Chapter Text
“I don’t know Aunt Brenda, I don’t think that the batter is supposed to be this dry still.” Grace looked at her aunt with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.
Brenda huffed, grabbing the recipe she’d printed off once more. “Let’s backtrack,” she said irritably, “Right. So we melted the butter and mixed it with the sugar, yes?”
The twelve year-old gave her aunt a thumbs up.
“Good. Eggs and yolk, vanilla extract we added next?” Another thumbs up. “Okay, then I added the flour, cornstarch, baking powder and salt. You mixed ‘em all up.”
“Yep.”
“Huh.” Brenda threw the paper back down onto the counter and peered into the bowl. She poked the mixture. “Why’s it so dry?” she asked, clearly frustrated.
Grace retrieved the paper. “Maybe you didn’t measure things out correctly?” Her aunt gave her an incredulous look.
“Of course I did,” Brenda insisted.
“Mhmm. How much vanilla extract did you use?”
“Half a teaspoon.”
“Well,” Grace looked up at her aunt smugly, and Brenda swore that in this moment she was the picture-perfect-image of her Russian mother, “that’s it then. You were supposed to put in two teaspoons of vanilla extract, the half teaspoon was the baking powder.”
“Gimmie that,” Brenda said, inspecting the recipe herself. Grace pointed to the ingredients list, highlighting her error. “Fuck me,” Brenda muttered, then caught herself. “Don’t repeat that,” she added hastily.
Grace snickered at her.
“Okay, well, the vanilla extract is an easy problem to fix.” She reached for said ingredient again and poured in the remaining one and a half teaspoons. “Go on, Master Chef, mix it up.”
Grace stirred the mixture with the whisk, gradually blending the dry mixture with the richness of the extract until it began to resemble the desired consistency. “Better,” she declared.
Brenda reached for the white chocolate chips and walnuts.
“Ah,” Grace stopped her, “why don’t I measure it?” she offered.
“Aah, c’mon, even if I mess this up, you can’t have too much chocolate, Gracey. They’re brownies,” she tried to reason, mildly annoyed that she’d been demoted in her own kitchen by her pre-teen niece.
“Ugh, no,” Grace said, wrinkling her nose, “too much makes my teeth hurt. Here.” She handed the meticulously measured bowl of white chocolate chips and chopped walnuts back to her aunt.
“Okay, you tell me what’s next,” Brenda said.
“You fold it in now. Then we spread it in the pan. Did you turn the oven on already?”
“Yep. It’s ready to go,” Brenda confirmed as she carefully folded the remaining ingredients into the mixture. “How’re we doing for time?”
Grace checked the clock on the oven. “Hmm, I think we’re going to make it, but it’s close,” she advised.
Brenda mixed faster. “Okay, let’s have an emergency plan in place. If she comes home before we’ve plated them, you stop whatever you’re doing to go distract her and I’ll finish up in here.” She looked up and threw a wink at her niece who grinned in return.
“Careful!” Grace hissed as her aunt began hastily pouring the mixture into the pan. “You have to make sure it’s even,” she nagged.
“Yeah, that’s what the spatula’s for, Gracey,” Brenda huffed as she tried to even the mixture out across the pan.
“Okay, better,” Grace said as her aunt smoothed the raw batter as best as she could. Brenda threw the spatula in the sink and pulled her oven mittens on.
“Stand back,” she cautioned as she opened the oven door and placed the tray in the centre rack. “How long do they gotta stay in for?” she asked as she closed the door.
“Twenty-five to thirty minutes,” Grace said as she checked the paper.
“Okay, we’ll split the difference. I’ll time it for twenty-seven minutes” Brenda quickly set the timer on the oven and turned around to survey the mess they’d made of the normally pristine kitchen. “Think we can scrub this all down in under thirty?” she asked.
Grace surveyed the countertop before them with a disbelieving look. Flour, cornstarch, and baking powder were littered across the counter from where Brenda had overpowered each of them. Various utensils were strewn across the surface, random white chocolate chips and chopped walnuts too. “Let’s hope that Aunt Linda is running late,” she advised.
Brenda looped an arm around her cheeky niece, and pecked her forehead. “C’mon, grab a pair of rubber gloves from under the sink and let’s get to it. Or else Aunt Linda’s gonna kill us both,” she chuckled.