stock or red wine
Herb bouquet: 4 parsley sprigs, 1/2 bay leaf, 1/4 teaspoon thyme tied in cheese cloth
Salt & pepper to taste

1 pound fresh mushrooms - whole if small, otherwise cut into halves or quarters
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil

Remove the rind and cut bacon into sticks 1/4 inch thick and 1 1/2 inches long. If using cured bacon, simmer the bacon sticks and rind for 10 minutes in 1 1/2 cups water. Drain and pat dry. This is called blanching the bacon, assuring that the smoked flavor of cured bacon doesn't overwhelm the other, subtler flavors in the dish. Also, if you are using cured bacon you may need to add a little oil for sauteing the meat as blanching cooks some of the fat out of the bacon.

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

Saute the bacon in 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large oven proof, flameproof casserole (9 to 10- inches) for 2 to 5 minutes until lightly browned. Remove to a side dish. Reheat the fat until it is almost smoking.

Dry the beef in paper towels; it will not brown if it is damp. Saute a few pieces at a time, in the hot oil and bacon fat until nicely browned on all sides. Set aside with the bacon.

Brown the sliced carrot and onion in the same fat. Drain. Pour out fat.

Return the beef and bacon to the casserole and toss with the salt and pepper. Then sprinkle on the flour and toss again to coat the beef lightly with the flour. Set casserole, uncovered, in middle position of preheated oven for 4 minutes. Toss the meat again and return to over for 4 minutes more. (This browns the flour and coats the meat with a light crust.) remove casserole and turn oven down to 325 degrees.

Add carrot and onions to casserole. Stir in the wine and beef stock. Add tomato paste, garlic, bay leaf and thyme. Bring to simmer on top of the stove. Then cover casserole and set in lower third of the 325 degree oven. Cook for 2 1/2 to 3 hours until the meat is easily pierced by a fork. Do not overcook.

While the beef is cooking, prepare the onions and mushrooms.

Peel the onions. (If you want to use frozen onions, fine by me. Peeling them is a pain and Julia will never know.) Heat 1 1/2 tablespoon butter and 1 1/2 tablespoon oil in a 9 to 10-inch skillet until bubbling. Add onions and saute over moderate heat for about 10 minutes, rolling them about so they brown as evenly as possible. Pour in beef broth or wine, add herb bouquet, and simmer slowly for 40 minutes until the onions are tender but retain their shape and most of the liquid has been absorbed. Remove herb bouquet and set onions aside.
(Is it just me, or do these look like eyeballs rolling around in the pan?)

Trim and slice mushrooms. Place 9 to 10-inch skillet over high heat with 4 tablespoons butter and 2 tablespoons olive oil. As soon as the foam has begun to subside, add mushrooms. Toss and shake the pan for 4 to 5 minutes. (During the saute the mushrooms will absorb the fat, but you don't need to add more.) Continue to saute until mushrooms are lightly browned. Remove from heat and set aside.

When the beef is tender, pour the contents of the casserole into a sieve set over a large saucepan. Wash out the casserole and return the beef and bacon to it. Distribute the cooked onions and mushrooms over the meat.
Skim the fat off the sauce in the saucepan. Simmer sauce for a few minutes until thick enough to coat a spoon lightly. You should have about 2 1/2 cups of sauce. If it is too thin, boil it down to the desired consistency. If too thick, add a little wine or beef stock. Taste and adjust seasonings. Pour the sauce over the meat and vegetables. (NOTE: I'm not altogether sure this sieving and simmering step is absolutely necessary. My sauce was perfectly seasoned, coated a spoon and didn't need boiling down right, out of the pot. Still, Julia said to do it, so I did.)

Cover the casserole and simmer for 2 to 3 minutes, basting the meat and vegetables with the sauce several times. Bon appetit!

Lard Is Just A Four Letter Word

Time was when dropping the L-bomb at mealtime was enough to send any "modern" cook screaming from the kitchen and the average dinner guest running from the table, clutching his heart with one hand and dialing his cardiologist on his cell phone with the other. But I'm here to tell you that lard has gotten a bad rap, and like any other good four letter word a dollop of it can add a little something special in any number of situations, culinary and otherwise.

Now I won't lie. It ain't health food, but it's not as bad for you as you may have been led to believe, and it may actually be better for you than some of the allegedly healthier fats you've been using instead. And let's face it, there are some things that are just plain better with lard. Pie pastry and fried chicken come to mind, (absolutely nothing gives pastry the tender, flaky texture that lard does and, trust me, if you ever eat chicken fried in lard, you'll never go back.), and since, in our house at least, these are treat foods that we don't eat very often, I say, go for it.

Let's consider the alternatives for pastry.

Like most cooks in the last century or so, my mother swore by Crisco, and it does make an altogether acceptable, even delicious, pie crust. The original Frankenfood, Crisco, strictly speaking, isn't food at all but rather a hydrogenated cottonseed oil concoction invented by Procter & Gamble and put on the market in 1911. It sort of looked like lard. It was odorless and tasteless, it didn't go rancid quickly, as lard was want to do, and it was a real boon for "our Jewish friends," (as a 1922 Crisco booklet pointed out), because it was Kosher! If anybody missed the richer, fuller flavor and delectable crumb of lard made pastry, they were loath to admit it, and within a generation most people had forgotten how it tasted anyway. Lard was off the table and Crisco was king.

Oh, and did I mention it was hydrogenated with trans fats? Well, sometime around the middle of the 20th century scientists discovered that trans fats, and therefore Crisco and the other hydrogenated vegetable shortening spin-offs, weren't very good for the human body, and were at least as bad for you as, if not worse than, solidified pig fat. (To be fair, Crisco recently introduced a zero trans fat shortening, in the green can. I haven't tried it so I can't comment on its' merits or not.)

Butter made pie pastry is melt in your mouth good, but, in my experience, often too tender and therefore difficult to handle, and will literally crumble if you breathe on it. Plus, with a whooping 60 percent saturated fat content, (compared with just 40 percent for lard), it's definitely not a healthier choice.

Because solid vegetable shortening is tasteless, some cooks have made a respectable pie crust by combining it with butter, again, probably worse for you than lard, but tasty if you like the butter flavor. As for oil made pastry? Forget about it. Seriously. If you really like pie, you won't like it.

I have seen some pie pastry recipes that use a combination of butter and lard, which sounds pretty good to me. Haven't tried it, but I will and when I do, I'll get back to you.

And that brings me back to LARD, our grandmother's gold standard, which I have rediscovered and embraced. Here's my recipe for basic pie pastry, lifted straight from the pages of Southern Cooking From Mary Mac's Tea Room. After you've made the pastry I can't think of anything better to do with it than make up a batch of one of my favorite guilty pleasures -- peach turnovers. Bake them if you want to cut down on the fat a bit, (I've actually come to prefer them this way), or stick with tradition and fry them up in hot peanut oil, (save the lard to fry chicken). You'll be glad you did.

NOTE: Some commercial supermarket lards have been hydrogenated to enhance shelf life. Read the label. If it's hydrogenated or partially hydrogenated, you do not want this lard. You want one that contains zero trans fats.



BASIC PIE PASTRY

1 cup lard (or other solid shortening, if you must)
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (I swear by White Lily)
2/3 cup ice water, with crushed ice
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar

Cream lard with salt and sugar in large bowl of electric mixer. Add one cup of the flour. When the mixture becomes stiff, add 1 tablespoon of the ice and water. Repeat process until all the flour and water is used. Mixture should be soft but not wet.

If making turnovers, roll the dough into 10 equal balls and refrigerate for at least 1/2 hour. (This pastry can be kept for several weeks in a sealed plastic bag in fridge or frozen for up to a month.)



PEACH TURNOVERS
(Makes 10 pies - Baked or Fried)

12 ounces dried peaches
2 cups water
2/3 cup sugar
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1/4 cup whiskey or bourbon (I use Jack Daniels -- optional)
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

In a medium saucepan, bring peaches and water to a boil. Lower the heat, cover and simmer until the peaches have reconstituted, are very tender and have absorbed most of the water. (About 2o minutes).

Mash peaches. Add sugar, whiskey, lemon juice, cinnamon and nutmeg. Simmer over low heat for about 10 minutes more, stirring frequently, until the peach mixture is thick like preserves. Cool.

On floured board with floured rolling pin, flatten dough balls into circles about 6-inches round and 1/8 inch thick. Place about 2 tablespoons of the peach mixture in the center of each circle. Brush edges with cold water, fold over and seal by pressing fork tines around edge. Trim excess dough.

TO FRY: Heat 2 1/2 cups peanut oil in a large skillet (cast iron if you have it) until the oil is very hot (about 375 degrees). Fry pies in batches, turning once, for about 2 minutes per side, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with sugar before serving if desired.

TO BAKE: Prick top of pies with fork several times to vent. Brush with melted butter or an egg wash, (1 egg lightly beaten with 2 tablespoons milk and a pinch of salt). Sprinkle with sugar if desired. Place on prepared baking sheet, (lightly greased, or, my preferred method, lined with a sheet of non-stick tin-foil). Bake in 350 degree oven for 20 to 25 minutes, until lightly brown.

Either way, serve these puppies warm with a couple of big scoops of vanilla ice cream. Yum!

Mo' Tomatoes

In my search to find more stuff to do with the surfeit of tomatoes I find myself wallowing in, and inspired by a half loaf of leftover French bread, I recalled a simple but scrumptious appetizer I first tasted when we visited Italy a few years ago and have enjoyed since in some of the better Italian eateries. Bruschetta (pronounced broo-skeh-tuh) are, (It's always plural. I guess you'd never order one "Bruschetti."), delicious little morsels of toasted bread topped with what amounts to an Italian tomato salsa. I looked on-line for a good recipe, one for which I had all the necessary ingredients on hand, and, not coming up with exactly what I was looking for, I took a bit of this one, and a bit of that one, and created a version that I think is just about the bomb.

I used three different colored heirloom tomato varieties, (Green Zebra, Kellogg's Breakfast, and Brandywine), because that's what I had on hand, and it does make for a beautiful presentation with the green, yellow and red tomatoes bathed in olive oil and sprinkled with little white flecks of garlic and onion. However, I'm quite sure it would be almost as good with any fresh tomatoes.

As for the bread, if you can buy it the day before so it's slightly stale it's best and easier to slice but, if not, no worries. (BTW, Bruschetta actually refers to the bread itself, which can theoretically be topped with anything, or nothing at all, and still be called Bruschetta.) Some purists brush the bread with olive oil before toasting, but I prefer a quick spritz of I Can't Believe It's Not Better spray. (It's less messy and less fattening, and has quickly a staple in my kitchen for all kinds of stuff. You'll like it!)



HEIRLOOM TOMATO BRUSCHETTA

4 large tomatoes, assorted heirloom varieties, seeded and chopped
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh cilantro
2 tablespoons finely chopped green onion
2 cloves garlic, minced (or put through a garlic press)
4 tablespoons finely chopped fresh basil
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

1 French baguette bread loaf
Margarine spray or olive oil for bread

Combine tomatoes, cilantro, onion, garlic, basil, olive oil, salt and pepper in a medium bowl. Cover and refrigerate for at least 3 hours to combine flavors.

Cut baguette on the diagonal into 1/4 inch slices. Brush each side lightly with olive oil or spray with margarine spray (preferred). Place on large baking sheet (lined with tinfoil to minimize clean-up) and toast in oven, turning once, until lightly brown on both sides.

Serve tomato mixture on toasted baguette slices.

My Tomato Thumb

I have never been accused of possessing a green thumb, (in fact my house has been known as a place where plants go to die), and all my previous efforts at growing tomatoes having resulted in a paltry, if tasty, harvest of a handful of hard-won fruits, I was totally unprepared for the bounty the five plants I set out this year would yield.

Either I have developed the proverbial tomato thumb or discovered the sweet spot for growing them, in a cleared out sliver of earth, (previously known to neighborhood cats as the biggest little outdoor litter box on the street), between the house and our neighbor's busy driveway. Most likely the latter, since I really didn't do anything except put them in the ground and provide a little fertilizer and lots of water. (And may I say they must thrive on car exhaust.)

Not expecting much, I chose hardy varieties, mixing hybrid and heritage vines, and hoped for the best. I got better. The Green Zebra was the most prolific, followed closely by Early Girl and then Better Boy, but the prize for size (and flavor) has to go the venerable Brandywine, and the medal for sheer beauty to the golden, inexplicably named, Kellogg's Breakfast tomato, which, really can be eaten any time, just so you know. (My thanks to friends George and Cindy Martin at The Tasteful Garden for the links to tomato photos and commentary. Check them out, they're the best.)

For the past few weeks I've been rolling in the glories of too many tomatoes. I've made quantities of tomato sauces and stowed them in the freezer. I've shared tomatoes with family and friends. I've served tomatoes in every imaginable fashion, and searched for new ways to prepare them, making some delicious discoveries along the way. However, one of my favorites remains that tried and true, often overstated but never over-rated, delicacy -- fried green tomatoes.

Like many iconic southern dishes there are probably as many ways of frying green tomatoes as there are cooks who fry them. Some swear by a cornmeal crust, others insist only flour will do. Some use vegetable shortening for frying, others prefer peanut oil, canola oil or even pure bacon grease. I've taken a little of all the best and come up with my own formula. I think a mixture of flour and cornmeal makes the crunchiest crust and a little bacon grease, for flavor, mixed with peanut oil is tops for the frying. I call them Fried Green Tomatoes A La Annie, and they're really, really good.

May we all always have too many tomatoes.


FRIED GREEN TOMATOES A LA ANNIE

5 medium green tomatoes
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup white or yellow cornmeal
2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons black pepper
1 cup milk
2 eggs
6 bacon strips
Peanut oil for frying

Cut tomatoes into 1/4-inch-thick slices.

Beat eggs with milk in a shallow bowl.

Combine flour, cornmeal, salt and pepper in another shallow bowl.

Dip tomato slices in the egg mixture, then dredge them in the flour/cornmeal mixture. Dip again, dredge again. Place slices on a baking sheet and chill for a few minutes while you fry the bacon.

Fry the bacon in a large cast iron or other heavy skillet. Remove bacon and set aside to drain.

Add enough peanut oil to the bacon grease to make about 2-inches depth. (Deep enough to cover tomato slices.) Heat on medium high to about 360 degrees, or until fat sputters when flicked with cornmeal. Fry tomatoes in batches, turning once, until golden brown on both sides (about 1 to 2 minutes per side). Drain on paper towels. Serve immediately.

Never one to waste good bacon, I crumble the reserved bacon strips over the top!

Creamed Corn with Leeks and Bacon

Food-wise, I'm of the opinion that there are very few dishes that can't be improved by the addition of bacon; with the possible exception of a few dessert items, and even then I've found some very credible recipes for bacon ice cream, bacon candy, and even bacon cupcakes, although I'm not sure I want to go there.

Let's face it, very few foods have achieved the cult status of the humble strips of pork belly that we've come to love for breakfast, lunch and dinner. There are entire websites devoted to that particular cut of the pig, bacon blogs galore, and more bacon flavored products, some more dubious than others, than you can possibly imagine, or want. There's a bacon chocolate bar, bacon breath mints,

bacon lip balm,

and gummy bacon strips.

Cocktail time? Have yourself a bacon martini.

Or if you really want to go whole hog, pun absolutely intended, check out this link to a heart attack on a platter recipe for bacon cheese roll.

If you want your BLT with the flavor, but not the fat, of the B, try Baconnaise, whose web site proudly proclaims, "everything should taste like bacon." I couldn't agree more.

Although it's hard to improve on the flavor of fresh summer corn, which just may be my favorite "vegetable", adding a little bacon can definitely take it over the top. This recipe for fresh creamed corn with bacon and leeks is one of my summertime specialties, and you should know if I'm going to the trouble of actually cutting corn off the cob, (a messy and often thankless task), it has to be really, really good. There are some cute little devices which claim to make the task easier. This smiley face corn zipper for instance, which works pretty well, but I'm still just as happy using a nice, sharp paring knife. Another option might be using fresh frozen corn. I haven't tried it, but I'm betting it would work just fine in a pinch or when the fresh stuff is out of season. But then, what's the fun in that?


FRESH CREAMED CORN WITH BACON AND LEEKS

6 to 8 ears fresh corn (about 6 cups)
1 1/2 cups milk
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 1/2 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 pound bacon
1 1/2 cups chopped leek (about 2 leeks)

Cut kernels from and scrape ears of corn. (Or use 6 cups fresh frozen corn)

Place half the corn (about 3 cups) in blender or food processor with milk, cornstarch, sugar, salt and pepper. Process until smooth. Set aside.

Cook bacon in a large nonstick or cast-iron skillet until crisp. Remove bacon and drain. Drain drippings leaving about 1 tablespoon in pan.

Add leeks and cook about 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Add pureed corn mixture and the remaining corn to pan. Bring to boil.

Reduce heat and simmer for about 20 minutes until slightly thickened. (If mixture gets too thick before the corn is done add a little more milk.)

Crumble bacon and sprinkle on top before serving. Serves 6. (Unless you like it as much as I do, in which case, it serves 4!)

NOTE: The original version of this recipe came from Cooking Light magazine and calls for 2% milk and only 4 slices of bacon. I've made it using 2% milk and can't tell the difference. However, bacon being bacon, 4 slices just won't do!

Your Cheatin' Brownies

Everybody loves brownies. And perhaps because they're not particularly hard to make, people typically don't want to have to fuss over them very much, more of a bake 'em and go sort of thing. Still, that doesn't mean they can't be an outstanding dessert.


To me the ideal brownie is quick, easy, deadly rich with chocolate, and finished with a slight nut crunch. I've come up with a way to get the brownie I want without having to spend a lot of time in the kitchen, and now you won't have to either.

This is my quick go-to dessert for picnics, potlucks and parties, and it makes a great everyday treat if you're craving a big chocolate fix or just want to pig out. I've even put them in an interesting container -- say a vintage lunch box, old fruitcake tin or plastic beach pail, and given them as a gifts. Either people love them, or they're lying.

It's the Cliff Notes of Brownie Recipes, so easy it's almost like cheating, (maybe it even is), so rich the chocolate oozes out between bites, and totally foolproof unless you burn them. That having been said, it starts out with a box so if anybody asks, you didn't get this recipe from me.


YOUR CHEATIN' BROWNIES

1 1-pound box brownie mix
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 eggs
1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans
1/2 cup chocolate chips

For best results use a premium brownie mix with a chocolate syrup pouch in the box. I recommend Betty Crocker Hershey's Dark Chocolate brownie mix.

Combine brownie mix with water, oil and eggs according to package directions. Stir in nuts and chocolate chips.

Pour into an 8" square baking pan prepared with baking spray. Bake at 325 degrees for 50 to 55 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out almost clean.

Cool completely. Cut into squares. Dust with cocoa and/or powdered sugar.

If you really want to add a "wow" factor and dress them up, serve them with fresh strawberries and creme fraiche. Elegant, decadent, simply yummy.