My husband turned eleventy one on Saturday.
Okay, not really… He turned forty six, but to hear the guy talk, he sounds like he thinks he’s butter scraped over too much bread. Don’t feel too badly for him, though. He is the only person I’ve ever known in my life who -when asked how old he is- rounds up by a year or two. Somehow or another, he combines this funny aging complex with a playful personality. When we were dating, he once insisted, “I may be eight years older than you, but I’ll always, ALWAYS be WAY more immature than you are!” He meant it.
This is the dad who does back flips off of the swings when he goes to the playground with the kids (giving me a heart attack in the process.) This is the husband who panics over the thought of picking out a gift for me, yet still pulls off the coolest gifts ever*. This is the guy who lost track of time while photo-documenting the entire process of a snake eating a frog in the side yard, thus missing a family picnic. This is the man who loves cartoons (Looney Tunes is top of the heap), anime, Laurel and Hardy, playing guitar and drums and piano and bass and, and, and… This is my guy.
*Knowing how much I love dance, he scored two tickets to a limited showing of a touring traditional Chinese dance troupe. It required a trip to the city (he would probably rather have dental work done), going out to dinner (he’d prefer hitting his thumb with a hammer), and dressing up (he would rather let the eight year old drive the family van than dress up.) He got some serious husband points for that present.
…And whether he’s turning eleventy one or forty six, I am going to try to make him a birthday feast that will make him borderline weepy with joy. This year was my year to earn points. I made a dinner comprised of his favourite dishes of all time and capped it off with the dessert that makes him clap his hands and laugh with anticipation. I’ll be spending this week sharing my Evil Genius’s birthday feast. We’re going to start not at the beginning, but rather at the end of the meal, because it is the most perfectly perfect fit ever for Make Ahead Mondays. We’re going Cream Puffy! Actually, we’re going down Profiterole Lane, but let’s start with the cream puffs.
Cream Puffs are another of those marvelous children of pâte à choux or choux paste. I’ve already told you a little of my love for choux paste, but I have much, much more to share with you, and THIS is one of my favourites. In this case, you nix the cheese and Dijon mustard and let the choux paste stand on its own. Oh man, let me tell you, you’re going to make like my husband here and clap and laugh when you see this coming.
Profiteroles are the happy result of splitting a largely hollow cream puff in half and filling it with sweet, creamy filling. HOLLER! In this case, we’re filling our profiteroles with ice cream and then drizzling warm hot fudge sauce over the whole thing. Then we drizzle the hot fudge sauce directly into our mouths. I mean, really. This is Grandma Val’s hot fudge sauce that I’m using. I’m no fool.
That all sounds awesome already, right? Would you like me to make it even more awesome? ‘Cause I can. And I will. It is more awesome because you can whip up that choux paste, pipe it out into the shapes you want and freeze them. Then you can have cream puffs and profiteroles any old time you want. You don’t have to thaw the dough or anything prior to baking. You just pop them on a lined pan and bake. The only concession you have to make for baking them from frozen is that you add five minutes to the cooking time. That’s do-able, right?
That’s TOTALLY do-able. Make yourself some cream puffs. Make someone happy. Then make some profiteroles and make someone ecstatic.