Yes, thats right, you heard me correctly. I am a big fan of the bribe. I find that it becomes handy in a variety of situations and at all stages of life. In high school, a small sibling (Z, I’m looking at you) can be convinced to keep a secret with a small offering from your babysitting money; in college, a well-placed bottle of liquor can keep the same sibling quiet when he catches you sneaking into the house at odd hours of the morning. And now, that I’m a supposedly grown, responsible adult? Well, lets just say, these things still work.
In fact, as I type, J is transcribing my final interview. As I’ve complained before, while I’m a master at whining, I’m not a master at transcription. But with a few conveniently poured glasses of wine and the promise of dessert, my favorite roommate of the evening (sorry T, but you’re not home) is sitting behind her interview, listening to my cackling voice over her ipod, putting words to paper. And I am sitting pretty. Finishing the rest of that bottle of wine (and making sure not to burn the thus promised dessert). Which, dear reader, I will taunt you with here:
Blackberry Peach Crisp
(In all honesty, I’m not sure why this alone doesn’t qualify as dessert: I think chopped butter, oats, sugar and flour tastes delicious on its own. Is it just me? Its just me, isn’t it.)
(Step 2: fruit chopping. This is probably more acceptable to eat on one’s own. Less judgement all around.)
(This picture only reinforces my cooking philosophy: its not cooking if some doesn’t end up on the counter.)
Oh right, and then I put it in the oven, baked it, and me and J devoured them before I remembered the camera. Oops. Until next time!