Baba ganache

it's like if dessert hummus had a sibling

Hi, clowns.

I’m having a hard time starting this one, but I’m pretty sure everyone is having a difficult time concentrating on anything right now. I don’t blame you if you’re not in the mood for jokes. My coworkers at The Onion had to post this piece for the 21st time since 2014, and it’s making me sick to my stomach just thinking about it.

And all I wonder is when they’ll be posting the same satire article again, because based off lawmaker reactions in Texas and across the United States, nobody seems to have the guts to be a proper leader. Because they’re scared. And it’s the most pathetic thing I think I’ve ever seen. Imagine having the power to keep kids from being killed and flat out refusing to employ it. The history books have already unfavorably closed on those men, which is probably the saddest fate they could have pictured for themselves. But they haven’t been written for the children, our collective kids, that we can still keep safe, in the future.

It’s not too late for them. But we’ve got to do something. At this point, anything.

---

When spitballing for this week, Davida suggested I make a twisted version of dessert hummus, because the very idea of dessert hummus is such an insult to its original dish that it just dives straight into blatant cultural disrespect.

So she said, “How about dessert baba ganoush?” I laughed. If someone was going to mess with chickpeas, fucking with a traditional eggplant dip couldn’t be much worse. But I felt like the idea needed some more punch to it, so we kept thinking of ideas. Guacamole? Salsa?

Then, unexpectedly, she texted me two words that made me bust out laughing: “baba ganache.”

I’d marry the classic meze with a French chocolate-based icing made out of chocolate, because it’s clear nobody gives a shit about anything these days anyway.

So I got the base ingredients for baba ganoush, which included eggplant, garlic, tahini, and lemon, along with those for a classic ganache of chocolate and cream. Here’s a fun fact: The term “baba” means “father” in Arabic, and “ganoush” means “spoiled.” (I learned this here, and here.)

That means the term “baba ganoush” can be interpreted as “spoiled old daddy.” That is one of the best things I’ve ever heard. Imagine yourself ordering that at a restaurant, in English.

“Wow,” you’d say, “Everything on this menu looks so scrumptious! I think we’ll start our meal with the Spoiled Old Daddy and see how we feel from there.”

I started by peeling an eggplant.

I cubed it before I tossed it in oil and salt.

Eggplant, for its size, is suspiciously lightweight. It’s sort of like Styrofoam in that way, where it’s big and heavy-looking, but is actually as light as a feather when you pick it up. Also, people use an eggplant emoji to simulate penises in text messages and in online communication. That’s pretty cool.

The eggplant I bought did not look like a schlong, though, unless your peepee is shaped like a football. In which case I highly recommend you call a doctor right the fuck now.

After I roasted off the eggplant cubes, I tossed it into the blender with some tahini, garlic, and extra virgin olive oil.

Because I’m really good at details, I totally forgot the lemon juice, which is something I realized as I was writing this sentence. Details aren’t important, and neither is human life, according to 50 senators currently serving in Congress. Anyone want to come over for some delicious pizza? I forgot the dough, but the pizza will be fine if I keep ignoring it.

My Vitamix blended the mixture in no time.

Vitamix, please sponsor the newsletter for a one-time payment of $10 million. I promise I will only say nice things about your very loud and powerful product and I won’t run away with the money or anything, while shouting to myself, “I’m rich with blender money, you dumb assholes! Is this how members of the Senate feel when they get blood-funded NRA contributions?”

Now that the spoiled old daddy part was out of the way, I could start on the chocolate ganache.

I put some miniature chocolate chips into a Pyrex bowl on top of my Dutch oven, which had an inch of water in it, and turned on the stove. The steam from the water would gently melt the chocolate before I mixed in some cream. I say all this sounding like I know what I’m doing, but you don’t actually need the double boiler method to make ganache. I’m just trying to look all cool for no reason, plus give myself additional dishes to clean.

Oh well.

A double boiler works fine, at least.

After the chocolate was done melting, I simply plopped in a bunch of spoiled old daddy and folded it in.

(This shit will never get old.)

The baba ganache had started to take on a slight grainy texture, but it didn’t look terrible.

So I added some more baba ganoush. Baba ganache. I’m even confusing myself at this point and it’s my own goddamn newsletter.

Once everything was incorporated, I decided to glaze a cookie with this glorious new icing that nobody has ever dared to make before.

This particular cookie was from a brand called Lofthouse, which is famous for its fluffy and overly sweet and soft sugar cookies. Davida hates Lofthouse cookies, which is exactly why the brand needs to also sponsor the newsletter with a one-time donation of $10 million, so we will stop talking smack about how terrible they are. Congratulations to me, this newsletter is now about extorting major food and beverage brands for exorbitant amounts of money.

Seriously, mention the name Lofthouse in front of Davida and she will immediately start talking shit. It’s hilarious. That’s why I got them in the first place.

In the end, the baba ganache looked pretty decent.

It was glossy, and a little grainy from the eggplant, but that was to be expected. So I took a nice fat bite, and to my horror, the baba ganache just kicked me in the face with a pungent garlic flavor that I was not expecting. I mean, wow, was it strong. Maybe I got defective garlic. Is that possible?

I could taste the chocolate at the same time, but it was almost like experiencing two completely separate flavors that just would not mesh with each other whatsoever. I wish I could all share that experience with you, but I think we’ve had a hard enough week.

As a loving partner to Davida, I brought over the rest of the cookie and asked her if she wanted some. She gave me a suspicious look and took it from me, sniffing it, and immediately got chocolate on the tip of her nose. Then she took a bite and made a face.

“It looks really good,” she said. “It smells really good, and the texture is really good. The aftertaste is good too. But it tastes terrible. So, you know, four out of five.”

Four out of five isn’t terrible, I guess. It couldn’t be any worse than this week.

---

Before I forget: If you want to hear me talking about the newsletter, check out this interview I did with David Cooper on his late-night Canadian radio talk show, The Showgram. We talked about hot and Sour Patch Kids soup and the cat food salad sandwich. It was an awesome time, plus, you get to hear my dopey voice.

And some usual housekeeping, don’t forget to share this post on social media, because it helps the newsletter grow. See, I even got on Canadian late night radio, you know I’m making it real big. If you can’t financially support Food is Stupid, this is the next best thing you can do for all the dumb shit I do every week.

Finally, don’t forget to sign up for a paid subscription! You’ll get your own additional shiny extra editions, two to three times a month, plus you can see all the previous locked content at foodisstupid.substack.com. At this point, there’s a whole mountain of stuff to keep you busy, so you have plenty of terrible shit waiting for you.

But that’s not all. You’ll be supporting Davida and I as we plan our wedding, because we’re finally laying out the groundwork for our nuptials. Sorry it’s taken so long, babe. The money will still cover the cost of me fucking around on the newsletter every week, but it’ll also help us get our wedding plans set for next year. Every coin counts, just like the ones we have in the spare change coffee can.

In the meantime, as always, and I mean it, I love you all. That statement feels especially important this week. Go hug your kids.