Fudgy pantry brownies

No chocolate? No problem! I discovered these super-simple yet undeniably delicious brownies when I was pregnant, and they continue to be a trusty go-to for desserts, parties, and the like not only because they’re CHEAP (no baking chocolate—or even chocolate chips—required) and based entirely on pantry ingredients, but because they’re objectively some of my favorite brownies. Chewy and fudgy, not cakey and dry, with so much chocolate flavor you’ll swear you taste an expensive chocolate bar in there somewhere. (It’s just cocoa powder!)

Splurge: watermelon sorbet: 71 cents/serving

As you may have noticed, watermelons are cheap right now. Like, really cheap. They’re also very large. Like, the size of a small child and 39-cents-a-pound large. Which is great if you’ve got a huge family or plan on putting slices out for a barbecue, but what to do if you’ve got a household of two people who struggle to eat 12 pounds’ worth of watermelon in a week? Buy a cheaper, smaller watermelon that probably costs three times as much per pound? Of course not! Buy the big watermelon, eat half of it, and make this sorbet with the other half. It’s one of the most refreshing summer desserts there is, and if you buy mini chocolate chips (which I didn’t this time), it even looks just like watermelon, which for some reason makes it taste even better.

Strawberry summer cake: 18 cents/serving

I know, I know; again with the strawberries. They’re taking over the yard and the fridge! Not only did they cause me to make an exception for my no-big-pieces-of-meat rule, they’ve now caused me to bake, which regular readers know is not really my bag. But this was pretty darn easy, even for me, and the taste payoff is big. The sweet cake really highlights the tartness of the berries, making it perfect for coffee time or dessert time. It’s almost like a clafoutis; really soft and moist, almost like it’s mixed with custard, but with the structure of a sponge cake. It’s delicious the next day, too, although I admit I can’t attest to the day after that. (And let’s be honest, will you ever need to know?)

Rhubarb compote: 37 cents/cup

When I was a kid, my parents used to buy a lot of those wonderfully convenient little cups of Yoplait yogurt. (Of course, these days I would NEVER buy a 60-cent container of pre-sweetened, artificially flavored yogurt, but you’re all welcome to come back and laugh at me once I have kids.) My absolute favorite flavor of all time was strawberry rhubarb, and although Yoplait doesn’t appear to be making it anymore, I admit that part of my motivation in planting rhubarb once we got a garden was to be able to make my own version. We had our first rhubarb harvest in late spring, before we had strawberries, so my first attempt at re-creating the yogurt was rhubarb-only. It was still delicious, but it just wasn’t the same. Luckily, the Pacific Northwest has a second rhubarb harvest, in June, right at strawberry time, so you can imagine what I’ve been eating for breakfast this week. Anyway, this recipe is for the rhubarb component only, because it’s not only great by itself in yogurt if you don’t have strawberries, but it’s delicious on ice cream, biscuits, oatmeal…you get the idea.

Strawberry sorbet: 20 cents/serving

As predicted, our strawberry patch this year is out of control (in a good way), yielding several pounds of strawberries every week. This was all fine and good for a while, but after eating strawberries for lunch, snacks, and dessert for days at a time, we were ready for a different iteration. I make this sorbet every summer after the novelty of plain strawberries wears off, and so far this week we’ve already made two batches of it. It’s pretty simple—just strawberries, sugar, and a little lemon juice (and optional kirsch), but we both prefer it to just about every frozen dessert out there. It’s also a good way to use up ripe strawberries that got half-eaten by slugs—just wash, trim out the bad parts, and store in the freezer until you’ve accumulated one pound.

Splurge: apple-miso ice cream: 26 cents/serving

Believe it or not, this ice cream was not born of a pregnancy craving. It was born of the arrival of a new ice-cream maker to replace our Kitchen Aid stand-mixer attachment, which ceremoniously sprung a leak around the time I became pregnant and REALLY could’ve used some ice cream. I was so excited to finally have ice cream again that I didn’t care what kind it was—I just wanted it now. Apples were the only fruit we had on hand, and a quick perusal of Epicurious confirmed they have been paired with white miso before in desserts, so onward I pressed with the idea. Was it a good idea? The jury’s still out. It tastes exactly as it sounds—sweet and apple-y, with a salty, umami undertone of miso. I think my taste buds were more confused than anything else. For that reason I don’t necessarily recommend it as a pregnancy dessert (a time when one doesn’t exactly need any more confused body parts), but it would probably make a great palate cleanser in between courses of an Asian meal, or unexpected dinner-party dessert.

Carrot cake muffins: 5 cents each

A few months ago, we purchased a Breville juicer with all the money we saved from not drinking this year (we did slip up a couple times in February, but we’re over the hump now). Not only is it a tangible reward for our efforts, but it’s another great way to clean out the crisper, since pretty much anything can be juiced, from lettuce and cabbage to carrots, ginger, and fruit, to make an inexpensive liquid snack. Of course, with carrots being so inexpensive (especially at Costco), that’s what we find ourselves juicing most often. This is my first time owning a juicer, and I have to admit I was surprised by now much fiber was left behind. Two cups of carrot juice can yield almost two cups of desiccated orange fluff. I started accumulating the fluff in the freezer, knowing I’d come up with a use for it eventually, and this week I finally did: these muffins. B. has declared them to be the best muffins he’s ever had, and I have to agree they’re shockingly good. I don’t know if it’s the fine texture of the carrot fluff or the amount of sugar that veers them dangerously close to unfrosted-cupcake territory, but if you have a juicer, they’re a must-try. (If you don’t have a juicer, you can probably substitute grated carrot.)

Xoconostle (cactus fruit) sorbet: 72 cents/serving

Despite my long-held belief that one did not exist in the Portland metro area, I have finally found a truly great Mexican market.* A voluminous produce aisle, bin after bin of dried and fresh chiles, banana leaves, you name it. It even had something I had never heard of or seen before: xoconostle. At first I thought they were prickly pears, but upon further inspection I discovered they were smaller, paler, and spineless. Throwing caution to the wind, I bought some. Once I got them home and cut them open, I was even more confused. Not only was the flesh pale and all the seeds centered in the middle, unlike a prickly pear, but the things were sour. Like, lemon sour. As in, would probably make a super-refershing sorbet sour.

Coconut macaroons (not macarons): 11 cents each

As a copy editor and a cook, it goes without saying I have some pet peeves when it comes to food spellings. For instance, a single sandwich cooked in a panini press? That’s a panino; “panini” is the plural. Cassava root cooked in a mash? That’s yuca, not “yucca,” which is a spiky, inedible plant found all over Southern California. And those little ground-up beans you sometimes see sold as “cocoa nibs”? Those are cacao nibs, from the cacao bean. Cocoa is the processed powder. But the one that really burns my ass is when people call the French macaron, that notoriously-difficult-to-master meringue sandwich cookie, a “macaroon.” Most people know what a macaroon is—that sweet, sometimes dense puck of coconut and egg white. Does the macaroon even look anything like a macaron? Let me answer that for you: NO. So please, people, stop it. Here to help is a super-simple recipe for light coconut macaroons (chocolate chips optional), which also happens to be a splendid way to use up egg whites left over from eggs used for ice cream or crème brûlée.

Splurge: mint chocolate chip ice cream: 34 cents/serving

A few words of warning: This is not the kind of all-natural, organic, wholesome and virtuous ice cream you sometimes see in those impossibly chic, soft-focus DSLR photos on other food blogs, the kind written by women who sew their own aprons and write 600-word ruminations on how their backyard heirloom pear tree looks against the winter sky. This ice cream uses artificial coloring—FROM GROCERY OUTLET (I bet you didn’t even know they sold artificial coloring, did you? That’s because it’s hidden away next to the 50-cent bottles of pre-ground spices that look like they spent the last decade in a moldy shipping container)—artificial flavoring, and For Maximum Value chocolate chips, otherwise known as the sub-store-brand brand. “Why is she doing this,” you might ask, “when she has a perfectly good mint plant in the backyard?” Reason No. 1: Because the chickens have stomped on most of the mint plant, which is now in the process of regenerating behind a shield of chicken wire. Reason No. 2: Because B. likes mint chocolate chip ice cream this way, and because he is the best husband in the entire world, it’s how I make it when there’s no real mint around.