Two Ingredient Pancakes - NAILED IT

It sounded perfect. Pancakes! Two ingredients! Gluten free! Protein rich! And they just looked yummy! Observe:

I know, right? They even LOOK like real pancakes, so easy to convince the kids that they are. It seemed like such an awesome idea that I doubled the recipe. Instead of two eggs and one over-ripe banana, I used four eggs and two bananas.

Easy! Stick it all in a blender. Let a child press the buttons.

Pour it into a frying pan with the lubricant of your choice.

They're a little thin, and they spread out larger than expected.

Not too bad on the first flip.

Kinda fell apart on transfer from pan to plate.

First taste test. He liked it.

Umm, waitasec. Second batch isn't going so well.

Third batch... screw it. Way too much work flipping these suckers. The rest became weird, overly sweet (but sugar free!) banana flavored scrambled eggs.

Original recipe and instructions: The Skinny Confidential

More Than a Mistress, Chapter Eight

This is it, the chapter where I predicted things would get physical.  In the last chapter, Jane felt very aware of the Duke "as a man" and the Duke felt it was really important for Jane to know that he hadn't slept with Lady Oliver (though not important enough for him to actually tell her).  Let's see if my prediction comes true.

The chapter opens with Jane discovering the Duke in the library with a candlestick his new crutches.  She is all flustered because "she had not remembered that he was quite so tall."  They go for a stroll in the garden and then rest with "her shoulder almost touching his arm."  The Duke comments that he no longer takes his health and mobility for granted, and Jane reflects inwardly that she no longer takes her freedom and non-fugitive-status for granted, either.  We learn that her parents died within a year of each other, leaving her with her father's cousin, who had also inherited his title.  The cousin both resented her and courted her favour.  One more piece of the puzzle as to why she killed (?) the Earl's son, but none of it makes sense yet.

The Duke hits on Jane again, commenting that she makes him feel very "unsaintly".  Then he leans into her so that his arm is against her shoulder!  Yikes!  She can't move any further away from him on the bench, so she stands up.  Darn, so close to a make-out session!  "That feeling of almost unbearable tension was happening altogether too often. (...) She could not deny that the sight of him - even the very thought of him - could quicken her blood.  That the careless touch of his hand could make her ache for more."  So yeah, she's all wound up after that hot arm-on-shoulder action.  Though Jane tells the Duke that she will never be in the mood for a dalliance (that's how they said "DTF" in ye olde classy times), the narrative gives us hope: "it was a statement and a resolve that were to be tested later that very night."  YES.  I am so winning this bet!

The next scene has Jocelyn suffering insomnia, which he attributes to his new boring life as an invalid.  He is also feeling incredibly restless.  "He could feel temptation grab almost irresistibly at him - the sort of temptation that had often got him into trouble when he was a boy until he had learned to curb his urges." He usually deals with his urges by "go[ing] to a woman and stay[ing] with her until there was no energy left for anything but sleep and a return to his normal way of life."  Sometime past midnight, he can resist no longer, and hoists himself out of bed.  He puts on a shirt and pantaloons, making him deliciously underdressed for the time, and heads downstairs.

Meanwhile, it turns out Jane also cannot sleep.  She is worried about the Duke's recovery, specifically the fact that it is going well and thus she will soon be out of a job (and away from a safe haven).  She overheard a visitor that morning speculating that perhaps Jardine is not dead after all, and also varying descriptions of what the would-be murderess looks like: "a black-eyed, black-haired witch as ugly as sin, or a blond Siren as beautiful as an angel.  Take your pick; I have heard both descriptions and several others."  Jane again wonders what she should do, and even considers confronting the earl at the hotel - "It would be such a relief to come out of hiding, to have everything out in the open."  But then again, confessing would likely mean being "thrown in jail.  To be publicly tried.  To be hanged."  She is not actually sure whether an earl's daughter could be sentenced to hang, as an earl could not.  Interesting, but I suppose not all that surprising, that different classes of people would have different criminal sentences.

Anyway, she gives up on sleeping and decides to go down to the library and get a book.  She puts a cloak on, but does not "dress or put on shoes".  I'm not sure what she's actually wearing under the cloak, then, but trust that she is suitably unclad for the good times ahead.

As she descends the stairs, she hears piano music and is totally out of ideas as to who could be playing it.  When she reaches the door and sees that it is the Duke, she is transfixed.  The Duke is "playing without sheet music, his eyes closed, a look almost of pain on his face.  He was playing something hauntingly beautiful, something Jane had never heard before." That's right.  Those 'urges' the Duke was having trouble dealing with?  The ones that usually require a night of lovemaking to dispel?  They are piano-playing urges.

Jane is awestruck: "She had not believed there could be another musician with a talent to match her mother's."  Minutes pass, the music ends, the Duke's eyes open, and ... "What the devil are you doing here?" he thunders.  She apologizes, and his eyes narrow as he recovers from his shock.  "I dabble, Miss Ingleby.  I was amusing myself, unaware that I had an audience."  Jane realizes that he has "retreated (...) behind a familiar mask.  She had never thought of him before as a man who needed defenses."  So he plays piano just like Mother used to do, and he is a misunderstood man with hitherto unplumbed depths of character.  BINGO, Jane is in love.  Oh, and it doesn't hurt that he's handsome and tall.

But Jane, you know, she says what she thinks, and she isn't about to let the Duke describe his playing as mere dabbling.  "You have been gifted with a wondrous and rare talent.  And you were not amusing yourself.  You were embracing your talent with your whole soul."  The Duke calls this poppycock, and declares that "I have never even had a lesson, Jane, and I do not read music.  There goes your theory."  Except that actually, that just makes her point even more effective.  Because if two people played an incredible piece of music, which one would impress you more?  The one who has had decades of training, or the one who has never seen a piano before?  Way to argue, your Grace.  Also, this declaration makes Jane realize that he must have composed the piece he was playing.  In the middle of her being all shocked and amazed at this, the Duke goes and changes the subject to, you know, his favourite subject.

"You do not wear it loose even to bed?"

Yes, he's talking about her hair again, which by the way is in a thick braid down her back.  She doesn't comment.  "I suppose that playing the pianoforte, composing music, loving it, is something quite unworthy of a Dudley male," she points out.  The Duke agrees that it borders on the effeminate and confesses that when his father caught him playing as a youth, he was beaten so severely that he couldn't sleep on his back.  Jane wonders inwardly, "why was it that men of that type did not realize that the mature, balanced person, regardless of gender, was a fine mix of masculine and feminine qualities?", which is a fine and enlightened perspective.  The Duke starts playing again, and then asks her to sing.

Well, spoiler alert, Jane has Like The Best Voice Ever OMG.  Unlike Balogh's description of Jane's inadequate piano playing, and the Duke's amazing piano playing, we don't really get a description of what is so great about Jane's voice.  All we get is the Duke's response, which is, "I have never in my life heard such a lovely voice. Or one that adapted itself so perfectly to the music and the sentiment of the song."  The moment passes and suddenly Jane becomes aware that she is sitting beside the Duke in the music room wearing only a nightgown and a cloak in the middle of the night.  But she can't think of any way to leave "without making a grand production out of it."  Hmm, have you tried, "It's late, I'm going to bed now.  More singalongs tomorrow!"

The Duke tells her that a talent like hers ought to be shared, not hidden from the world, which is pretty much exactly the same thing she said to him ten minutes ago.  Then he takes her hand and "half the air seemed to have been sucked from the room."

"You ought not to have come down.  You have caught me at a bad time," the Duke says, which is a lovely bit of victim-blaming or at the very least personal accountability avoidance.  Come on Duke, don't buy into rape culture!  No means no!  Except then, "Yes," was all Jane could think of to say.  "Everything except her common sense yearned for her to stay."

"Don't go," he says in an "unusually husky" voice.  Having a husky voice is a sure sign of imminent sexy times.  If Jane's voice is then described as "breathy", then we are Go For Launch.

But Jane says not a word, just walks over to him where he sits on the piano bench and places her hands on his head "as if in benediction".  His hands on her waist pull him towards her and he buries his face between her breasts.  (Which always seems like a super sexy idea, but really, how does he breathe in there?)  After they revel in that awkward physical position for a few minutes, she kneels down on the floor between his legs, resting her hands on his "firm, muscled" thighs.  Then "he cupped her face with his hands before kissing her."

Now, first of all, let me say a BOO-YAH for correctly predicting the hotness of this chapter.  But secondly, if he is sitting on a piano bench and she is kneeling on the floor, her head is not in optimal kissing position (not for his mouth, anyway).  He would have to lean over far enough that frankly, a sexual partner would become obsolete.  Are you following my meaning here?  Okay, MAYBE she is on her knees but sitting up (as opposed to her thighs resting on her calves).  Otherwise he is performing a truly ungraceful hunchback manoeuvre right now.

Anyway!  Kissing!  Jane has never been kissed like this.  Forget that Charles character, THIS was kissing.  Her body "sizzled with awareness and ached with desire".  And so on.  Then the Duke says, "We will have to punish each other for this in the morning," and I'm not sure if he means the fun kinky kind of punishment or the kind where they just pretend the hot makeout session didn't happen.  "I am just a rake, my dear, with nothing on my mind except covering you on the floor here and taking my wicked pleasure deep inside your virgin body."  (Jane, to her credit, does not swoon.)  "You think that what has happened is beautiful.  I can see it in your eyes.  It is not. That is merely what an experienced rake can make a woman think.  In reality it is the simple, lustful, raw desire for sex.  Go to bed now. Alone."

Oh, this Duke fellow is confusing.  In the last chapter he really wanted Jane to know that he wasn't as much of a rake as his reputation made him out to be, but now he is saying the opposite.  And while there is nothing wrong with the simple, lustful, raw desire for sex, he is making innocent Jane feel ashamed of her participation in that desire.  What an ass.  Jane "searched his eyes with her own, looking into the mask that he had settled firmly in place."  Oh, I get it.  Every time he acts like an ass, it's because he's wearing a 'mask'.  And when he isn't being a jerk, that's the real him.  I guess it is Jane's job to help him 'take off the mask' and become 'his true self'.  Okay then.

She goes off to bed and only then realizes she never managed to get a book from the library.  But she doesn't go back.

"You Keep Using That Word. I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means."

My friend Val is a "Children's Restraint System Technician," which means that she has taken suitable education and practical studies to be legally certified in making sure children's car seats are safely installed and properly used. She performs carseat checks, often FOR FREE, for any parent who would like to make sure that their kids are safe. Which, really, should be every parent. Val is also a big fan of Royalty, and was pretty excited to see the first footage of the new infant prince heading home from the hospital in London. Except that, unfortunately, His Royal Highness's car seat usage was pretty inadequate. Knowing that the Royal family is adored and emulated the world over, she posted a picture on her Facebook page pointing out the mistakes and offering her car seat checking services.

The local news picked up on the story, and then the regional news, and now I think the story has even gone national. I've seen her interviewed on television and listened to her live radio interview. She has done a great job educating the public on how car seats are meant to be used, what mistakes to avoid, and how to contact a technician to get your own check done.  What Val has not done, in any interview or Facebook post or even side comment to a friend, is judge anyone.

Let me break this down.  "Judging" someone means making an assumption about a person's character based on their actions.  For example, if I were to say, "Jeff and Jenny are terrible parents because they don't know how to use their carseat properly," guess what?  I just judged them.  If instead I were to say, "Jeff and Jenny don't know how to use their car seat properly, and I want to help them learn," there is no judging there.  No, we call that "educating."

I have seen Val take a fair amount of flack for "judging" people that she actually adores. The Royal Parents don't need to be defended from Val, because she isn't attacking them. It then occurred to me that this might be about more than just car seats. I think we as a society have wandered too far into the territory of boosting self-esteem, at the cost of actually reducing ignorance. I've spoken to school teachers who've told me they are actually no longer allowed to give failing grades to their students anymore, for any reason. That's kind of terrifying. If everyone is guaranteed a passing grade, every year, for every assignment, is there any actual learning going on?

Have we become so terrified of actual information that we deride every statement of fact as "judging"?  If a teacher gives back an assignment and notes that I spelled the author's name wrong, I am not being judged.  I am being reminded of valid, factual information that I need to know in order to complete my course. When I notice my daughter's shoes are on the wrong feet (again), I point that out to her. That is not a judgement ("My daughter is a stupid person because she put her shoes on the wrong feet"), it is education - the instilling of a piece of information that SHE NEEDS TO KNOW.

Now, let me say another thing about parenting. I have certainly gotten on my soapbox before about how much judging parents are vulnerable to: from family members, friends, and society at large. Everyone and their in-laws have an opinion about every parenting issue you can imagine: how many kids you should have, how far apart they should be, what you should feed them, what you should name them, where they should sleep, what they should wear, what they should play with, where you should take them on vacation ... on and on. It starts the minute someone knows you're pregnant (or trying to be) - this sense of entitlement to comment on your experience.  As far as I can tell, it never stops.  (By the way, every example I've listed is something I or a close friend have received unsolicited advice about in the past year.)  My stance on all of that is this: you, as a parent, are the only one who actually lives with your own experience and your own family. You know your child, you know your family dynamic, you know your own needs and limitations and abilities and context. When it comes to your own child and your own family, ALL of those decisions are up to you, and when you open your mouth to start telling someone else what THEY should do, you are crossing the line, because you don't know their experience.  Feel free to *share* what your experience has been (if asked), framed in terms of "this is what worked for us." But recognize that other people have their own needs, limitations, abilities, and context, and that they are doing what works best for them within that context. In other words: Don't be judging.

On the other hand, there are certain immutable facts of parenthood that require a different approach from the usual "live and let live." If a friend told me she was still co-sleeping with her son at four years old, I'd smile and say I was glad she'd found something that worked for her family. If on the other hand she told me that her son slept outside with the dog because he just loves that critter so much, I would suggest that this was not safe.

If she told me that she'd found this great set of marbles and given them to her one-year-old to play with, I would ask her if she was concerned about a choking hazard.

If she told me that she wanted to leave her child unsupervised while she went on a 5k run, I would ask if she needed a babysitter.

And if she told me that she put her baby's car seat on her lap in the front seat of the car instead of actually installing it, I would show her how to install it properly. (Or, even better, call Val and ask her to do it.)

Do you see the common thread here? In every example, there is a piece of information the parent needs that they don't have. Shying away from giving it to them isn't doing anyone any favours. Also, in none of these examples do I mention that I decide my friend is a terrible mother and doesn't deserve to have children. Because that would be (say it with me ...) JUDGING.

Giving information can be positive, too. Here are some more examples:

If a friend told me that she really wished she had something to do with her two-year-old on weekday mornings, I'd let her know that a lot of schools in the area offer free StrongStart programs.

If a friend told me that she had always wanted to learn how to ballroom dance, I'd show here where Parks and Rec offers adult dance classes.

If a friend told me that she wanted to do something this weekend but didn't know what, I'd show here where to look up what's happening on Vancouver Island.

See? Passing information to someone who needs it. Judging and Educating ... not the same thing.

But I'm not judging you for not knowing that.

More Than a Mistress, Chapter Seven

I have not been very disciplined about these recaps.  Shame on me.  I have already had to renew the book from the library TWICE, which is sort of appalling, because who takes nine weeks to read a romance novel?  Apparently, I do.  Anyway, on with Chapter Seven!

The Duke's rehabilitation, and Jane's employment, is halfway over.  Jane dreads leaving Dudley House in only a week and a half, especially since she knows from overheard conversations that the Earl of Durbury is still in London searching for her.  But there are other things to dread as well, namely the fact that "[the Duke] saw her as a woman, and she, God help her, was very much aware of him as a man." 

The Duke commands Jane to show him her hands, and as she feels "the pull of his masculinity" he notes that her hands are smooth with no callouses.  Another bit of evidence that she is not the middle-class servant she presents herself to be.  The Duke doesn't even seem surprised - he just goes into a little speech about her hands: "They are beautiful hands, as one might expect.  They match the rest of your person.  They change bandages gently without causing undue pain.  One wonders what other magic they could create with their touch.  Jane, you could be the most sought-after courtesan in all of England, if you chose."  I'm guessing this is not usually the way one talks to one's servants, but then again, the Duke has pretty much concluded she isn't actually a servant girl.  Still holding onto her hands, his eyes "burn[ing] upward into her own," (that sounds painful), he asks if she can play the piano.  Jane feels trapped but is determined not to show it: she reflects that "by just a slight jerking on her hands he could have her down across him in a moment."  Down across him!  Oooh, titillating!  Jane just might feel more "aware" of him if she suddenly found herself across his lap.

Jane admits that she has played a little, and he insists that she demonstrate.  She does.  He orders her to come sit with him and then gives his feedback on her performance.  "You play without flair.  You play each note as if it were a separate entity that had no connection with what came before or after.  You depress each key as if it were simply an inanimate strip of ivory, as if you believed it impossible to coax music out of it.  You must have had an inferior teacher."

Jane bristled at this insult to her teacher, who was (unknown to the Duke, of course) her beloved mother.  She describes her teacher as someone who "could make it seem as if the music came from her rather than from a mere instrument ... as if it came through her from some - oh, from some heavenly source."

If it seems like I'm quoting a lot of stuff about playing piano, that's true, but there's a reason for it.  The book-related reason will become obvious soon, but the me-related reason is that I am a singer from a family of musicians and I was impressed by the Duke's comments on musicality.  It would have been easy to just bluster on about Jane's playing being terrible without actually giving the reasons why; it also would have been easy to have the Duke say all kinds of reasons why, but for those reasons to not make any kind of sense.  Balogh nails it here, giving real feedback that actually would make a piano performance pretty unspecial.

A few days later, the Duke is going crazy not being able to move around, so he decides to get himself crutches.  This is at least partially due to his finding out that he is the subject of gossip, and not for the usual reasons: the Forbes brothers - brothers of Lady Oliver, the woman the Duke supposedly slept with, prompting the duel in the first chapter - are making noises about defending their sister's honour, and claiming that the Duke is only pretending to be wounded, because he is afraid of fighting all of them.  The Duke finds himself reflecting that "there was something remarkably silly and meaningless in his whole style of life," he concludes that the solution to this is not to try and find some meaning, but to get out "and back about his usual activities," to save his sanity.  All this damnable thinking can be depressing!  He is already learning how to make conversation with a woman, for pity's sake!

Then who should arrive but Lady Oliver herself!  "Bloody hell!" the Duke roars, realizing that "she had come at a time when half the fashionable world was out and about and might happen by and see her or evidence of her presence," such as Lord Oliver's town coach which is parked outside the Duke's bachelor abode.  He is about to order his servant to kick her out, when Lady Oliver sees herself into the sitting room and greets him "in a sweet, breathy voice."  Oh, suddenly I know why she's here!  It's to make Jane jealous so she will realize that she wants to sleep with the Duke!

Lady Oliver wafts through the room (yes, wafts) and raises a handkerchief to her lips and generally plays the part of a woman of sentiment who is in great distress.  This is similar to the way Lady Heyward acts, all hysterics and goings-on, and I suppose these two characters are meant to show how different Jane is by merit of not being a feather-brained doofus.  No wonder the Duke doesn't make conversation with women, if this is what women are usually like. 

The Duke gives Lady Oliver quite the cold shoulder despite her fawning, and then tells Jane to show the Lady out.  Lady Oliver tries to get the Duke to admit he has been pining for her, as she has for him, but he cruelly comments that he hasn't spared her a thought in weeks, and he will continue to spare her no thoughts once she is gone.  She tells him that her brothers mean to kill him, and then bursts into tears.  "You are hard-hearted, Tresham!" she wept.  "I thought you loved me."  Then she leaves, "in a tragic performance that surely would have brought whistles from the pit of any theatre."  Hee!  Balogh knows how to bring a laugh.

The Duke immediately asks Jane her opinion of his "paramour".  Jane says that she is lovely, but that the Duke needn't have been so cruel to her.  "You lay with her and made her love you.  But now you have spurned her when she braved propriety in order to come and see you and warn you."  But remember, the Duke doesn't believe in love! He replies, "The only person Lady Oliver loves is Lady Oliver.  And she braved propriety so that the beau monde will believe that she and I are [...] continuing our liaison."  Then he asks her how she became so convinced that he slept with Lady Oliver.  Well, he DID just call her his paramour, but apparently that doesn't mean anything.  "Did I [confirm it]? Or did I just allow you to make the assumption?"  This is the second time he has made comments about sleeping with Lady Oliver, and then tried to make Jane think that he didn't sleep with her, or at least that he didn't SAY he slept with her.  Not that he cares what she thinks, of course: "To deny it would be to give the impression that your good opinion matters to me, Jane.  I could not have you believing that, could I?"  Well then, you COULD stop talking about it.  Just a thought.

But Jane is starting to wonder, now.  If you didn't sleep with her, she asks the Duke, "why did you not deny it?  Why did you fight a duel and risk death?"  The answer, the Duke tells her condescendingly, is that a gentleman should not publicly contradict a lady.  When she quite correctly points out that this is ridiculous, that he is letting fashionable society believe the worst of him, the Duke replies, "But they love me for it.  I am the bad, dangerous Duke of Tresham.  How I would disappoint the ton if I were to insist [on my innocence].  I often flirt with married ladies.  It is expected of me."  This is starting to be a theme, the Duke's need to uphold a reputation not as an individual but as his title, the Duke - a title and reputation owned by his father and grandfather before him.  He's starting to seem like kind of a bitter dude, all this sneering and posturing, all because it's expected of him.

Also, I looked it up and ton means high society.  You're welcome.

So the Duke and Jane have some more verbal sparring, and then he uses the word "Please" and also calls her Miss Ingleby instead of Jane.  Then he wonders, "Why had it seemed so important to him, despite his denial, that she know the truth about Lady Oliver?  Why had he wanted Jane Ingleby to know that he had never bedded Lady Oliver? Or any other married lady, for that matter?"  Well, we readers know why.  BECAUSE ROMANCE NOVEL, that's why. 

By the way, Jane still doesn't know 'the truth'. She thinks he is lying to her so that he can laugh at her naivete.  Way to communicate, romantic hero.

Next chapter is the one that I predicted would see intimate physical contact.  Will it happen?  Stay tuned.

Radio... Spelling not important

FAIL!

More Than a Mistress, Chapter Six

The chapter opens with a second meeting between the Earl of Durbury and Mick, the runner who has been hired to find (the person we now know is) Jane.  Except she is referred to as “Lady Sara Illingsworth”.  Oh well, no surprise that ‘Jane’ would be using an alias, being on the run and all.  And no surprise that as I have long suspected, she is actually a Lady.  Mick has had no luck finding her.  Mick and the Earl have different ideas about how best to pursue the fugitive: Mick wants to ask around at the pawnbrokers to see if a lovely young lady has brought in any priceless jewels lately, but the Earl insists that Lady Sara would not have pawned the jewelry and refuses to even give a description of the missing piece(s).  The Earl wants Mick to look for her at the employment agencies and other likely employers, thinking Sarah may have found a job.  Mick wonders why a woman would “steal a fortune and then neglect to spend any of it,” and reflects that “there [is] more to this whole business than [meets] the eye.”  Mick questions the Earl about any likely aliases, and the Earl confirms that Sara’s mother always called her Jane. 

So, the Earl’s story and Jane’s reflection are not so much with the matchy-matchy here, and even Mick is starting to think that it’s “a very strange business indeed”.  If the Earl’s son is on his deathbed, why did he leave his bedside to come to London?  Did Sara/Jane steal a fortune, as accused by the Earl, or simply one bracelet and a bit of money, as Jane’s internal monologue would have us believe?  If she did steal a fortune, where is it?  And why is the Earl acting so cagey, refusing to give Mick the details he needs to solve the case?  It’s a mystery right inside a romance novel.  Bazinga!

Back to the Duke and Jane.  The Duke is very, very, very bored, because he is an invalid and Buzzfeed hasn’t been invented yet so he has nothing to do.  Jane has become his constant companion, and he isn’t sure how to feel about that.  She takes good care of him, changing his bandage and moving his cushion, and once massaging his thigh, which was both “magically soothing” and “alarmingly arousing”.  He teaches her how to play chess, and they also pass the time “merely talk[ing]”.  The Duke notes that “it was strange to him to talk to a woman.  He was adept at chitchatting socially with ladies.  He was skilled at wordplay with courtesans.  But he could not recall simply talking with any woman.”  I wonder what the difference is between “chitchatting socially” and “simply talking”?  I suppose there is some posturing going on with the latter, what with the Duke’s reputation as a ladykiller to uphold.  I guess he isn’t doing that with Jane.

Because romance cannot blossom without the emphasis of petty disagreements, Tresham picks a fight with Jane about the plot of Gulliver’s Travels, which she is reading to him.  He displays an awesome grasp of sarcasm with the line, “You are such a restful companion.  You put words into my mouth and thereby release my from the necessity of having to think and speak for myself.”  Oh, snap!  He decides they should talk instead, and asks her about her past, which of course is not going to go well.  Jane maintains the falsehood that she was raised in an orphanage but doesn’t give details about what it was like.  When he pushes her to comment on loneliness, she responds that “Aloneness is not always the same thing as loneliness … Not if one learns to like oneself and one’s own company.  It is possible to feel lonely even with mother and father and brothers and sisters if one basically does not like oneself [and feels] not worthy of love.” 

This touches a nerve and Tresham snaps that she is right.  Jane immediately senses what’s going on, and asks if that is what happened to him.  He thinks about dismissing her for her impertinence at asking such an intimate question, but then remembers that he’s the one who started this line of questioning.  “He had never had conversations, even with his male friends.”  Which again makes me think that ‘conversation’ must have a different meaning to the Duke, because he had loads of conversations with his friends in the last chapter.  Anyway, he takes the plunge and starts telling Jane all about his past.  Jane continues to be supernaturally insightful and notes that Tresham seems to have some very definite ideas about what it means to be a Dudley: more boisterous and quarrelsome than most.  The Duke considers “his family, the vision of themselves and their place in the scheme of things that had been bred into them from birth onward.”  He has no useful answer, though, just points out that if Jane had known his father and grandfather, she wouldn’t ask this question.  Nor would she ask the next one, which is whether Tresham feels he must live up to their reputation, and whether he does so by choice or feels trapped in the role. 

Jane lists the various observations she has made about Tresham’s character and actions, including his risk-taking in duels and curricle racing.  Tresham responds that he wasn’t always this way, and that his father “rescued” him by making sure he took the “final step” in his education.  He obviously doesn’t remember this fondly, as he comments that Jane might in fact be fortunate to have never known her parents.  Then we get to hear the Duke’s opinion of love.

“If love is a disinterested devotion to the beloved, Jane, then indeed there is no such thing.  There is only selfishness, a dedication to one’s own comfort, which the beloved is used to enhance.  Dependency is not love.  Domination is not love.  Lust is certainly not it, though it can be a happy enough substitute on occasion.”

(I’m betting that romance novels where one character doesn’t believe in love, but then comes to see the error of his/her ways, are totally commonplace.)

Once the gates have opened, Tresham can’t stop talking about his past.  His parents didn’t live together, but saw each other for only a few minutes three or four times a year.  They both had lovers.  Tresham has hateful memories of his father’s country cottage where he kept a lover.  And there is more: “Jane did not know the half of it, and he was not about to enlighten her.”  (I bet he will enlighten her later!)  “I have much to live up to, you see.  But I believe I am doing my part in perpetuating the family reputation.”

Jane tries to encourage him not to be bound by the past, commenting that he has free will, as well as rank, influence, and wealth to live his own life in his own way.  He insists that that is exactly what he is doing, other than being laid up by a bullet wound.

“But perhaps it is a fitting punishment, would you not agree, for having taken my pleasure in the bed of a married woman?
She flushed and looked down.

“Does it reach your waist?” he asked.  “Or even below?

I just had to include that entire passage as-is, because wtf?  I pretty much got whiplash from that subject change.  Plus, the juxtaposition of sexual pleasure, Jane’s downward look, and then the mention of her body parts, makes this immediately sexual – which is probably the point – and also weird – which is hopefully not.  Anyway, he is OBVIOUSLY talking about her hair, the stuff on her HEAD, not the stuff she is “looking down” at “below her waist”.  Hmm.  Yeah.  Jane says it’s “only hair,” but Tresham argues that “it is only the sort of magic web in which any man would gladly become hopelessly caught and enmeshed.”  Random compliment much?  Jane is also taken aback, and primly comments that he should keep those thoughts to himself.  He orders her to go get the chessboard and as she leaves, he wonders how he came so close to baring his heart in sharing his boyhood memories, especially since he prefers to believe he is actually heartless.

More Than a Mistress, Chapter Five

The Duke's brother (Ferdinand) and sister (Angeline, aka Lady Heyward) visit again and make much fuss about themselves.  In fact, the narrative notes that Ferdinand came "more with the purpose of talking about himself than out of any great concern for his brother's recovery."  There is much talk about a bet Ferdinand has made that he can win a curricle race (a curricle turns out to be a two-wheeled, horse-drawn carriage) against Lord Berriweather.  Angeline performs her usual histrionics about her nerves.  The Duke realizes he won't be able to go watch the race because of his leg wound.

The Duke insists that Jane attend him in the parlour as he receives guests, an order that clearly upsets her.  When a group of his friends arrive, she tries to excuse herself, looking "almost frightened.  Did she expect that he and his friends were going to indulge in a collective orgy with her?"  Out of stubbornness, he makes her stay and so she gets to eavesdrop on some locker room talk between the Duke and his buddies.  She misses, however, the part where his friends joke about how Tresham must be sleeping with her.  He not only shuts down this line of thought immediately, but notices that he feels quite annoyed by his friends' joking accusations.  "Jocelyn did wonder fleetingly why he cared."

+++++++++

It was at this point in the book that I had a revelation about myself.  The following has nothing whatever to do with this novel or romance in general, and everything to do with my own distaste for said romance, whether on the page or the screen.  In my experience, there is some mystery about love.  I can't explain why I love my husband, at least not in a way that demonstrates my ironclad conviction that I will be with him for the rest of my life.  There's nothing really special or different about him to distinguish him from any other perfectly decent man out there.  I certainly can't begin to explain why he loves me.  Love is ineffable, you know?  But when I am reading a book about romance, or watching a romantic movie, the writers have to make me believe that the two characters are falling in love, and in doing so they have to provide some explanation for it.  I can't actually put myself in the characters' heads and go on that journey with them.  It's easier in movies, where you have chemistry and reaction shots and can express a whole lot with no actual dialogue.  In books, you have to describe how he looked, and how she looked, and how they looked at each other, and the fascinating physiological responses that happened because of those looks (heart pounding, palms sweating, face blushing, etc.).  Which is just scintillating as hell to read, right?  Anyway, I realized that I constantly raise one complaint about romance books/movies, which is: What on Earth made these two characters fall in love?  It pisses me off when there isn't any lead-up to the love, for example when filmmakers give in to that HORRIBLE trope about a couple who argues and fights and trades quips and just generally can't stand each other and then SUDDENLY THEY ARE IN LOVE AND THE VIOLINS ARE SWOOPING.  Also when an author shows no evidence of characters actually loving and valuing each other, but just tells the reader that they have a Great Love and expects us to believe it.  I'm not saying Mary Balogh does either of these things, just saying I realized that this is why I actively seek out NOT to read/watch romance media: it's really easy to do this stuff wrong, and it really pisses me off when that happens.  End self-revelation.

+++++++++

Through the gossip of Tresham and his friends, we get to learn more about the "Cornish scandal" that seems to have some connection to our heroine Jane.  The rumour is that Jardine - son of the Earl of Durbury, the guy who is in town trying to find the "green girl" who harmed his son - is now dead, having never regained consciousness after the attack.  Tresham points out that it must have been hard for Jardine to describe his attacker if he remained unconscious.  He notices that Jane is quite pale, and attributes this to their graphic descriptions of Jardine's brains falling out of his head, while we readers suspect there is a more personal reason for her discomfort with the topic.  However, the gossip continues, with various theories being discussed: Jardine is not dead, but ashamed to show his face after being beaten up by a girl; the girl had a pistol; the girl was trying to rob him.

Later, the Duke shouts at Jane and insists that she remove her cap.  He finds it dull, ugly, and offensive.  At this point, we know she is wearing the cap despite his wishes as she wants to remain anonymous and her "golden tresses" are her most identifiable feature.  But Tresham is determined to cut the thing to ribbons, which brings Jane to tears.  He misinterprets her emotions once again: "This is not about the cap at all, is it?  It is because I forced you to remain in the room with a horde of male visitors."  Jane agrees, and she is dismissed to her room, but not before he reminds her that the cap is forbidden while in his service.  Jane runs to her room and throws herself across her bed, so that she can fully digest the shocking news: "Sidney Jardine had died and there was no way anyone on this earth was going to believe that she had not murdered him."  Oh, so she didn't murder him?  "He had been despicable and she had hated him more than she had thought it possible to hate anyone.  But she had not wanted him dead.  Or even hurt."  Hmm, so she knew him, but she didn't kill him.  "It had been a pure reflex action to grab that heavy book and the pure, mindless instinct of self-defense to whack him over the head with it."  Um ... so I think maybe you did kill him then ... if in fact he is dead, which isn't confirmed by anything but rumour. 

Jane's remembrance of the events continues: Sidney touched his bloodied head, laughed, called her a vixen, and continued to "advance on her".  As she moved to avoid his grasp, he lost his balance and fell forward onto the marble hearth, cracking his forehead.  Though there had been witnesses to the scene, none could be relied upon to tell the truth and stand up for her; instead, they would doubtless testify that she had been caught stealing.  And, we learn, "the gold, jewel-studded bracelet ... was still at the bottom of her bag."  So she did steal a bracelet, for whatever reason.  Though Jane took Sidney's pulse to determine that he was still alive - though unconscious - his friends made such threatening comments that she decided to flee during the night, because - "oh, there were a number of reasons."

More exposition (much appreciated at this point) reveals that the Earl of Durbury was her (late) father's cousin.  Both he and the Countess dislike Jane, and furthermore they were away at the time of the incident. Her "neighbour, friend, and beau," Charles Fortescue was also away.  Feeling abandoned and alone, Jane rushes to London to see her godmother, Lady Webb.  But Lady Webb was away from home and not expected back any time soon.

This all happened three weeks ago, during which time Jane has tried to fit in, find employment, and remain undetected.  Which, of course, just makes her look all the more guilty.  Though we now know that Jane did steal jewels and money, and did issue a violent blow to a man who is now either in a coma or dead, we remain sympathetic to her because she didn't mean to kill Jardine.  There is more to learn about the circumstances surrounding this incident, but I'm relieved to have some part of this plot revealed.  It's strange to me that Jane's only recourse as a semi-innocent ('it was self-defense') woman is to leave her home in the dead of night.  But then again, I've never seen an episode of "Law and Order: Regency England" so I'm not sure how the system worked at that time.  Gossip and rumour and unreliable witnesses were likely the order of the day.

Jane reflects on the fact that she doesn't really know the truth of Jardine's situation: he may still be only unconscious, or perhaps he is recovering nicely ... or perhaps he truly was dead.  She decides to wait until she is able to learn the truth, before deciding what to do next.

Dorks, geeks, and nerds... oh my!

Dork
December 11, 2010 Urban Word of the Day
Someone who has odd interests, and is often silly at times. A dork is also someone who can be themselves and not care what anyone thinks.
(urbandictionary.com)
dork
noun
1. Slang. a silly, out-of-touch person who tends to look odd or behave ridiculously around others; a social misfit
(dictionary.com)

There are various negative definitions floating out there, but my theory is that they're perpetuated by people who view odd interests and social awkwardness as negative character traits. I don't. Virtually all the definitions are the same, just with a different bias attached. I have odd interests (as Laura discovered, for example, when I pointed out that her husband was a dead ringer for Prince Daniel of Sweden... how did I know this?). I'm most definitely socially awkward. This is why the vast majority of my friends are ones I met on the internet, and why most of my real-life friends do most of their communicating with me through some sort of technological means. We're dorks! And nerds! And geeks! And there is nothing wrong with that.

If there is some sort of implication that the word "dork" is comparable to other derisive words like "retard" or "gay" ... well, that's just not the case. We'll start with the r-word. It started its life as any other word and refers to something that is slower or has delayed development. It has been used in automotives, engineering... and in medicine and education. It was not derogatory when it was used as a medical term. Someone who was mentally retarded had a developmental delay. Unfortunately, because society in general viewed that as being lesser than it naturally became an insult. I remember the special ed classroom being referred to as the "retard room" in school and knew it was slang but the term wasn't all that discouraged. What has happened to the word now? Well, it's almost as bad as the n-word in that many people don't even like writing it out. But it's an infectious little word that's still in the vocabulary of many, many people and is used to describe things, people, and situations that are silly, inept, or unwise. You know, because people with developmental delays are silly, inept, and unwise. It is not used with a positive slant.

Then there's gay. This one's a bit different. Gay meant happy. It could be used as a woman's name without inviting scorn. My elementary school principal's name was Gay. Umm... yeah, that invited scorn. I'm guessing (haven't looked it up, can't be bothered) gay came to be applied as a general term for homosexual people (usually men, but not always) because a lot of gay people are pretty damn happy and flamboyant. I know some! So usage on this word is currently split. You can easily refer to homosexual men as gay without it being derogatory. But when you refer to a thing, person, or situation as "gay" because they're doing something silly, inept, or unwise, you're connecting being homosexual with a negative connotation.

Now there's dork. It started in the 50s as a slang term for penis (not whale penis, that's urban legend), extended into the 60s as a derogatory term for a socially inept person. It has never been used as anything but slang. What happened is the context. Dorks? They got jobs. They met and married other dorks and had dorky children. They found each other and played Dungeons and Dragons and went to Society for Creative Anachronism events. Then the internet was invented and it was dork central. And you know what? All those dorks weren't really embarrassed about being dorks anymore. You can't insult a dork by calling them a dork. In social contexts now, it's a term of endearment.

A person who is insulted by the term dork should ask themselves... do they put a negative spin on being socially awkward and having odd interests?

Because I don't. I have a lot of odd interests. I think European royalty is fascinating, and thus I was able to point out to Laura/adequatemom that her husband is a dead ringer for Prince Daniel of Sweden.

Eye candy for dorks: Prince Daniel of Sweden

I can tell you what to call a duke and his younger brother, too. That's a pretty odd interest, and  bringing it up in conversation is rather socially inept, because most people? Don't care. And neither do I. I mean, I don't care if they don't care. I think it's interesting.

This rant stems from... well, a few different things, but most recently, an internet friend I've known for over 10 years posted a video on Facebook.

Alex was a dork when he was a scrawny 13-year-old trying desperately and unsuccessfully to hang out with the big kids (or, be fully accepted into a group of online writers who wrote in just about the dorkiest of dorky genres) because he was socially awkward EVEN ON THE INTERNET. Fast forward to the age of Facebook and I reconnected with a grown-ass man in law school with facial hair who dressed pretty damn good. There was a disconnect. He's since graduated and has given me free legal advice on one occasion. He is employed in a respectable profession. He's politically active and delightfully liberal. He does cool things like travelling, skydiving, scuba diving and clubbing, but also dresses up all fancy for formal occasions in suits and ties (Facebook stalker, I am). He did the running of the bulls! But where did the dork go? I've been wondering this since reconnecting. This commercial, my friends. The dork went to this commercial. He is the main singer/rapper.

Phew! I was getting worried. The dork is alive and well. Here, with permission, is something I'm calling evolution of the dork:

Age 14ish. I know, he doesn't look that socially awkward. But TRUST ME. This kid? Spent hours every day on the internet writing... oh God, I'm going to say it... online soap operas. And? He managed to be the dorkiest of us all. This kid morphed into this:

A self-described "frat douche." Yep, that's about accurate.

But then this happened.

Huh? What? That's facial hair. And a bit of salt and pepper at the temples. Seriously? Kinda hot. And employed. In a decent job.

OMG it's Prince Daniel of... Persia? This dude certainly ain't Swedish. (also? I cropped a super adorable newborn baby out of this photo, a niece or nephew)

Oh, but in case you forgot, the inner dork is still there:

He apparently has similar tastes in reading material!

Alex is 28 and currently lives in the Los Angeles area and dorkily describes himself as "seriously I'm like single and ready to mingle." During this conversation, I finally got the answer to a question that's been plaguing me for well over 10 years, and I was vindicated. Despite vehement denials and dramatic flip-flopping as a youth, Alex is looking to date other BOYS (although apparently will consider girls from time to time).

(And incidentally, this is the second time in the last month a guy has requested I help him find a date... the other one is a straight 39-year-old construction worker in the Nanaimo area, if anyone's interested)

Back to dorks. And geeks. And nerds. Language evolves and changes. Dork may have started as a pejorative, but it's been reclaimed. Queer has been reclaimed and embraced by the LGBT community. Dorks, geeks, and nerds? I refer you to the following:

• Glee
• Big Bang Theory
• Freaks and Geeks
• My So Called Life
• That 70s Show
• Revenge of the Nerds
• American Pie (the movies, not the song)

Those are the shows about dorks, geeks, and nerds. Glee? Glee is ALL about embracing your inner dork/nerd/geek and celebrating being different. Fans proudly calls themselves Gleeks. And they're all upset because head Gleek Cory Monteith/Finn Hudson has just died. I'm... disappointed. Check in with me when they inevitably run the goodbye episode. I will be bawling my eyes out. Because I'm a dorky Gleek, and I wish to hell there was a show like Glee when I was in high school (except half the popular kids were in band and drama, so...).

Enh, it's late so I can't do a decent conclusion. Here's some random stuff.

A book recommendation for Laura: Into the Wild Nerd Yonder: My Life on the Dork Side by Julie Halpern
The review recommends it for dorks, but especially "crafy dorks!"

Apparently we are in "the golden age of the sexy geeky leading male" in film.

There is a series of books for junior dorks called Dork Diaries.

Finally, Laura requested I add this picture of Prince Daniel of... Canada.

More eye candy for dorks.

It's a dork in a skirt! Laura is hopelessly in love with his dork, who helped her bring out her inner dork after they met through the Society for Creative Anachronism (dorks in costumes!), and together they embrace their dorkiness and are well on their way to raising another one. Both are smart, kind adults who accept and embrace others for their differences and together they're raising a pretty cool (and kinda weird) kid who will totally grow up into another awesome human being.

Second addition: Laura informs me that Chris has absolutely zero Scottish background, which makes it all the more awesome (and dorky) that he's wearing full Scottish garb. More observant (or nerdy) readers will see that he is wearing the Clan Campbell tartan. Laura is a Campbell. Dork that he is, Chris fully researched this and discovered that, having married into Clan Campbell, he is entitled to wear their tartan.

I will try my best to find my husband a Sutherland tartan in size 40 tall. And he would wear it. Because while he may have been a jock in high school he was also a card carrying member of the chess club who programmed computers for fun. In the late 80s/early 90s, before it was cool.

My Kid Still Can't Sit

Back in the day, the long-ago days when Gwen was a toddler, she couldn't sit.  "Sitting unassisted for a period of time" was a six-month milestone, and she didn't meet it.  Looking back, I don't feel like I was super worried about this, but maybe I was - I was pretty crazy/hormonal/stressed out about motherhood during that period.  I *do* remember that I had a hard time explaining it to people, who kept misinterpreting me and believing that Gwen couldn't sit still.  No, the problem was that she couldn't SIT AT ALL.

Evidence.

Sitting on hip, not bum.

So at eight months old, Gwen became that rarest of children: a child who can crawl but cannot sit.  "They" say that sitting helps toddlers develop the core strength necessary for crawling, but apparently Gwen wanted to prove them wrong, because she learned to crawl at least a month before she could sit.  Weird, right?

(Spoiler: she finally started sitting at nine months old.)

Here's something even weirder.  Gwen is STILL not so keen on sitting.  Here are some photos taken over the past several weeks.  In every photo, Gwen is watching a movie on TV, so has every reason to be comfortable, stationary, and, you know, facing the screen.  Generally in cases like these, people turn to "SITTING" as a solution.  Not Gwen.

In Gwen's near future: sitting in a kindergarten classroom and doing 'desk work'.  I can't wait to see how that goes.

More Than a Mistress – Chapter Four

This is my favourite chapter so far and might actually be the chapter where I started liking this book.  It’s a slow, fairly non-eventful chapter, but there is some nice character development and good foundation laid for the coming romance (no pun intended, I swear).

So, where Chapter Three featured a visit from Tresham’s sister, Lady Heyward, Chapter Four features a visit from his brother, Lord Dudley.  Dudley is just as self-important as Lady Heyward – Tresham, in comparison, is starting to seem like a half-decent guy, especially as he seems to view his siblings as the boors they are.

Jane Ingleby continues to be an enigma wrapped in a riddle.  She carries and comports herself like a proper lady, and this attitude somehow startles people into responding to her as such, even when they are told she is a servant.  For example, Tresham presents his brother Dudley to her – “this must surely be the first time he had been presented to a servant” – and Miss Ingleby, rather than curtsying as might be proper for a servant, “inclined her head graciously”, which inspires Dudley to make “an awkward little bow”.  This is not the way servants are generally treated, but then, as Tresham himself is starting to suspect, Jane is no servant.  Indeed, when Dudley makes a vulgar statement, Tresham cuts him off and is about to insist that “there is a lady present” before remembering that servants don’t actually count as ladies.

Tresham and Jane have a nice civil conversation about how they shall pass the time together; cards, chess, reading, gambling?  Again, one would not expect a servant to know how to read, but Tresham is onto her ruse and makes a knowing comment about the superiority of the orphanage she attended.  Then it’s time for some lusting.  Jane comments that Tresham will certainly soon become bored with the entertainments she can offer, but Tresham gets a “wolfish” look about him and comments only, “We shall see,” before ordering her to remove her cap.  When she refuses, he asks her a little more softly.  This time she concedes.  Is this to be the pattern of their interactions – she will do as he asks, if he asks nicely?  And teach him a valuable lesson about being kind to people?  Perhaps so.  After Tresham reflects on the incredible beauty of her golden tresses, he asks if she was hiding her hair because of his reputation.  She is unaware of his reputation, so he shares it with her, which is weird if he was worried about her being afraid of it.  He makes sure she is well aware that he has been accused on multiple occasions of sleeping with married women, but promises that he doesn’t seduce unwilling women, or servants for that matter.  “But I would give a monkey,” he says softly, “to see you with your hair down.”  A monkey?  Is this some kind of Regency-era currency?  I wear my hair down every day, no one has ever given me wildlife in return.

That evening, Jane reads from “Gulliver’s Travels” while Tresham reflects how boring his evenings are going to be while his leg recovers.  Usually he’s into the theatre or opera and then getting laid, “the most energetic exercise of all”.  He ponders Jane’s swanlike neck and her cultured reading voice, and longs again to see all her hair undone.  Just about the time I was starting to wonder if Tresham had a hair fetish, he also thinks how he might like to see her naked, too.  (Maybe that would be worth a monkey AND a giraffe!) 

The next day, the physician visits and praises Jane for her excellent job of changing Tresham’s bandage.  Then Tresham tells the doctor he wants to exercise his leg, and curses at the man when he advises against it.  Jane, naturally, has to get in the middle of this, insisting that Tresham owes the doctor an apology.  “He is merely giving you his professional opinion, for which you summoned him and are paying him.  There was no call for such rudeness.”  The doctor, of course, is flustered by this and makes excuses for the Duke, but Jane cannot let it go, advising Tresham that pain is no excuse for speaking abusively.  She feels embarrassed about her outburst, reflecting that “it came of having grown up in an enlightened home, in which servants had invariably been treated as if they were people and in which courtesy to others had been an ingrained virtue.”  Though she again resolves to curb her tongue, just moments later when Tresham orders her to fetch a cushion, she retorts, “You might say please once in a while.” 

This leads to an interesting dialogue between the two of them, with Jane encouraging the Duke to use his manners and also his words: “If I feel any indignation on any subject, I have the vocabulary with which to express it.  I do not need to resort to violence.”  But Jane’s inner monologue tells us that this is “as massive a lie as any she had ever told.”  This hearkens back to her Mysterious Past and the murder she is accused of.  Hopefully the next chapter will bring us more clues because I am getting impatient!

Tresham thanks Jane for bringing the cushion, which surprises her greatly.  He gets all sexy again, pointing out that he is superior in his ability to “amuse and delight women”.  Suddenly, Jane notices that he is a man: “Her awareness of his masculinity had been a largely academic thing until he spoke those words … But suddenly … she felt a totally unfamiliar rush of pure physical desire that did alarming things to her breasts and her lower abdomen and inner thighs.”  What were these alarming things, I wonder, and why were they alarming?  Desire is meant to be pleasant, not alarming.  But perhaps it is merely alarming because it is so unfamiliar.  In any case, Tresham and Jane are progressing quite nicely, as both have now started secretly lusting after one another.  I predict that physical contact will commence in no more than three chapters.  I kind of can’t wait.

Frozen Peanut Butter Chocolate Banana Bites

Last week, I saw this recipe on my Facebook feed and resolved to try it.  There are three ingredients: bananas, peanut butter, and chocolate.  All of those things are awesome and could only be made more awesome by their powers combined.  Plus, the recipe seemed SUPER simple. 

I followed the step-by-step instructions on Snapguide, with one exception: I made double-decker versions instead of open-face.  First, I cut the bananas into coins and put them on a parchment-paper-covered cookie sheet.

The next step called for me to spread peanut butter on each of the banana coins.  I chose to melt the peanut butter a bit, because nearly everything delicious becomes more delicious when melted (see: cheese, butter, chocolate, ice cream).  I applied the peanut butter with my frosting thingy, which made it look either adorable or like runny poo, depending on your point of view. 

The next step is to put more banana coins on top of the peanut butter layer.  Around this time is when I started to remember that banana coins are pretty unpleasant to handle.  All squishy and slippery.  The top coins did a lot of sliding around and sometimes took the peanut butter with them as they slid right off the bottom coins.  Annoying!

Then I put the tray of double-decker banana bites into the freezer for about 10 minutes to help them firm up.  This is what the inside of my freezer looks like.  Awful, isn’t it?  I can never find ANYTHING.

In retrospect, I can tell that I should have left those suckers in there for 30 minutes or more to make sure the bananas lost their slipperiness and really embraced their new role of peanut-butter-delivery-system.  But I didn’t.  And that is why things started to go horribly wrong in the next step. 

Now I have to add chocolate.  The guide says to do this via dipping the sandwich into melted chocolate which is at a “dipping, not spreading” consistency.  I dipped a few of them, but they often fell apart in the dipping bowl, and they also returned to the tray with a LOT of extra (i.e., wasted) chocolate.  I ended up melting way more chocolate than I would have anticipated (about 2 cups of melting wafers) and as you can see, the chocolate didn’t so much enrobe the bananas as languish in their presence.

Because the giant pools of melted chocolate took up so much room, I ended up having to use a second cookie sheet.  This one had to go in my deep freeze.  There wasn’t any room for a cookie sheet (even the small ones that I use) to go into the freezer and remain level.  So guess what happened?  The cookie sheet tipped over and spilled banana-peanut-butter-chocolate-goo all over my deep freeze.  I anticipate I will be finding frozen chunks of this mess for months to come.  But there is an upside to this catastrophe: it gave me the idea for an upcoming blog post, “Ten Things I Really Hate About My House.”  Stay tuned!

So after being in the freezer for a few hours, I took the bananas off the cookie sheets and transferred them to an airtight container.  Here is a picture of how much chocolate remained on the parchment paper when I did that.  It is a TRAVESTY.

And here is a picture of the super-appetizing, “completed” peanut butter banana bites.  Yup, I nailed that one so hard they’re going to have to start calling me “Hammer”.

They are about as delicious as they look.