So, I was mucking about on Pinterest (Don't change, internet. Ever.) and found a recipe for THIN MINT TRUFFLES. Inner fat child, rejoice! Props to Sydney over at Polka-Dotted Elephants for her culinary expertise and general overall-amazingness.
Rob and I went out and bought an embarassing amount of EL Fudge Grasshopper cookies because *gasp* I forgot to order Girl Scout cookies this year. I put the cookies in the ziploc bag, per the recipe and realized: I don't own a french pin or a rolling pin.
So, I used a beer growler:
never mind the mess in my kitchen. haters going to hate- but this isn't a mommy blog and frankly, nothing in real life ever looks as neat as the mommy blogs sometimes make it look. Yeah, I'm jealous of your clean kitchens and living spaces, but Rob and I live in an apartment where the living room, dining room and kitchen are all one large space. It's hard to keep things organized here.
Step 2: In a bowl (since I don't own a mixing bowl (side note: wtf?), I used a pan), dump the cookie crumbles. Plurp-in (technical term) a brick of cream cheese at room temp. Prepare to get your hands messy, because as much as you will try to use a mixing spoon- just don't. use your hands. maximum success with hands.
Step 3: Roll some balls. Plurp-down balls on wax paper covered cookie sheet (mine was in the dishwasher, so, pizza pan) Look at those balls. Chocolate minty balls of doom and deliciousness. Love these balls. balls. balls. #maturity
Step 4: Melt chocolate. Forget to take photo of molten chocolate after getting some on the oven heating coil and almost setting apartment afire. Do not set your apartment on fire. #success. Cover aforementioned balls with baking chocolate (you will need about 3 bars) and place back on wax paper. Use spoons or a fork or a toothpick. Do not use your fingers, you will get sugar-burned and it will hurt like napalm. There is a scar on my wrist from a former butter-sugar-splatter accident. You do not want this to happen to your fingers, use a utensil to dip the balls into the chocolate and to place it back on a wax-sheet. Put tray of chocolate-covered balls into fridge to chill the out and harden. Tap foot impatiently for about 30-40 minutes waiting to eat said deliciousness.
Lookie here: a thin mint truffle on my favorite hello kitty dining ware.
Cut open truffle on white surface to better show detail to readers. Look, preciouses, deliciousness!
Realize that you do not have a beverage in hand, which, for an Irishwoman on St. Patrick's Day, is a sin! Find this recipe on Pinterest and immediately disregard the whole "float" notion. Vanilla soda = meh. Decide on making a milkshake. Get so excited you forget to take step-by-step instructions for your lovely blog readers (whoever you are, you group of non-commenting lovelies) Grab thin-mint ice cream (what can I say, I had a craving), almond milk (you can use real milk, I've just been drinking Silk lately due to tummy issues. Which is why I made truffles and ice-cream milkshakes....o_O) and a few grasshopper cookies. Oh, and Bailey's. Mmmmm, Bailey's. Put a shot or two (or three) of Bailey's into mixing cup. Add 1-2 cups milk (or milk substitute). Then, add a few scoops of the ice cream. Blend the mixture together. Decide you need an extra kick of Bailey's, add one more shot of it on top. Crumble a few grasshopper cookies and sprinkle on top. You may use one more cookie as a garnish. This may or may not turn out to be a thick milkshake. Mine was more like a straight-up drink and less ice creamy, which I was fine with because it was St. Patrick's Day and like, 80 degrees in Pittsburgh.
Later that evening, go to favorite, local bar/restaurant establishment with incredibly handsome man-friend. Take a picture together where it looks like your boob is falling out of your shirt (it is not) and (this is the key-part) do NOT get ugly-drunk. Have a hard, IRISH cider (or three) and marvel at the other people who just happen to be covered in head-to-toe green while incredibly smashed. Make fun conversation (eat something that will keep you sober and not hungover in the AM, like POTATOES) and help a sister or two out when she stumbles. Maybe even a 22-year-old-visiting-from-florida-Bro who is about to make a whorrible life decision and go home with a woman with a fake southern accent and is clearly in her 40-50s. Don't do it, man (he did it anyways).
I hope you all had a fantastic Saint Patrick's Day and that the snakes in your lives were driven away.
God Bless Ireland and the Irish (wherever the road has taken you). I'm proud to be counted as one of you everyday.