That picture might not be the most enticing start to a blog post, but I implore you, stay with me.
I'm not sure where I stand on ghosts or gods, but I have something beyond myself to thank for the bizarre alchemy that took place in my kitchen last night. When I brought that rotten fruit home, the foul smell alone had me ready to ditch 'em. No sweet bread is worth that odor, especially not boring banana.
But then. Suddenly my mind was possessed with the idea of making a not-so-boring banana bread. What goes with banana? This is where I believe the spirit world stepped in—and not just any spirit, but one dressed in a gold lamé suit, or perhaps blue suede shoes. Because what could pair better with bananas than peanut butter? You could think this is where the good idea ends, but you'd be wrong.
Enter Duncan Hines—maybe they should get some of the credit for this, too. Their snack size box of brownie mix is $1 at CVS right now, so naturally I keep one in my cupboards. What possessed me to involve that homely box in my adventures with the King, I can't say. But thank-someone it did.
I whipped up the brownie mix strictly adhering to the box directions, and made half of my beloved Martha's banana cupcake recipe in a separate bowl. Yet again, an urge the origins of which I still can't identify had me plopping three big spoonfuls of plain whole milk yogurt into each bowl. No turning back now.
Serendipitously, the two batters required the same oven temp and the same cook time. I put the brownie batter down first, figuring the fudgier texture would provide a base for the more viscous banana layer.
With nothing left but to bake 'em, pray to Elvis, and cross my fingers, I set about inventing a frosting to match this doozy. It couldn't just be any buttercream, though—to temper the sweetness of the cakes, it needed to provide some kind of tang, something zingy to cut the cloying peanut butter. So into the bowl went:
1/2 cup smooth peanut butter (don't get fancy folks, the cheap stuff is best when it comes to frosting)
1/4 tsp vanilla
1/2 lb. of plain cream cheese at room temperature
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup of milk
Beat like hell until all the little bumps & curdles disappear and the word "lustrous" enters your mind, then set it aside. Do NOT refrigerate, or you'll have one heck of a time spreading it on the cakes.
Once the cakes started to brown a little on top, I pulled them immediately. Dry cake is one of my biggest fears, and I wasn't about to come this far to settle for anything less than decadent.
And decadent they were, once I passed the painful hour of waiting for them to cool (this is a crucial step—if the cakes aren't cool, the frosting will melt, refuse to set, and mainly create a giant mess of your counter). And because the King himself was clearly with me in this endeavor, of course I had to put Nutter Butters on top of them. And chocolate sauce.
My home audience and I had a little debate on the merits of whole Nutter Butter versus crumbled cookie. As an avid peruser of food blogs and fancy bakeries, I knew that the inedible garnish might produce a more dramatic & impressive final product (sorry, guys—I do manipulate you some, but it's mostly for good). The boys baking with me, however, made a persuasive point that you would want crumbles in every bite.
Personally I think those both look like something I'd set my computer down to go eat. But the boys were right about the textures—from top to bottom, this thing was a symphony of complementary consistencies. The fudgey brownie wasn't too crumbly or too chewy; the banana layer was so far from dry, it was almost creamy; the cool, tangy cream cheese kept the whole enterprise from being too rich; and of course, the Nutter Butters gave an absolutely indispensable crunch.
I'm a sucker for the cross-section. You can almost see the moisture! Beware, though—the moisture can turn on you in the fridge overnight, where it sort of robbed the cookies of their crunch. But Elvis can't be held responsible for anything that happened overnight in the fridge. Ghosts are unpredictable, and I'm not so self-involved to think the guy was haunting me. He was just stopping by, as I assume he does in many kitchens from time to time. He was merely providing inspiration, infusing my kitchen with a little rock 'n' roll.
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