The other day, I found a gray hair. This is a problem, because I’ve spent a significant portion of my twenties refusing to grow up, and now my hair is trying to proclaim to the world that I am, in fact, an adult. I don’t understand my 401k, I don’t feel like I’m old enough to use an X-acto knife without supervision, and I regularly eat candy for breakfast. (Sour Patch Kids and a can of Dr. Pepper is totally a breakfast of champions sort of meal. Champion of what I don’t quite know.)
Anyway, to top it all off, I can’t cook. I grew up in a family with two parents who are amazing cooks, and now I’m cohabitating with a man who cooks me all of my meals. I’m incredibly lucky, if not completely dependent upon others for nourishment. (See my breakfast of champions above for further proof.)
Not one to be deterred by common sense and good judgment, I thought I would take this post to experiment with a recipe. It’s symbolic in that it contains quite a few of my favorite things. It’s the culinary equivalent of the battle hymn of the overgrown child. It’s the sort of comfort food one needs when one realizes that one is basically a worthless heap of overgrown adolescence in the graying body of what can pass for an adult most days.
And before you all actually take me seriously, let me just say that I’m fixing to put cake, ice cream, and booze in a blender, so don’t go congratulating me on becoming a viable human being just yet.
Step 1: Go buy some cupcakes. I mean, I guess you could bake them yourself. But it’s 2014 and I derive no pleasure from using the oven. This recipe is kind of all about instant gratification and taking the time to make cupcakes is antithetical to what we’re trying to accomplish.
You should pick one of the more obscenely adorned cupcakes. They have more sugar, generally speaking. Hell, pick two.
Step 2: Get some ice cream. The bigger the container, the more likely you are to have leftovers for breakfast throughout the week. There’s nothing like eating ice cream from a travel coffee mug while you’re inching along in morning rush hour traffic.
Step 3: Scour your liquor cabinet for a usable alcohol. Now, chances are you have stuff left over from the one time you decided to make wedding cake martinis for someone’s bridal shower. You can use anything, though I would suggest you go with your amarettos, your Frangelicos, or your Kahluas. However, if you’re a next-level sugar fiend like myself, then you find yourself purchasing and consuming a lot of very niche alcohols. My liquor store keeps them near the front, kind of like where your grocery store keeps all the impulse buys. That’s why I had pralines in the form of booze. Also, I generally have no self-control.
Step 4: Throw it all in the fancy pants blender you bought so you could make healthy smoothies. Nothing really turns out like you thought it would, does it?
Step 5: Pour that beast in an imperial pint glass, because who doesn’t need 20-ounces of cake, ice cream and alcohol? In a related story, my jeans aren’t fitting so great right now. Maybe it’s the cake shakes or the ice cream for breakfast. Another symptom of my extended adolescence is the psychological inability to acknowledge that there are consequences for my actions. Or maybe that’s just my sociopathy.
Marisa Mohi may not be a food blogger but she is the Oklahoma Women Bloggers Blogger of the Month. Find her at MarisaMohi.com.