Couldn’t Say What I Wanted To Say

Miss Sasha posted a peculiar-looking recipe on Facebook, then got in her car and drove to either Mars or Kendall Park, but definitely one of those. Anyway, while she was traveling incognito, I lost track of the post and the recipe, so I did a little poking around on the Intertubes and learned a few things.

Tata: Everyone is talking about avocado and cocoa mousse. Have you tried this? I made some up yesterday. I would eat it. Pete would grease axels with it, but wouldn’t touch it on a cracker.

Snake: I looked at Giada’s recipe just now and I’m with Pete. Ugh. Doesn’t look very moussie at all, it looks gloppy. Mousse properly done should taste like chocolate air. But that involves separating eggs or using light cream that has been whipped like a british sailor.

Tata: You are quite right: it does not taste like chocolate air. It tastes like the food equivalent of sex up against a wall with a stranger you met outside a bar after closing time. It is full of What did I just do? Nobody on the Food Network is going to mention that. You will know why they’re sweating.

Snake: Ok. Sex with strangers you just met means I will give it a try. I will probably have to call it something besides mousse. My vocabulary can take it though.

Tata: Call it Brenda and try not to think about the cellophane. I am not saying you’ll like it, but it’s just weird enough try just because.

I surveyed a bunch of recipes and decided to start here because she reminds me of chatty Miss Sasha and has two different color eyes, a sure sign of a double helping of crazy. This writer is a vegan, which means mousse without eggs or cream. Her ideas were interesting, especially regarding variations.

Here’s one from Sheryl Crow, whom we love. Here we have a cook who licks food processors clean. Here we have a recipe writer with a few sticky keys.

I started with two ripe avocados and mashed ’em up, then added agave, cocoa powder, ground ginger and cayenne and a pinch of salt and whipped the whole thing until the texture was uniform. I tasted and added a bit more agave and cocoa powder. An hour later, Pete and I tasted it together and he made a face like I’d tossed his Hot Wheels collection into the Home Smelting Pit, now with extra smelt! I didn’t push and forgot about the mousse for two days. When I stuck a spoon into it today, the mousse tasted like the dirtiest, smuttiest, spiciest, naughtiest, adults-only dark chocolate ganache ever. You should make this and have some sexy sex, alone or with a sexy sex friend. Or a stranger. Next time, I might add cinnamon.