The kids and I decided to make brownies.

Only brownies from scratch is far too fancy – we believe in brownie mixes in our family.

First you need eggs.

Which came after having a chicken.

Or a grocery store.

Depending.

If you break shell into the bowl, your sister will not hesitate to remove you from egg-breaking duty.

Sisters are always willing to enforce the law of the jungle.

Water is always best when out of the sink.

Unless you live someplace with smelly water.

Then bottled water should be used.

Unless you’ve grown to have a grudging acceptance of your putrid water.

I won’t judge.

Vegetable oil is added.

I’ve never attempted to use other kinds of oil.

But I’d love to hear your stories – I’m particularly intrigued by olive.

Did you know Tunisia is the world’s 3rd largest exporter of olive oil?

I gave my aunt whose kitchen we’re baking brownies in an olive wood vase as a souvenir from Tunisia.

See how it all comes together?

No?

At this point, your egg/water mixture should look like this.

Or maybe not.

Ours didn’t turn out so well.

This is water and oil mixing.

I always knew they’d overcome their differences and make peace.

Next: Israelis and Palestinians.

Mix mix mix, mix mix mix, mix your batter.

Apparently my cousins have succumbed to the lure of silly bandz.

Let’s all try not to judge.

There’s something about fake chocolate powder that just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

You?

Make sure to consult often with the box instructions.

Or this blog post.

Whichever you feel is the higher authority.

Hopefully the mixture will now turn gloopy.

That’s to be expected.

My mom once worked with a woman who swore that the secret to all great brownies is being baked in a glass pan.

It didn’t work out this time.

But let’s not blame her coworker completely.

To ensure the oven has reached the desired temperature, just stick any random body part inside.

As the oldest, it was my responsibility to hand this task off to my younger cousins.

Then, observing said task, make her stand there for another minute while I took a photo.

I’m all about safety.

All baking should be done with maximum joy and cheesiness.

But only the human kind.

Science has yet to perfect the good cheese brownie.

Then bake.

No shake necessary.

I have no idea why our brownies ended up with a strange, far too spongy consistency.

But I’m going to blame my mom’s coworker.

As the last important step, never forget to scour the brownies for long hairs that have made their way into the batter.

Then just pull those right out, ignoring the suspicious tracks it’ll leave in the brownies.

Consider covering said tracks with icing, but after discovering there’s no icing to be had, decide nobody will notice.

‘Cause nobody did notice,

Megan

Fish & Chips with a side of pierogies and sour cream.

That’s the Friday night special at this little bar and restaurant in downtown Herndon.  And it’s delicious.

But it’s only on the menu on Fridays.

And it turns out my pierogi cravings last all week long.

So what’s a gal to do?

You rustle up some taters.

Then wonder why you’re speaking all funky.

Then focus back on the taters.

Chop chop, chop chop, chop your taters.

Similar to cavemen, I also start my cooking off with a little fire.

No mastodon for me though.

Pot of water on to boil.

Amount of water, like most of my ingredients, is utterly random.

It is imperative to have sour cream standing by.

Your time shall come sour cream, just you wait.

Break 3 eggs.

I myself am side-of-the-counter egg breaker.

But you can break your eggs any way you please.

Make sure you’re cracked enough to open.

The egg is cracked enough, that is.

3.7 seconds after this photo was taken, a large chunk of shell fell into my bowl.

My egg wasn’t cracked enough.

The excitement over sour cream’s participation in this step causes frantic action.

My friends entertain themselves on the sidelines.

I feel as though after having friends, I’ll be prepared to deal with children disrupting my cooking.

Assuming children can simply be ignored.

Add in the sour cream, 8 ounces, luxuriating in its presence.

Welcome home sour cream, welcome home.

Mix it together, until it unappealingly looks like this.

“Mommy, I’m hungry!”

“Go play outside in the street, mommy’s busy.”

I’m going to make a great parent.

White, powdery flour steps up to the plate.

While a few short feet away, the potato chunks are thrown screaming into the boiling water.

There are no dogs around to hear though, so their suffering goes unnoticed.

3 cups of flour are needed.

There’s already a 1/3 cup measuring cup in the flour, so I decide to use that 9 times.

Halfway through I lose count, so randomly decide how much else to add.

Days later, writing this post, I realize as it was the first ingredient in the sifter, I simply could have put the flour back and started again.

Now I feel somewhat silly.

1/4 tsp salt is easily added with one measuring spoon.

It gloats to the flour.

1 tbsp baking powder joins in.

There’s only one thing left to do here.

Sift! Sift! Sift! your mixture gently into the bowl.

There’s something so revolutionary about sifting.

Taking different ingredients, making them all one.

Afterwards, the mixture will look exactly the same.

That is to be expected.

Now add the egg/sour cream mixture with the sifted mixture.

It will not resemble dough at all.

The children continue to loudly play.

Tune them out.

Spreading flour on the counter, move your hand faster than the speed of light.

If there’s anyplace to utilize hidden super powers, it’s in the kitchen.

Try to stop friends/children from stealing and eating the dough.

Then concede.

If less than a minute into kneading your hand looks like this, you didn’t add enough flour.

Stupid 1/3 cup.

I blame you.

Add more and more flour, over and over again, until your dough begins to show any signs of having doughy properties.

When your hair gets in your face, someone will assist.

Apparently friends/children can sometimes be useful.

Something to remember.

As an aside, I’d like to acknowledge that I wear a hair band on my wrist like a middle schooler.

It’s just so convenient.  Also, stylish.

That’s what I tell myself.

Time to break out the big guns.

The rolling pin.

No actual guns were used in the making of these pierogies.

Smile for the camera while picking brown specks out of the dough.

There will be debate over whether the specks came from not washing the rolling pin or the counter beforehand.

Think of how you’re aiding everyone’s immune system.

You’re welcome.

Having no ability to judge 1/8 in. thickness in dough, roll until your arms are tired, then stop.

The potatoes might be cooked.

Take one out and run it under cold water.

Then make a friend taste it, in case it’s not done yet.

If it is done, then mash.

Mash, my pretties.

Add one bag’s worth of cheese.  Any kind of cheese or size of bag is acceptable.

We’re very easygoing here at Best of Fates.

Also lazy.

But easygoing sounds better.

Then mix while mashing.

That’s called being able to multi-task.

When your dough is thin enough, or you’ve tired of rolling, it’s time to cut out the pierogies.

If you don’t have a biscuit cutter, just use a glass.

Having never seen dough being cut with a glass before, bystanders whip out cameras to capture the action.

While cutting, you’ll realize you didn’t have enough flour on the counter, and all the dough will stick.

Pretend that’s what is suppose to happen.

Put the extra dough aside to be rolled out again, and again, until you turn into the Sisyphus of dough.

Don’t forget to take time for the obligatory hysterical laughter.

It wouldn’t be cooking without it.

Place the potato/cheese mixture in the center of each dough circle.

Make sure each person is choosing a random amount, so each pierogie will have a completely different shape when forced together.

Anna will nicely close hers with a fork, while I’ll wet my fingers and smush them together, no matter how large the filling in the middle.

It’s possible that mine will be the ones that open in the pot, and end up a empty shell of a pierogie, the vacant husk all that’s left to show the promise it once had.

Instead of running the 1.5 feet over to the stove every time you need some filling, bring spoonfuls over and put them on random pieces of trash littering the island.

Yet another example of how not throwing trash away can lead to great things.

Drop the finished pierogies into boiling water.

The instructions say to leave them in for 4 minutes, when they’ll rise to the surface.

Well, these must have been some attention-seeking pirogies, because they rose to the surface immediately.

Then they started looking as though they were developing tumors all over their shells.

If you look closely, you can see some of the brown specks I failed to remove from the dough.

Have no fear, most will end up falling off into the water, along with some of the pirogi innards.

They don’t seem quite ready, so keep them in for 6-7 minutes.

Or however long you feel is appropriate, as obviously I have no idea.

The later batches look far better, with few developing unsightly lumps.

I’m positive that had absolutely nothing to do with my lack of participation in the later batches’ assembly.

Put each batch on plates with paper towels – each plate can hold two levels of pirogies.

Each batch is added anew to the boiling water, which will soon have a murky look to it.

Later you’ll realize that was from the pirogies that lost their filling.

The earlier finished batches wait along the counter, cooling on their plates.

And remember my suggestion about paper towels?

You probably want to avoid that step.

Now grab some green beans, some sour cream (yes, even more sour cream) and chow down.

You’ll be surprised – they’re not half-bad.

I’d have fried the pirogies but I have a fear of splatter,

Megan

Do you ever read a blog post detailing a dish being prepared and think, “wow, that person’s a really good cook”?

Ever wish, “Man, if only there was a blogger who is a terrible cook, and shares photos and stories of that side of the kitchen”?

Then it’s your lucky day, as it’s once more time for an (attempt at) cooking post.

Once upon a time, in a land called Virginia, I met a woman.

A pioneer woman, specifically.

As a condition of meeting her, I was forced to buy a cookbook.  Not that I didn’t want her cookbook (it’s a lovely cookbook) – but it was new.  I don’t buy new books.  It’s one of my innately cheap instincts.  But having bought the cookbook, I must now cook.

My Tuesday night get-together with friends seemed the perfect opportunity to bust out my new recipes.  So I sent my friends an email.   To get the true flavor of my missive, I’ve decided to paste it below.

Hey – so guess what? Not only are we cooking, I’ve actually gotten off my behind and organized our dishes. I know, I never believed it was possible either.

We’re having twice baked potatoes and pasta – and yeah, I know those two things don’t go together, but whatever.  (I can feel your excitement)

Ingredients Needed (And thoughtfully divided amongst everyone, except Meredith, b/c let’s face it, she’s not coming) are:

Skye: sharp cheddar cheese (at least 2 cups worth) – can be grated, 1 small onion

Jeff: Bacon (have no fear vegetarians, it’s optional)

Allison: Sour Cream, Heavy Cream (yeah, you’re the cream girl)

Anna: Lawry’s Salt, penne pasta (1 pound)

Lindsey: 8 baking potatoes, flat leaf parsley & 6 basil leaves

If you have any issues w/the menu, don’t hesitate to say something. Only do it before I leave work or you’re stuck with it.

Love to all,
Megan

I can feel you all basking in the warm arms of my friendship.

Know what sucks about having everybody bring ingredients?

It seriously limits what you can get done before anyone arrives.

Thankfully, I always have garlic to chop.

There is no reason to ever be without garlic.  Unless there’s recently been a vampire uprising and you haven’t re-stocked. That’d be a different scenario.

Thankfully Lindsey and Allison arrive with potatoes.

You’re suppose to bake the potatoes in the oven, but we prefer our potatoes cooked faster and with a higher chance of cancer.

5 seconds before this photo was taken I looked over at Lindsey, who was struggling to chop the onion, and blithly pushed her aside, claiming I’d take care of it.

Needless to say, I did a far worse job.  If you’re reading this Lindsey, I’m sorry for judging your onion cutting ability – I knew not what it took.

For the potato stuffing I threw 2 sticks of butter, 1 cup sour cream, and 1/2 cup milk into a bowl.

This is also the step where salt and pepper is added, but I forgot, and didn’t notice my oversight until looking at the recipe while writing this post.

Sorry guys.

Of the 5 ingredients in this photo, I will only remember to use 3 of them.

True story.

Having neglected to let butter soften before trying to mix it, I then struggle to mush it all together.

While I was focused on that, Lily the grater (with a little help from Skye) procures some cheddar cheese.

You can tell Skye brought the cheese, as she only eats white cheddar.

It tastes the same, if you close your eyes.

Still struggling to mix the butter, we bust out the big guns – the masher.

For the pasta we need 14.5 ounces of tomato sauce.  If you can’t tell, the can in my pantry was significantly larger.

I’ll spare you the time and fervor spent debating how to separate out 14.5 ounces.

But the discussion got quite heated.

We did let the potatoes have some time in the oven, just to taunt them with what might have been.

Then the potatoes were taken back out of the oven, cut in half and gutted.

It’s a tough life as a potato.

Just throw the potato guts into the bowl with the butter mixture.

Now measure out 1 cup heavy cream for the pasta.

If you’re confused between the two dishes and what ingredients go where, it’s nothing compared to how I freaked out, constantly running three feet, halting, frantically flipping through the cookbook and forgetting ingredients left and right.

My friends were thrilled to be a part of it.

Emptying the potatoes takes roughly 1.3 hours.  Or maybe that’s just me.

I feel this photo accurately captures Allison’s feelings toward my cooking ability.

It’s okay Allison, I feel your pain.

Once you’ve stripped the potatoes of their innards, lay them out on a baking sheet.

Yes, there are still more potatoes to gut.

You’ll have that thought a lot.

Make sure you are continually mixing the potato into the butter mixture.

And by you, I mean a coerced friend.

Whew, finally.

Now take a nap.

Back? Great, let’s keep going.

My favorite part of any recipe – the addition of cheese.

More, more cheese I say!

More, more!

Thank you.

Remember the garlic and onion?

Throw ‘em in a pot with some butter and olive oil.

Now take the butter/potato mixture and fill up the empty potato shells.

Try very hard to have them not fall over.

When this proves difficult, pass the task off to a friend.

Now add the tomato sauce to the pot, mixing it with the onion and garlic.

Finally, it’s heavy cream’s moment, his one time to shine.

Join your new family cream, you’ll all be very happy together.

For a short while.

Then you’ll be eaten.

There, that looks done.

But what’s missing?

Why, more cheese of course!

Throw some green leaves in (whatever is handy, really) and the pasta sauce is done.

Well, once you add the noodles.

You did cook noodles, right?  ‘Cause there’s really no point to pasta sauce without pasta.

Wait, you expected me to show you that step?

Well, that was clearly an incorrect assumption on your part.

Smoke billowing out of the oven is a common, if distressing sign.

Just open up a window, it’ll be okay.

You look over at the smoke detector, but see it’s still deactivated from the last cooking fire.

Whew, that’s a relief.

Apparently the potatoes were overfilled, so melted onto the pan and dripped onto the bottom of the oven, causing the smoke.

Just poor the excess liquid in the sink.

Pretend this step isn’t disgusting.

Jeff finally arrives with the bacon.

Oh Jeff, you’re far too late.

Bacon will have to wait for another day.

In case you’re interested, this recipe is Twice-Baked Potatoes, from page 152 of The Pioneer Woman Cooks.

The instructions in the book are clear-cut, beautifully represented in photographs, and contain zero stupid mistakes.

The pasta recipe is Penne Alla Betsy from page 188.  It originally included shrimp, but we had to forgo shellfish in deference to vegetarians in our midst.

Now that I think about it, forgot to reset smoke detector,

Megan

EDIT: Allison just kindly pointed out that at some point we added wine to the pasta sauce. It was roughly a cup of whatever white wine was handy.  Somehow I both neglected photographing the wine, and then forget the existence of the wine. For both, I apologise. Wine, please forgive me.

EDIT, TAKE 2: Just realized I forgot to tell you what I thought of the food – the twice baked potatoes were amazing, and the pasta was great, though I added salt (possibly making up for a forgotten ingredient).