This is Drew’s– His label. He’s got it in him already; wants to create his own recipes… ha-ha–lol. I have to hand it to him– at least he’s busily at work if not studying, running trains and running all over the dang place… I can’t complain, only when something is not just right in his book to cook or bake with… or if a train breaks– and if that happens–Lord, help us, ’tis the end of all matters concerned and important.
My eyes are still squinted– I’m still chuckling and proud of my exhuberant kid.
He put dark chocolate squares to fill up the size of the bread after spreading peanut butter cream all over both sides– not peanut butter, but peanut butter cream/spread– It was good before he did this. Okay, this is good, too…
He put some miniature marshmallows on the chocolate that melted in the center, even a few white chocolate chips, and he calls it dessert. He’s too young, too little, too small, but don’t tell him that, that I said that– Mom’s orders to butter the bread to fry, then fry it before his eyes, the perfectionist he is; fitting for an Iron Chef.
I LOVE YOU, DREW!
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