WTF Wednesdays: Black Bean Brownie Botch

I’ve been logging my Weight Watchers points for a month now. Amazingly, I have not yet starved to death. Who would have thought I could survive on less than 80,000 calories a day? 

As much as I’m enjoying not feeling positively disgusting as I eat my way through a large triple cheese pizza, I also miss the days when I would inhale a package of Zingers, or hyperventilate over a warm brownie, smothered in caramel sauce and melting cake batter ice cream.

Last weekend, I went to the Cheesecake Factory with a friend. I had a salad like a good fat girl. Just for shits and giggles, I calculated how many points my favorite slice of cheesecake would be. 

For those of you not familiar with Weight Watchers, just know that a grande Caramel Light Frappuccino is 7 points, so is a 1/2 cup of ice cream. Just for comparison, you know.

Now, are you sitting down? Have you had your morning movement? I wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen when you’re blown clear out of your seat. 

A piece of Cheesecake Factory’s Reese’s Cheesecake is 67 mother-effing points. 

(And, it clocks in at a whopping 1,480 calories!) 

I get 37 points for one day. I couldn’t even eat anything else for the entire day and I’d be 30 friggin points over my daily allotment. 

I’m still reeling from this news. It’s no freaking wonder I have an ass the size of Texas. I’ve probably been eating 7,000 calories a day! Who knew things had so many calories! Doh! 

So, in the spirit of eating healthier, I looked into what I could eat/make that would be not so calorie-laden and still a “treat”. 

Also, I’m not gonna lie, I wanted to bake some ridiculous, kale-infused gluten-free, vegan, hipster monstrosity that I could satire the hell out of. 

I searched “healthy brownies” on Pinterest, and this is the recipe I settled on:


source

Not only do these “brownies” contain black beans, they also call for avocado

Avocado.

Now, let me just say that I’m kind of (and, by “kind of”, I mean I’ve never gotten on the hipster-led bandwagon) over the kale, coconut oil, and gluten-free everything that’s still all the rage. 

I didn’t set out to make these “brownies” because I enjoy, or pretend to enjoy, eating “treats” that are more vegetable than what they claim to be replacing. 

Nope. 

I made these to, hopefully, find an alternative to my usual carb- and sugar-laden goodies that are making me more fat. 

I just want something to satiate that bitch, Martha (my fat gut).

Before I continue, I feel I must point out that I’m not, by any stretch of the word, a photographer. So, I’m definitely not a food photographer. My unfocused, off-center photos were taken with my scratched rose gold iPhone 6. 

Also, I didn’t follow the ingredients exactly. The recipe called for a large flax egg. What in the hell is a flax egg? I know one kind of egg, and that’s egg. 

I also didn’t go out and buy expensive-as-hell coconut oil just to use a teaspoon for this recipe. No, I don’t just have coconut oil on hand. 

I was supposed to use organic, all natural cocoa powder. It says “natural” right on the Hershey’s box of unsweetened cocoa powder (that I already had). So, I felt pretty pleased with myself that I didn’t have to spend half of my paycheck at Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s just to make 12 brownies. 

I had light brown sugar, but the recipe called for dark brown sugar. Again, I deviated from the recipe, but how different could the two be?? 

My “organic” ingredients

After I gathered all of the necessary ingredients together, I readied the tools needed for the job. 


It was then that I realized I hadn’t seen my 8×8 pan in quite some time. In order to see all of the cabinet space where we keep our kitchen appliances, I have to get down on my hands and knees and take a picture of inside the cabinet, due to the positioning of the cabinet, and because I can’t get my massive head inside to look all the way back and to the right. With the picture as my guide, I can blindly reach for whatever I’m after. This is 100% why I never make anything. 


There was no 8×8, but I did spy a muffin pan. After thinking long and hard about my missing 8×8 pan, I realized I have never owned an 8×8 baking pan. That must be why I couldn’t figure out when I last saw it. 

A muffin pan would have to do!

Before I could even get down to business, I somehow knocked the open bag of chocolate chips right into the garbage. I was off to a fabulous start.

The recipe said to use a food processor. I’m not adult enough to own one of those, so I used my Magic Bullet. 


I figured the black beans were the only ingredient that really needed to be processed, despite the fact that the recipe said to process all of the ingredients. I do what I want! 

Mainly, I was more concerned about the black beans, because I didn’t want to bite into a brownie to be surprised by a whole bean. That would have just killed the mood. Amiright? 

The Magic Bullet did a decent job of processing the beans.

This just looks absolutely barftastic, doesn’t it? When is it ever OK to pair avocado and black beans with sugar. I guess when you’re making healthy “brownies”, obviously. But, *shudder* 


After adding the cocoa powder and mixing real well, the batter actually looked and smelled just like real brownies. I wanted to take a little taste, but salmonella. 

Here the batter is, decorated with my garbage can chocolate chips.
I must admit that while they were baking, they smelled exactly like real brownies. I was really salivating like crazy. 
It was divine

Sadly, that’s about as brownie as these “treats” got. 

Ya’ll, these are not brownies. 

They aren’t disgusting, but I will never waste an avocado like this again. Criminal.

Part of why I love brownies is the texture. My favorite kind of brownie is the kind that is almost underbaked (Paul Hollywood voice), so they are chewy, and you can taste what differentiates them from vegetables-freaking gluten. 

Not only was the texture more baked refried bean than ooey, gooey goodness, they were way too dark chocolate-y. 

I told you I was no photographer!

Also, after my first and only bite, I got a bit of black bean skin stuck in my teeth. 

Just no. 

I gave some to my neighbor, because he’s dieting right now. He said he liked them. I’m fairly certain he’s a lying bastard.  

Verdict: Unless you like pasty brownies that are dark chocolatey enough that one bite will send you into a migraine of epic proportions, don’t try this at home. 

Plenty of Freaks and OK Nope

Hey guys. It’s been a minute, but I’m back. I know those who know me are anxiously awaiting my aerial yoga post. Yes, I went to a type of yoga that requires upper body and ab strength, agility, and gracefulness-all of which I do not have. Wait for it. It’s coming, and it’ll be good. 

For now, I must discuss the state of the single-and-dating-world, as that is where I am firmly planted. For now. 

OMG, ya’ll. It’s fucking terrifying. 

Like, so scary. So.scary. 

OMG. 

Remember when I said I was going to share a new personal challenge with you? Well, I’ve already begun miserably failing at it. I’m just a fucking rockstar at life. 

I was going to challenge myself to a year of being single. It’s what everyone is saying I need. So, it must be what I need. I see the value in figuring out who I am as a single person before I jump back into a relationship. I see how giving myself a significant amount of time to heal is a smart thing. I get it. But, as with all things easier said than done. 

Literally two days after I posted that I would be challenging myself to something pretty hardcore, I signed up for Plenty of Fish. 

This kind of erratic, bipolar-esque behavior explains a lot in my life.

I’m now on Plenty of Fish and OK Cupid. 

Help me. 

If the majority of the men I’ve been contacted by and interacted with thus far is any indication of how my dating life will go, I’ll be single for a hell of a lot longer than a year. 

I don’t even have the words to fully express my horror/disdain/disappointment, so I’ll just share a few screenshots. I didn’t get the idea to write on this topic before I deleted many a message, so just know, these are just the fucking tip of the iceberg. 

Please share in my pain:


Now, obviously this dude just wants a night of fun. Maybe some woman out there wants one too. Nothing wrong with that. What is wrong is that he “wood” really like me to watch him in a “golf tournament”. Also, not one period or comma. Not.a.one.


When “wanna hang out” doesn’t work, just let it go. Where’s your dignity, man?!


Damn*

Nope.

This one was actually kind of sweet, but please don’t let me know you’re well-endowed in your very first message. And, as a teacher, I’m appalled at the lack of punctuation. The horror!! 


This one…I don’t even…I can’t. I just…have no words. 


Gross. 

OK, the jig is up, ladies. Who’s responding to these sick, macho, sexist, ignorant, and just plain gross “pick up lines”? Obviously, these men think this crap works. There are two possible explanations:

1: It works at least once. I need to find these women to slap some fucking common sense into them, if even possible. 

2: They are truly mentally handicapped, ignorant by choice, or they were taught this is how you pick up women. 

Either way, I’m terrified. I think I’m back to working on my challenge. A life being the crazy cat lady who smells of cans of Whiskas and Bengay isn’t looking so terrible. 


Save It 

Oversharing. Just don’t do it. Unless you’re my close friend, I don’t need to know that your smoothie gave you the runs all day. I don’t want to try to fake concern while you are cleaning my teeth. With your hands. Gloves or not, I don’t care to be reminded that my dental hygienist was recently wiping their butt. Especially when it involved diarrhea. Just no. NO. 

I was just at the grocery store and the cashier was going through the whole rigamarole of small talk: “How’s your week going? Anything fun planned for this weekend? What are ya eating for dinner tonight? You gonna eat these Spaghettios?” Just say ‘hello’, alright? I hate awkward small talk. 

I swear this chick only wanted to ask me how my day was so that she could unload on me. When I asked her how her day was, she said, “I started dry heaving last night”. 

Full fucking stop. 

Excuse me? 

I wanted to just bail, to leave my Spaghettios and moscato and block of cheese right fucking there. 

Do not touch things that will be going in or around my mouth while telling me about you dry heaving. DO NOT. 

Why? Just why? 

I think she continued barfing up her whole horrible story about how long she puked and what color it was, but I just tuned it out, hoping the ground would swallow me whole. 

Newsflash for anyone not aware: NO ONE wants to hear details about your puking. Not no one. 

Now, when it comes to my close friends, it’s different. Much, much different. I don’t care if you tell me about how your quinoa hasn’t digested and it keeps making reappearances, or how when you farted in your car, yesterday, you had to pull over and evacuate. No. I love these stories. It’s incredibly amusing to laugh at my friend’s misfortunes. 

It’s just different. 

I also hate when cashiers, or just crazy people, sitting by you in the DMV, confuse you for their therapist. I have enough stress and drama in my own life, I don’t need to know how Bubba screwed your cousin Tammy Lynn at your wedding reception at Dave & Buster’s. What are normal-leave-me-alone people supposed to say to that? When I have to respond, I usually deer-in-headlights- sputter, “Oh, my phone is ringing” and then run for the hills. 

People, randoms don’t care as much as you delusionally think they do, hate to break it to you. If your response to, “How are you?” involves a story about bowel movements and/or incest, save it, mmkay?