Tagalong Cookie Brownies

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These brownies have been circulating the internet for years under many names. But now I have children and calling them by what I first knew them, slutty brownies, isn't exactly appropriate. I also don't like calling them simply brownies, because then my kids will think this is the base model for a brownie. And it should be, but that is an argument for a different time and place. 

Anyway, the concept behind these treats is simple. The original recipe is to press a tray of break and bake chocolate chip cookie dough into an 8 x 8 pan, arrange Oreos atop that (I only ever used Double Stuf) and add brownie mix to the top before baking as per the instructions on the brownie box. (I usually take them out a few minutes early, to keep the brownies fudgy.) Easy. Delicious. Potentially deadly. 

These are my go-to dessert for a crowd. I buy the giant log of Nestle cookie dough (it is DF, because everyone should enjoy these), press it into a 9x13 pan, and then proceed as usual. However, there were Girl Scouts outside the grocery store on Friday, and they had Tagalongs. 

Tagalongs, for those unfamiliar, are the cookies that are layered with peanut butter before being covered in chocolate. You see where this is going.

I'm torn between finding the Girl Scouts and buying every last box of Tagalongs they have or keeping this as a once-every-year treat. Because these are really dangerous. Really, really dangerous. 

Want to make it even better/potentially artery clogging?

Not only is this ice cream amazing on its own, but on top of these brownies? You don't need to take my word for it. You need to go to the store, get the ingredients, bake them, and find some friends to share in this experience. (Please do not try this alone. I worry.)

One Minute (and two hour) Fudge

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Maybe you have seen Tip Hero's Easy Microwave Fudge video that has gone viral on Facebook. Maybe not, but I'm betting you are interested now. Because it promises fudge from your microwave. 

I've tried many of these little 30-second shorts that always have text imposed over artsy videos of pouring ingredients into a glass bowl while someone plays whimsical, generic chords on a ukelele and poof! something delicious appears. Many times I have been disappointed.

But not this time, dear reader. This time, we win.

The cutesy video instructs you mix 3 cups of any candy melting chips (I used 2 cups of semi-sweet and one cup of dark chocolate) with one 14oz can of sweetened condensed milk. I microwaved mine for the instructed one minute, stirred, and then added another 20 seconds, because it was still fairly chunky after vigorous stirring. 

Then, you pour it into a container lined with foil and sprayed with cooking spray. In the video, they use a square baking dish. I used a plastic storage container, because I wanted more depth to my fudge. If I did this for a party, I'd double the amount and pour it into a loaf pan, for a legit brick of fudge that can be sliced.

The last step before "destroy" is to let it cool in the refrigerator for 2 hours. Fortunately, I had to leave the house, so I wasn't tempted to poke at it every 12 seconds. 

Upon arriving home, I opened the container, peeled off the foil and... had some concerns. The one in the video was much prettier. 

But whatever. I'm not about presentation.

I sliced off a bit, just to see, and sampled a small piece.

Now, I know there are die-hard fudge people. I married one. The consistency is off. This is fudge like mug cake is a cupcake. Of course it isn't perfect, because you didn't put the time and love of the real stuff into it. It is perfectly good for what it is - quick, easy, and stuff you likely have on hand. It is chocolate. You just need to wait a few hours for it. 

Ideas: 

Use a cup (or more) of butterscotch or peanut butter chips.

Stir in some Heath.

Press walnuts or salted almonds into the top (pieces, of course)

Put nuts and mini marshmallows at the bottom of the pan before pouring in the fudge, or just stir them into the fudge.

Prepare 2 cups of milk chocolate separate from one cup of dark chocolate (or white, or any other chips) and mix at the last minute, for a swirl effect.

The possibilities are endless!

#thecookieproject

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Yesterday, Grandma turned 90. The year she was born (1925), both The Great Gatsby and Mein Kamph were published, Mt. Rushmore was officially dedicated to be the site of the now famous monument (carving began 2 years later) and the Scopes Monkey Trial took place. Grandma is the youngest of nine children, and the only survivor of her siblings. She has three kids, 11 grandkids, and 13 great-grandkids. Today we celebrated her. The love in the room was palpable. To see an actual living, moving, laughing family tree all stemming from our A-Family matriarch. It is incredible. 

Although I am not blood-related, Grandma is my only surviving grandparent. She has taught me many things since our first meeting almost a decade ago, and I have tried to soak it all in. One thing Grandma is fiercely proud of is her baking. She is a true old-school baker. Nothing comes from a mix or a box, and everything is made with butter and love. Except the parve cookies. They are made with oleo and love.

Up until a few years ago, Grandma baked consistently. There were always cookies in the freezer, and when we would visit she would insist we eat a few. Then she'd tell us to wait a minute to eat them so we didn't break our teeth, and watch as we bit down. "Well, how are they? Are they any good?" she would always want to know. It wouldn't matter if you were there last week and had a cookie from the exact same bag. She wanted to know.

But she wasn't fishing for compliments. She did, in part, want to know if the cookie actually came out well, because baking is fickle like that and you don't want to keep feeding people awful baked goods. 

What she wanted to know was if the cookie was to your liking. If you had enjoyed that cookie. If it made you a little happier. And as someone who never used to bake more than an occasional boxed cake or my Italian meatball cookies at Christmastime, I never really understood or appreciated that until now. 

For Grandma's party, I wanted to make her cookies.

All her cookies.

All was pretty ambitious. I had to narrow it down drastically or go broke trying. I asked a few family members for favorites, took note, and set to work. Since this was largely done during the day, I took it on as a family project, in effort to teach my kids some of their heritage while honing math skills. 

We started with mandelbrot. I have made biscotti that hasn't turned out awful (and some that has) so this seemed like a good starting point. Julia the Child was all about making this, and did a good portion of the mixing on her own. Our house smelled amazing. I didn't let anyone touch a single piece until Hubsy came home. He tried it and said it wasn't quite right. It was good, but it wasn't really like Grandma's. 

Fortunately my recipe is dairy-free, and I have a DF friend who gladly took the "failures" off my hands. I tried again. And this would become the story of making 500 cookies. (Not an exaggeration. I feel a bit embarrassed about thinking I may have not made enough now...) 

The kids and I would bake. 

Then I'd torture my husband with something like this: 

Even if they looked right, I'd make him eat some to be sure. I became an anxious hot mess over the replication of cookies. Once they were deemed perfect, I'd splash them all over Instagram with my #thecookieproject hashtag to document actually getting it right. Friends got used to being taste-testers and I got used to running errands covered in flour and smelling like creamed butter and vanilla.

Every dough I made, I'd remember a story or comment Grandma had told me when passing on her recipes. Meringues will fall if you make them on an overcast day. Yeast dough is a joy to work with once you work some flour into it. Richard always loved the crinkle cookies best. I'd tell the girls what Grandma told me. And I'll tell them again. And again. They'll get sick of it eventually, but then some day they'll roll out yeast dough with their kids and comment on how their great grandmother always said the dough was a joy to work with once you got flour into it. They'll defy old Jewish bakers' wisdoms and make meringues regardless of the forecast, just to see what happens.

They will know that baking these cookies isn't only for a treat, it is a labor of love. In a world full of shortcuts, cookies like these shine. I know it is commonly perceived that stay-at-home parents have the luxury of time, but not like these cookies took. (Or any, ever. Time is an illusion.) Good thing my kids like to bake and my husband is willing to do dishes and laundry when I abandon adult responsibilities for a project of this magnitude. Even the baking dishes from the day. He's awesome.

Unwrap 72 Rollos? SURE! I wasn't doing anything with that hour.

In the beginning, I thought I'd just whip up a batch of cookies every week for a month and that would be that. In the end, it turned into a multitude of ingredient substituting (seriously, Nestle, bring back the Choco-Bake. What were you thinking?), bulk orders of brickle, grocery store runs and late-night, all-hands-on-deck cookie rolling. And we had fun. A lot of fun. 

This morning I found the giant tray I have never had need for and lined it with origami paper, since my doilies have been fashioned into doll blankets and Valentines. The cookie project capstone was Grandma's infamous chocolate cake, which must be made for every A-Family man's birthday, because it is what they grew up with and all they ever request. (This one I actually have down pat, for someone who "doesn't bake.")

I forgot the chocolate chip cookies in the freezer.
Meaning this isn't even all of them.

My husband drove to the party more carefully than he did when we brought our babies home from the hospital. No casualties were suffered.

Watching Grandma watch her family, all of which would not have been possible without her, I understood that although the countless number of cookies she baked over her many years were in part because they were delicious and in part that she found baking to be joyful and calming, the underlying reason for all her effort and time was love. Who doesn't love to make people happy? Baking is one way, a big way, Grandma conveys love. That's why she wants to know - are they any good? 

With the blessing to share, Grandma's (and Pillsbury's) Rollo-filled cookies recipe:

Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! Ice Box Cake

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Last weekend it was hot.  We spent every daylight hour weeding, planting, training the puppy, chasing the toddler, all outside, soaking up the sun.

My in-laws had been visiting my brother-in-law in Ecuador, and were returning on Sunday.  I volunteered to make dinner, so they didn't need to come home at 8 pm and think about food.  (Nobody wants to do that.)

The A. family dessert is ice cream Snickers bars.  I'm pretty sure you can't take the last name without accepting that these are singlehandedly the most perfect hot-day dessert available in the U.S. of A., so I thought I would go ahead and make Snickers bon-bons.  Note that the above picture does not feature anything resembling a Snickers bar, frozen or otherwise.

(They would have been delicious if my drawer freezer could actually freeze something.  The mess of caramel, peanuts, and semi-formed Brigham's ice cream balls was very tasty.)


Plan B was strawberry shortcake, but it was just. too. hot.

That is when I decided to make an "ice box" cake by today's standards.  An "ice box" by Mr. Popper's standards was a metal box you placed a cube of ice into to create a refrigerator.  I wanted something colder.

I decided to take the components of strawberry shortcake and layer them in a loaf pan, freeze it (best my freezer can) and call it dessert.

There are the ingredients and most of the materials:

one well-lined loaf pan

lady fingers (that is one package, or 24 fingers)

1 pint of blueberries

1 container of strawberries, sliced

vanilla

heavy whipping cream

cinnamon sugar

Really, you could use any berries you like.  This is just what I had, and it made a beautifully patriotic cake.

Whip the cream with some vanilla and cinnamon sugar.  (Taste it to get it right.)

The idea is simple.  You layer the ingredients.  The first layer will be the top of your cake, so make it count.  The rest, do what you will.  I used only strawberries on my first layer.  (Done on a bigger scale and for a summer patriotic holiday, I might be Martha enough to attempt a flag.)

Then just keep layering.  My order was strawberries, whipped cream, lady fingers and blue berries, whipped cream, some more strawberries, cream, lady fingers, cream, blueberries, cream, fingers... it all got jumbled.  It was still delicious.

Freeze for at least 2 hours, but would be fine for a day or two, and invert and remove when ready to serve.

I pulled this out of the freezer and my mother-in-law said "Glory, glory, hallelujah!"
Now, she's from the south.  Having known her for over five years and having lived in the south for two, exclamations like this no longer phase me.  (Before the Tar Heels chased the Yankee out of me, it would have made scenes from Deliverance flash in my mind.)  But no, she wasn't just as excited about this dessert as I was (I mean, come on, it is frozen whipped cream!) but that is what her mother, Grandma Mary, used to call it.  I had unintentionally resurrected an old family treat, lovingly named Glory, Glory, Hallelujah.

Phone picture.  Sorry.

Enjoy!  I will say that this one loaf pan made about 10 servings.  It is delicious, but one of those things where a little bit goes a long way.