Every Monday night, four friends (SH, LC, TK, and KL) come to our house for dinner. It’s like family time: we eat dinner and share with one another what’s happened in the past week, which may include personal woes, office drama, or calls from America’s Funniest Home Videos asking for permission to broadcast this video. (The unsuspecting birthday girl in the video is one of the ones who comes to dinner.)
I usually don’t make dessert for Monday night, but last week I was craving chocolate so I made My Granny’s Chocolate Cobbler. Yum–ooey gooey chocolate-ness! I served it with fresh strawberries and Blue Bell ice cream.
(Keep reading, I’m getting to the punch line. I promise.)
This is how the cobbler looked after we devoured it. (Sorry, I need to remember to take pictures of food before we eat it.)
I was scooping seconds and thirds when the cobbler spilled down the side of the dish:
And landed on the tablecloth:
One of the friends (SH) reached for the tub of Blue Bell and turned it around to look for the nutritional information. Now, I had a roommate once whose theory was that if you’re going to eat sweets, don’t count the calories or else you’ll ruin the experience. Just eat the sweets without guilt!
Me: “What are you doing?”
SH: “I’m looking for the calories.”
Me: “Don’t count the calories; it’s futile.”