Let me tell you… THE STORY. The story of… a dessert.
The supermarket had vanilla and chocolate wafers for 70 cents a box, so I decided to buy two boxes and make a chocolate lasagne.
The rest of the ingredients cost $16.30. See, THAT’S how they get you.
Anyway, I started layering them up. The wafers were the pasta of this bizarre and likely diabetes inducing experiment, so they went on first:
Then went a layer of Smarties.
I was working on the understanding that, in the oven, they would melt in their shells and the shells would crack and delicious candied chocolate Smartie goo would leak out over everything, mmm delicious.
BUT WHAT A PROUD FOOL I WOULD LATER BE PROVEN. "He that is proud eats up himself; pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle, but not his own Smartie goo, and he DOESN’T eat up his desert lasagne." - Troilus and Cressida
After that, it was more wafers, and an arrangement of Oreos. The cream in the middle of the Oreos was ALSO SUPPOSED to melt, collapsing the cookies into their base form and spilling as mana over my creation.
Then I plonked a whole block of dark chocolate over the whole thing to drizzle lightly down, cos what could go wrong right?? This is such a good idea you guys.
such a good idea
So then into the oven it went! With every minute that ticked down on the oven timer, my anticipation and excitement grew tenfold. This was happening: this, my gift to the world. This is the one they were gonna remember me for.
But then, the first signs of disaster: a dark portent for what was to come. Nothing was melting properly! Turns out Smartie shells are, y’know DESIGNED SPECIFICALLY to not melt, which gummed up the works. Well, no, it stopped the works from gumming up, which was actually what I wanted. Why didn’t I crush their shells first… before they crushed me (emotionally)!??
I kept pressing down on the cookies, trying to get the chocolate to spill down in a gushing cascade, but even that proved stubborn. All that happened was chocolate kind of oozed lazily over the glass dish, and I burned my fingers on the unevenly heated fudge parts of the cookies.
NOTHING MELTED PROPERLY. I had the oven pretty high, too! I could actually smell the tops of the cookies starting to burn when I took the dish out. Look at this mess. What a waste. What a waste of money and hope and dreams.
But still, waste not want not, so it’s time to hoe into this bad boy.
So chocolatey. The flavours! The crunch of Smarties as warm chocolate bursts onto admittedly slightly gooey Oreos in my mouth, the light whisps of wafer bringing countermelody to the crescendo of rich, dark chocolate. I ate the whole bowl I served myself, savouring each moment, and oh god jesus my stomach no whyyyyy
why did i do this
I felt so sick. Sick like death. That horrible feeling where you REALLY want to vomit but your body isn’t vomiting? And if you were twelve years old again, you’d sit on Santa’s lap, and whisper “Please, patron saint of gifts and cheer, please, make my digestive tract undo this agony I have wrought in my foolish haste.”
I had to lie down, but when I did, I’d start thinking “maybe sitting up will hurt less,” but when I’d sit up, I’d think “no no, lie back down,” in an endless Sisyphean chocolate nightmare. I actually called someone over to hold my ankles so I could do a handstand to turn my body upside-down. I don’t know what I thought that was going to do; but in retrospect, I had transcended so many psychic levels of existence by that point, cartoon stomach-physics seemed a mere triviality to accomplish.
Being upside-down (strangely) felt a little more comfortable, but this might have just been my imagination. You have to remember, I had literally just called someone over to help turn me upside-down: I honestly thought that would fix things somehow, so my mental processes from the time are somewhat suspect. It was like the whole 60s happened all at once in my kitchen. Oh, my hubris!
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings!
Look on my food, ye mighty, and despair!”
FAST FORWARD TO THE NEXT DAY.
It was like coming down off a high, with both the sweats AND paranoia. I had created something that Should Not Be. I had to dispose of the evidence.
So, I put the whole thing into a blender, and reduced it to this fine powder:
If you snorted this you would SEE THROUGH TIME. But I didn’t, because instead, I baked it into a cake shaped like a combination of Noah’s Ark and a UFO. the conspiracy theorists… were RIGHT
We’re through the looking glass here people.
Anyway, I didn’t want this thing in my house, so off to the neighbours’ house it went. Their children will probably eat it and become the Kwisatz Haderach.