The M Word

Los Angeles, California


Speaking of things that don't change. Remember when Coca Cola came up with New Coke? How bad of an idea was that (even though I don't drink Coke...except at fifteen when, during a family vacation in Jamaica, my drink of choice was, you got it, rum & coke)? Anyway, bad idea was New Coke. But here comes something that seemingly hasn't changed. They are seasonal, so they disappear when the warm-weather months arrive. As a result, it's difficult to take them for granted, though possible to overindulge knowing that they won't be here forever. Even tempting. But, truly, right about the time that you're feeling, say, blase about them, they disapparate. Late spring and summer passes. Then, in autumn, they show up again -- just about when new-crop apples and pumpkins appear. They cause my heart to skip a beat when I first see their shiny yellow box shelved at my grocery store. They are here, and they are...Mallomars.


I used to know a professor who once said that if his students find out about his passion for chocolate, they have him. He confessed that he loved imported, Belgian dark chocolate, but that even a Ding Dong could bring him to his knees. That's me and Mallomars. And what is not to like? Unlike a lot of questionable-quality, market variety cookies and candy, these are dark chocolate. They are comprised of a little wafery cookie on the bottom, a blob of marshmallow on the top, with that chocolate enrobing it all. They have crunch, a bit of smoothness and a lingering finish of chocolate. Just thinking about them -- weak in the knees.


I'm not a glutton for Mallomars. A box of them will last me awhile. And while I savor them, I ponder the fact that they have been lauded in movies--specifically When Harry Met Sally and Regarding Henry. And I just bet they're name-dropped in other books and films as well. As they should be.


It being Mallomar season, and also time to provide a recipe, I searched my files and my brain for something chocolate. But, other than my Crazy Chocolate Cake, which I've already shared, and my Chocolate Ganache Cupcakes, which are cribbed intact from The Barefoot Contessa, I was surprised to discover that I didn't have a lot of chocolate recipes. This is probably because while I was growing up not a lot of attention was thrown to chocolate in our home. I have a sib who is "allergic" to chocolate. She suffers from migraine headaches, and was once given a list of potential migraine triggers. She only gave up chocolate. Not red wine. Not yellow cheese. Chocolate. As she continues to have migraines, chocolate-lovers might wonder what was the point of this. But you have to understand the secondary gain...that she has had a lot of fun sleuthing out chocolate in places one wouldn't expect to find it.


"I'm giving you back the lip balm that you gave me for Christmas."


"You don't like it?" I asked.


"Look at the ingredients. It's got cocoa butter in it."


Yikes.


But my favorite similar exchange about chocolate took place in the dining rooms of the cruise ships we were on each summer during a span of about fifteen years. Our mom thought it a great idea to take a 'girls' cruise' each summer, and she generously and graciously treated us to trips to the Caribbean, Mediterranean, Mexico, Bermuda, Canada, and Hawaii. No matter where we were cruising, I can guarantee you that this conversation always took place.


"For dessert tonight, we have apple pie, creme brulee, strawberry shortcake, chocolate mousse, ice cream and sorbets," our waiter (any waiter, on any ship), would announce.


"Excuse me," she said, gathering his attention with a fixed, suspicious eye. "The apple pie. Does that have chocolate in it?"


"No, Madame."


"How about the creme brulee?"


"No, Madame. No chocolate in the creme brulee."


"Are you sure?"


"Yes, Madame, I'm quite certain."


"The strawberry shortcake. Is there chocolate in that?"


By this time ALL of us table mates were rolling our eyes. There's no f#%&=$*! chocolate in strawberry shortcake we all wanted to yell, as this had been going on every friggin' night. Although...although...I do know people who line their pie crusts with a thin smear of melted chocolate in order to protect against sogginess. And in pies like pumpkin? White chocolate. It makes you think.


Having grown up with this, and knowing that she will not even eat chili because there may be cocoa in the chili powder (who knew?), I was groomed to be hyper-vigilant about what I serve to her. Except . . . there were those edamame. I always seasoned them with Williams-Sonoma's French Fry Seasoning. And she always, always ate them. Then there was that one time when she complimented me and asked me about the seasoning. So I read the label. And I put the can back, way far back on the shelf of the pantry, behind all the other seasonings.  I said nothing about the cocoa, listed as it was at the bottom of the list of ingredients. Of course I stopped using it when she was visiting (and, by the way, she never had a migraine while she was a house guest at our home). But still, you have to think that a little chocolate got through. And a good thing that. I don't think there are many syndromes worse than chocolate deficiency. Can make a person cranky, and sometimes even downright miserable.


OK, to be fair about this, it's not like this was a real food allergy that could cause death from anaphylactic shock. I mean, she avoided chocolate like the plague, but she still got migraines. And those of us jumping through her anti-chocolate hoop got a few headaches of our own. But I am a dutiful sister, and so this is what I often made for her, beginning way back when I was in elementary school. It may have helped me get my cooking badge in Girl Scouts. I certainly made enough batches of it during that time.

Butterscotch Brownies


1/4   cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
1        cup light brown sugar
1        egg
3/4   cup flour, unsifted
1        teaspoon baking powder
1/2   teaspoon kosher salt
1/2   teaspoon vanilla
1/2   cup coarsely chopped pecans (optional)


Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.


Melt butter over low heat.  Remove from heat, add sugar,and  stir until blended. Cool. Add egg, mixing well. Stir in dry ingredients, then vanilla and nuts (if using).


Spread into a well-oiled eight-inch square or 5x7-inch pan.


Bake  approximately 20 minutes.



You can, of course, frost these. Chocolate frosting would be pretty nifty, as would adding mini-chocolate chips to the batter. But traditionally these are prepared sans chocolate. I'm such a traditionalist, I would suggest that these go well with a glass of cold milk. And certainly a chaser of Mallomars couldn't hurt. 'Tis the season, after all, and thank you (especially you chocoholics -- you know who you are) for reading my blog.