The Magical Brownie Birthday by Kayley Chery

It was Monica’s birthday on a chilly September day.  I wanted to surprise her, with an awesome gift.  This was around the time I started my new school CSS.  By this time, I just settled into CSS and I really enjoyed this school, despite the cold fall that whispered through the windows.

“Kayley,” Mom yelled from her room.

“Yes,” I yelled from the living room.

Then Mom slowly comes walking to the living room to find me thinking on the smooth leather couch.

“So, what should we do for Monica’s birthday?”

Mom sounds clueless and looks like she just wrestled a bear.  She seemed so tired that I might have to do all the work by myself.  Suddenly, I think about all the nice birthday surprises that we have done for others.  Then the idea of cupcakes pops inside my head.  Wait, maybe Mom could go outside to grab some cupcakes for Monica’s birthday.  She might not want to get them!  I have to make sure that I sound as if it’s the end of the world or try to use persuasive language so she understands what I think is the best. It may not work out.  So I’ll just have to hope that she agrees with my idea.   

“So… Mom can we or you, go out and get cupcakes for Monica’s birthday so we can make sure that she has the best birthday ever?  On top of that by getting the cupcakes from Foodtown we are encouraging her on her birthday and… Who doesn’t like tasty cupcake??  Please, can we get cupcakes??”

“Kayley, it’s going to take a long time go downstairs to Foodtown and come back and put a candle in it,” Mom says in a “that was obvious” tone.

It was too late to suggest to make cupcakes.  Right after that thought popped into my head the cookbook that Mom, Emmanuel, and I started a few months ago started screaming to be let opened.  Suddenly I remembered the recipe that Emmanuel found in our magazines that we got every month.  The microwaveable chocolate cake.  We have tried the recipe before and it came as a delicious fluffy chocolate cake in an IKEA mug.  Mom may actually like this idea.

“Mom, could we make a microwaveable cake for Monica’s birthday??”

“Sure, we have enough time and I think she would really enjoy it and be encouraged,” Mom said.

Now we had a plan and it needed to be put into action.  I grabbed the flour, cocoa, and brown sugar as they smiled when they saw me.  I snatched the baking soda, milk and oil as they jumped from the shelves and danced out of the kitchen.  Then the vanilla extract and chocolate chips joined the party.  I put all the excited ingredients in their boxes and bottles on the table.  As soon as I was going to start to get an IKEA cup to put the ingredients into, my brother walked into the living room.

“Can I help? ,” Emmanuel asked as he walked towards the IKEA mug I put on the table.

He walked towards the bowl and glanced at the recipe and got something from the cupboard in the kitchen. Then I peeked into the kitchen to see what he was doing and I realized that he was getting measuring spoons, just what I needed. Without the measuring spoons, there would be no chocolate cake.  They are the main characters of the tasty story.

“Sure, you can help,” I said as I doubted the idea of letting him help.

I know that sometimes he messes up recipes and the end result comes out very bad. I’m not sure if I should trust him with Monica’s cake, but I feel that this time I should trust him. Even though the cake might not be perfect, It will be made with lots of love from the whole Chery household.

“Can you measure the flour and the cocoa while I measure the sugar and baking soda?”

“Sure,” he says with a cheesy grin.

I reach towards the white shelf so I can grab the sugar container with the nice soft golden sugar.  I also open the stainless steel  door to grab the milky white flour from the back of the fridge.

Bam.  Bam.  Clink.  Clink.  As Emmanuel and I put the right measurements in the of the right ingredients in the white IKEA mug, the spoons hit the side of the white mug.  As we add ingredients into the mug, splitting up the jobs to make sure Emmanuel had an equal amount of ingredients to measure.  With 2 people and 8 ingredients, splitting up the jobs were easy.

After all the ingredients were in, we stirred the mixture thoroughly so every ingredient could be perfectly saturated in the cup.  I put the cup with the mixture in the microwave and set the microwave for 1 minute.  Then we waited for the microwave to beep.  I ran to my mom’s room so I could tell her to start getting the candles to top the ultimate birthday cake for Monica.

“Mom, can you start getting the candles ready for the cake?”

“Sure, I’ll be out there in a second,” she said.

The microwave starts to make a noise so I rush to the living room so I can take the cake out of the microwave without any problems. Taking things out of the microwave isn’t one of my brother’s strengths. To avoid any problems I just take it out myself.  As I take the IKEA mug out of the microwave, the microwave door makes a  sound. Crack, crack. Mom runs into the microwave and puts the candles on and we walk out the door. We all walk down the stairs in the staircase right next to my house and we go to Kyrie’s house.

I have known Kyrie and her mom Monica since I was a 1-year-old. They have always done nice neighborly things for us and by giving the cake to Monica for her birthday, I feel we are doing something small to repay the favor. My mom and my brother may not understand the importance of the cake, but I do.

Ding, dong.  Kyrie enters the door with a  big grin. While Kyrie, Emmanuel and I are distracting Monica in Kyrie’s room, my mom lights the candles. Mom gives us the cue and the singing starts.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Monica. Happy Birthday to you,” we all sang at the top of our lungs.

Kyrie starts to sing the part in the birthday song where you have to say how old you are.  Since adults don’t like to reveal their age, I always stop singing before that part in the song.  Monica had a very surprised look on her face.  Since Monica is an awesome adult, she revealed her age, which she said is 20.  We all know it isn’t true, but we are so engaged in the birthday spirit that we don’t really care.  We all eat the warm chocolate cake realizing that we forgot the vanilla ice cream.

“Thanks for the wonderful birthday surprise,” she said.

“Your welcome,” Emmanuel, Mom, and I said in unison

Mom’s eyes were gleaming with happiness and so did Monica’s. We walked upstairs to the

4th floor and cleaned up our mess, and we hoped this recipe sparks another lovely birthday.

Recipe

Microwavable Chocolate Cake

4 Tablespoons Flour

2 Tablespoons Cocoa

3 Tablespoons Sugar

1/2 Teaspoons Baking Soda

Some chocolate chips

3 Tablespoons Milk

3 Tablespoons Oil

1/4 Tablespoons Vanilla

~1. Mix everything together in a microwave safe cup

~2. Make sure the mixture is saturated

~3. Microwavable batter for 1 minute

~4. ( optional ) Sprinkle powdered sugar on it  

Brownies Galore

by Anna Hermann

Brownies Galore
         Brownies. That's what I would make for the Meet and Greet community party on my block. I voice my decision to my family. My mom sits in the kitchen across from me, bathed in the end of summer light, and my dad stands behind me, crossed with shadows. My brother gives a huff of irritation that he would not be allowed to bake with me, but leaves with a goofy smile

on his face, eyes bright, having been promised the spatula to lick.
I place the ingredients that I will need on the countertop including water, vegetable oil, and the brownie mix. Reading from the brownie mix box, I start to put them all together. Into the broad glass bowl first goes the packets of brownie mix that smell sweet of chocolate, followed closely by the eggs, water, and vegetable oil. I begin to mix the contents, which quickly forms a thick fudge-colored batter. I am warned by my mom to make sure not to spill it. The spatula causes the batter to lap up on the side of the bowl folding into itself, making sounds like waves beating upon the shore.

I stick my finger into the creamy concoction, using it to spoon the sugary treat into my mouth. I savor the way it rolls over my tongue, finding my eager taste buds. I hug the bowl to my chest as my mom tries to take it from my grasp in order to pour it into the baking pan.

“But I want the batter,” I say in a whiny voice. “Why do we have to bake it anyway?” I continue,  my lower lip stuck out in a classic pout.
         “Umm… the community party? You were baking brownies last time I checked,” my mom replies in an ‘uh duh’ voice,  joking with me.
         I let her take the mixing bowl out of my hands and I slide the silver baking pan under the cumbersome glass bowl. The batter moves as slowly as molasses as I pour it into the pan using a spoon to try to speed up the process, leaving my hands sticky and gooey. Once the batter is in the pan, my mom and I  put it straight into the oven that has been heating up while we got everything else ready.
         I walk over to the oven and wait to open it until my mom is but a footstep away. When the brownies are in, I close the door gingerly, being careful to avoid slamming it shut. Now that the actual brownies are done, I can worry about the more “important” tasks ahead of me, and start off by sticking the batter covered spoon into my mouth.
         “Save the spatula for Baby,” Mom says to me, referring to my younger brother, Quincy. I do, setting the spatula aside on the granite countertop, the orange rubber a stark contrast to the greyish brown of the surface it rests on.
         I practically lick the bowl clean and joke with my mom that it will not be necessary for it to be washed. By now the brownies have been in the oven for the instructed time, and the oven beeps, alerting us that they are ready. I dash over, waiting to the side for my mom who would be the one managing the searing hot pan. The smell of chocolate pervades the cool air, filling my nose with a sweet perfume.  
         She tells me to step back, not wanting me to get burned. The shadows of the dining room are lightened by the sunlight flowing through the windows in the living room that look out on the backyard over the balcony.  

When Mama opens the oven, the heat surprises me, despite my being at least one large stride away from it. She sticks a wooden skewer into the brownie, pulling it out with the bottom inch or so browned by the soupy batter, not yet hardened by the heat.
       Ignoring my complaints that I would have to wait even longer, Mom closeses the oven door, taking her oven mit between her teeth and pulling out her hand, setting the oven’s timer for another ten minutes.

Once the dreadfully long ten minutes are up, I open the oven for mom again as she pulls

out the tray of brownies, holding it with her oven mitts as she sets them down on the counter. She warns me and my brother, who now wanders into the kitchen, attracted by the delicious fumes, not to touch the pan.

I walk over to the pan, deeply inhaling the wonderfully sweet smell that the brownies give off.
         “Can we cut them, Mom?” I ask excitedly.

“Not yet,” she responds. “They are too hot. They need to cool.” I feel like I have done more waiting than cooking today, I think, exasperated, as I wait for the brownies to cool off.
         Once they have cooled, Mom quickly turns the pan over on top of a cutting board. I hold it in place while she taps the top with a knife, trying to loosen the brownies’ grip on the side of the pan. They refuse to let go of it, despite the fact that I buttered every inch of that pan before the batter was put in.

Once the brownies are out, Mom cuts them into reasonable sizes, neatly forming a

pyramid with them on a small platter. I sneakily reach my hand towards the platter, my eyes focused on my one obstacle... Mom.

“Ah… no!” she says, joking around with me, pulling the platter in her direction.
“Mo-om,” I say, whining as I reach my arm across the counter.
Mom tears a sheet of aluminum foil from the dispenser in one swift motion. She places it over the brownie pyramid and pulls down the edges, enclosing the treats.

Once everyone’s shoes are on and everything we need is in pockets or bags, we leave. I am holding the brownies, proud of my success, and not wanting anyone else to hold them but me.
We quickly reach the garden, where the party has begun.

We are greeted with waves and hellos. We walk over to the main area. Quincy goes off to play with some neighbors of ours that are his age, but I hang around Mom at first, Dad having gone off to talk to some friends. People come to talk to us, telling me how big I’d gotten since they last saw me, how they couldn’t believe that I would soon be going to middle school, how they could remember when I was just a baby, and on, and on, about all the things that they couldn’t believe.
It’s a relief when my friend, Anna Cooper, who lives seven houses down from me, comes, and I have an excuse to leave. After kicking around a ball for a while and playing with the younger children, we get hungry. We walked over to the tables of food, each grabbing a plate. When we get to the brownies, I pick up two, placing one on each of our plates.
“I made them,” I tell her. “Try them, they’re really good.” She takes a bite of hers, nodding her approval.
We stand eating until my mom calls me over. I finish my bite of rice and beans and tell Anna I’ll be right back. I walk over to where my mom is standing.
“This is Max,” she tells me. We acknowledge each other with a nod. He is older than me. Maybe sixteen. He sits next to his mom. They both seem nice enough.
“They are the family with the orange kitty that we always see flopped in the sun on the front window,” my mom tells me.
“Oh yeah, Flash,” Max replies with a smile.
“Did you make the brownies?” asks his mom.
“Umm...yeah,” I say, blushing.
“They’re really good!” she says earnestly.
I continue to receive compliments throughout our time at the garden, and the platter empties rather quickly. That was my day as a baker in the garden.
To this day, these brownies remain a family favorite.

The End

Duncan Hines Fudge Brownies

I make these brownies for special occasions, or just when I'm craving a brownie. My mom cooks a lot, makes recipes her own, but no one can argue that these fudge brownies are perfect!

Ingredients:
2 eggs
¼ cup water
½ cup vegetable oil
Preheat oven to 350°F for glass or metal pans, 325°F for dark or coated pans. Grease bottom of pan with shortening or cooking spray.


Empty brownie mix, eggs), oil and water in large bowl. STIR until well blended (about 50 strokes). Spread into greased pan and bake immediately.


Bake following times below. Add  3-5 minutes for dark or nonstick pans. Brownies are done when toothpick inserted 1 inch from edge of pan comes out clean. Cool completely in pan on wire rack before cutting and serving.

Metal Or Glass Pan: 13"x9": 21-23 minutes 9"x9": 28-31 minutes 8"x8": 30-33 minutes Makes 20 Brownies

https://www.duncanhines.com/products/brownies/chewy-fudge-premium-brownie-mix/