Only give a woman love*, and there is nothing she will not venture, suffer, and do. -- Wilkie Collins
* I'm pretty sure that by love, Wilkie Collins meant chocolate. Pretty darn sure.
... It's a rainy day here, and I've been listening to Edith Piaf songs and seeing how long I can make my mug of coffee last. And in such a mood, I can think of only one thing to write about: Chocolate Mink.
I owe this recipe--and the many, many splendid moments it has created--to the one and only Gourmet magazine (may it rest in peace, weep weep...).
Take a long, soulful look at their picture:
Mmmm. Doesn't it do something good for you, just looking at it?
I first saw that picture four and a half years ago, as a stressed out college kid, dashing through the grocery store. I had a million things on my mind, but that photo, as the Gourmet cover, stopped me short. Needless to say, the magazine came home with me.
I wish I could tell you that I made a batch of Chocolate Mink then and there, ate both servings, and then completed my thesis with wit and grace... but in reality, I put the magazine on our coffee table, and except for a few wistful looks in its direction, I did nothing about it.
It wasn't until recently that I suddenly felt haunted by that photo again, and the notion of Chocolate Mink, this gooey concoction that promised to make my life one deep dark chocolate dream.
Four ingredients: butter, sugar, bittersweet chocolate, egg. And it only cooks for half an hour. And then... ohhhh, and then...
That picture doesn't lie, my friends.
Chocolate Mink is the Platonic Ideal: it's what chocolate always wants to become, and it's what you want when you want something chocolatey. This is the essence of goodness--I'm not kidding. (One can't jest over something this delicious.)
If I actually had a café (I wish!), I'd whip this up for anyone having a rough day. By the time they were settled in and sharing their story, the mink would be done. And while chocolate can't erase troubles, it can make them taste better.
(One note: the recipe says to let it cool an hour. That's the only bit of silliness in the recipe: who wants to wait an hour?? I think we managed to wait a full two minutes the last time we made this, our spoons twitching at the surface of the chocolate...)
This is the best thing I can do for you: Go make it. Right now.