tyleo.com

So picture this: It's 3 a.m., I'm in a bathrobe (satin, obviously), and there's a raccoon in my kitchen wearing my favorite oven mitt like a hat. Why? Because I decided--at that unholy hour--that now was the time to make ganache. Not just any ganache. No, this would be the ganache to end all ganaches. The kind of ganache that makes French pastry chefs weep into their aprons and call their mothers.

But let me back up.

The craving hit me like a freight train covered in cocoa powder. I had just finished rewatching Great British Bake Off for the 7th time and was emotionally compromised. I whispered to myself, "You deserve ganache."" But the kitchen? A disaster zone. The microwave? Questionably sticky. The only chocolate I had? 70% bittersweet baking bars I stole from my own emergency stash behind the quinoa. Desperate times.

I chopped the chocolate like a woman possessed--tiny pieces, as evenly as possible, which is hard to do when you're crying over Paul Hollywood's handshake montage.

Then came the cream. Oh, the cream. I poured it lovingly into a glass measuring cup, like it was the last elixir on Earth. Mixed it with the chocolate, stirred until it looked like a chocolate swamp, then zapped it in the microwave at 40% power. Why 40%? Because full power once nuked my ganache into something that looked like cocoa lava and tasted like betrayal.

Important: Do NOT exceed 120°F unless you want your ganache to seize faster than your aunt at a Black Friday sale.

I added butter next--cold, cubed, dramatic. The butter melted in like it was born to be there. I whisked until it was so glossy, I could see the reflection of my mistakes. And just as I reached peak chocolate euphoria, the raccoon burst through the cat door like it owned the place. (Turns out I left the ganache-covered spoon outside. Rookie move.)

I yelled, it screamed, we locked eyes. It ran off with the spoon like it had just won Top Chef: Woodland Edition.

But you know what? I still had my ganache. Smooth, shiny, and absolutely perfect. I dipped a finger in. Bliss. I may have lost an heirloom spoon and most of my dignity, but what I gained... was enlightenment.