I celebrated my birthday last Sunday and, as usual, did some "American" baking for my German friends. This time round peanut butter cookies and black bottom cupcakes. Here's the stuff I made:
There's a cafe here called Barcomi's run by an American. One of the guests gave me the cookbook they sell for my b-day present but then was upset when they saw the peanut butter cookies. "Oh no! You must already have the cookbook. There are those cookies with the fork imprint on them!" I assured her that I didn't and that peanut butter cookies, with their enigmatic double fork imprint, were not thought up by Ms. Barcomi! Because my husband is always a bit nervous when entertaining that someone might come away a tad bit unsatisfied, he also bought several boxes of profiterole and a tiramisu. For those of you who don't know what profiterole are, they look like this:
Custard filled cream puffs covered in a rich chocolate sauce. Probably not the best thing to have around when you'd like to loose oh, say, 30 pounds! Anyway, the party was a success. No one went away hungry. In fact, they left a good portion of cookies, cupcakes and the accursed profiterole behind. I just had two of the devilish little puffs of tastiness as an after lunch treat. Now, filled with such guilty satisfaction (not to mention a little bit of bloating....)I have decided to compose an ode to this cruel French treat.
Profiterole, your golden, tender puff
is filled with such rich custard
that there is simply no way my diet
will cut the mustard.
Your rich chocolate sauce
melts so sinfully in my mouth
but this is no surprise
no more than the
expanding of my thighs!
No comments:
Post a Comment