Ever hit up a blog posting of a super amazing recipe and been like, “yah, I’m gonna make that and I’m gonna rock it too!”? Like, I mean you see one of these pictures and you want to lick your computer screen so you read on and pfffffffft, this’ll be a cakewalk.
Found these bad boys over at Passions and Musings, a pretty sweet blog by Consuelo Bernardi out of Ottawa. Totally made me want to put on pants and head the 20 minutes to the closest grocery store to get the ingredients. BTW, Consuelo’s blog is awesome. She grabbed Donnie Wahlberg’s ass. Twice. Not only was he once a NKOTB, he’s also got a hotter younger brother that probably has an ass somewhat like that one. That’s a score in my books. High five Consuelo.
Less Wahlberg’s, more baking – right. The next day, the Farmer made the Daughter’s some soup and left the soda crackers out on the counter. Score, I didn’t even know we had any so I decided I was going to totally rock these bad boys out.
I screwed the royal shit out of these so badly I decided to let you know how in case you ever feel like dangling a carrot in your rabbit face and then ripping it away in the world’s meanest PSYCH ever; these were doomed from the start.
What you do first is get all the soda crackers lined up on some parchment on your cookie sheet. After that, get a pot on the stove and turn the burner on but forget to put the butter in. Walk away and fold some laundry for 5 minutes.
RUN YOUR ASS BACK TO THE KITCHEN when you realize you left the burner on with nothing in the pan and throw some butter in it without letting the pan cool down. Get out the brown sugar and dump it in without measuring because you only have one hand since the other one is still holding 4 pairs of wet pants you forgot to hang up before leaving the laundry room.
Stir it a bit but stop because you thought you remembered hearing on the Food Network that when making caramel sauce you’re not supposed to stir it because it “disrupts the caramelization process”. Cool, makes that easier. Head back to the laundry room and hang up the wet pants you’re still holding.
Trip on the vacuum and stub your toe on your way back to the kitchen then put away the dishes in the dishwasher. Stir the almost solidified caramel sauce. Remove from the heat and pour over the soda crackers all the while wondering how these are gonna turn out because you think you solidified the caramel. Put in the oven at 350F and forget to set the timer for 10 minutes.
Head upstairs and put the daughters in the bathtub. Head to the younger daughters’ room and start sorting through her wardrobe for clothes that are out of season and don’t fit anymore. Throw them over the railing into the monster heap below that you plan on sorting later on (or stuffing in a bag and throwing in the basement) and get the daughters out of the bathtub.
Help them get their pyjamas on and continue to organize the sock drawer until you smell something super delightful like, for instance, warm caramel sauce. SHIT. Yell at the Farmer to GET THAT PAN OUT OF THE OVEN! and hope it’s not super burnt. Holler down “IS IT BURNT?” and when he says “mmmmmmmm kinda….” tell yourself that he never bakes and probably has no idea.
Keep sorting through shoes while telling yourself you should head down and get the chocolate chips on top before they cool down. Don’t move because you’re tired and lazy and 14 stairs “is a lot right now”. Once you’re done sorting kid-stuffs, head back downstairs and see how warm the cracker mess is. When you see it’s cooled right off and there’s no way the chocolate will melt on top of these now, add the chocolate anyway and put them back in the oven on broil to quickly warm them up so the top layer will melt.
Don’t set a timer again because the appliance company didn’t install them for a reason, you know better and your brain is more on-track than any manmade computer ever produced. Turn around and start making lunches and packing backpacks. Turn back and swear loudly.
Pick around them at what’s kinda burnt but not as badly as the rest and then it’s a choose your own adventure. You can turn to page 28 and sadly weep over spilt milk or you can skip to page 17 and laugh your ass off at yourself because you’re a busy Mom and can’t be perfect all the time.
Epic Failure Bars. You read about them here first. Peace, Kim.