I knew it was going to happen before it happened.
I imagined the Greek's wife watching through our kitchen window from two yards away. The glare from the evening sun bouncing off of the glass, compromising her vision. Baffled, her attention cut by the mounting arthritic pain in her left hand.
I am holding my breath, trying to balance the pan on the cooling rack to no avail. It slides. North. South. East. West. Whoa.
I feel like a circus act. Balancing spinning plates on a stick.
The pan finally glides gracefully from the rack, through the air—reminiscent of a ski jump. It completes one somersault before landing bottom down with a crash to the tiles below.
Finally, I exhale.
Roberto looks over.
"The brownies fell, but they're okay." I say.
"Did they break the tiles?" He asks.
It was rather loud.
I have to laugh. "I'm worried about the brownies and you're worried about the tiles." I say.
He cracks a smile.
But I'm starting to wonder if making these brownies was a good idea.
Out of all-purpose, I used whole wheat.
Out of bakers chocolate, I used bittersweet.
Heck, I thought. Might as well throw in the last of those pecans too while I'm at it.
I insist quietly. "I CAN'T taste the whole wheat."
He insists quietly. "I CAN taste the whole wheat."
I vow never to make brownies with whole wheat again. To only use all-purpose flour, processed white sugar, and the bakers chocolate that I've always used.
"You can't beat the book club recipe." I say.
"Book club?" He says.
"It's the brownie recipe out of Joy of Cooking." I say.
"Oh, and no nuts." He says.
"No nuts." I say.