In which Christine takes a massive risk, and succeeds

Today, against my better judgment, I decided to bake.

I’m not the best cook in the world, and I wear this title with pride as I graciously allow my boyfriend to cook for me. But, sometimes, I feel ambitious enough to give these things a try myself.

Here it went. I’ve taken photos for posterity, and to prove I did this. I’m not a food blog or anything (the furthest thing from it, in fact), so enjoy these amateur photos documenting my less-than-amateur baking/cooking/chocolate-melting.

(These are S’mores Fudge Bars, by the way. I highly recommend them.)

I had to make a graham cracker crust, which sounded like the easiest part until I re-read the recipe and noticed that a food processor was recommended to crush up the graham crackers. Because I obviously don’t have one, I decided to crush them by hand. And when that became too difficult, I used a quarter-cup measure to crush them instead.

CHRIST this is difficult. Wait a minute…
It’s as if I’m exfoliating my hands with a sort of graham cracker scrub.
Good enough.

After finishing up the crust, I had to make the fudge. Easy enough — just two ingredients — but then I ran into my second hurdle. My can opener can’t do much of anything but threaten to break upon first touch. Opening the condensed milk and managing to empty the can was fun.

The worst can opener in the world, in action.
But adding two cups of chocolate chips can fix pretty much anything.

Once the fudge became something resembling fudge, it was time to add layer #2 to this s’mores-like monstrosity.

*uncontrollable drooling*

And then, in lieu of making my own marshmallow topping, I emptied a jar of marshmallow creme onto the chocolate (once it had cooled in the refrigerator, of course). Because really, making my own marshmallow topping would have turned out worse than what I did, which was cheating.

Delicious, delicious cheating.

Another, longer stint in the refrigerator yielded this beauty:


Which looked like this when cut into pieces:




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