Baking and Burning — Banana Bread, Bulgar Wheat, and Uh-reo Pie

Huzzy asked for Oreo Pie last week.  Not sure why, and I’m a little afraid to ask where he’s been that Oreo Pie is on his mind.  I disappointed him by following through with something less that wish-fulfilling.  There aren’t a lot of Oreo Pie recipes on the interwebs, and many look like the one I used: Cool whip, crushed Oreos, pudding, milk or cream.  And it tastes kinda like it sounds. Sure, it’s refreshing, but it didn’t smack of Oreos.  I love the idea of a frozen pie, but this one left me wanting more oomph.  Didn’t stop us from eating it, but if I make it again, I want something more…substantive? than pudding, but less than ice cream.

Nothing but the best (generics) for MY family!
The almost finished product. Generic Oreo crumbs were added before serving. That is, they were added the first night. After that, it is reasonable to assume the pregnant lady ate them with breakfast. And by "with" I mean "for."

********************************************************************

Cloves are magical.

I realized last weekend that I had a goodly bunch of mashed, over-ripe bananas taking space away from my ice cream in the freezer.

Anyone doing a naughty search for "banana bags" or "banana sacks" is going to be very disappointed.

I have been working on finding the best banana bread recipe I could, then perfecting that.

I use the Flour’s Famous Banana Bread recipe, being sure to change the 1/4 t of cinnamon to a good half-ton. Same with the vanilla.

To everyone’s horror I put nuts in. I need the texture. Why is everyone so damned anti-nuts in their desserts?  Minus the whole allergy thing, of course.

I decided this go-around to streusel. I also decided to make “streusel” a verb.

“Hey, man, you wanna hang out tonight?”

“No man, can’t. Gotta streusel.”

“I hear that.”

I have a few uninterrupted minutes to focus solely on the bread.  The repetitive nature of moments of baking allows for meditation…I begin to wonder if my love of baking is a rejection of my mother’s rigidity on our eating.  Her pleasureless palate battled by my pleasure-seeking one….

I am shaken from my reverie by the aroma in my kitchen.

Magical places may smell like cloves. Dark, mysterious.

Love smells like banana bread.

It fills my belly and warms my heart.  It makes my house a home this quiet slow Saturday morning.

It’s moist…so it falls apart easily.  It is nearly perfect.  I am putting this recipe to rest.  The quest is done.

Monkey J. peels himself away from his beloved (and highly regulated) Wii for more (ha. Peel.)

I would next time go for more of an oatmeal/crumb kind of topping. But we’re approaching Taste Bud Heaven with this bread, and my tray table is DOWN!

A peek inside

Finally, we had the Bulgar Wheat Experience here this week. (The Bulgar Wheat Experience is going to be the name of my band. When I get one.)

In an effort to have 2 meatless meals a week, I am on the prowl for something beyond pasta and/or tofu.  I made this the other day, to DH’s consternation.

“It looks like it has a lot of fiber.”

“It does! So healthy! Yum!”

I did add oregano, basil, and mint.

Against his better judgement, DH tried it. And loved it! Hooray!
Sadly, I followed it up with the Oreo Pie.

They can’t all be gems, people.

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