Rave! Snowy goodness.

Rave!
It's snowing today in my hometown. And it's been a fairly benign weather winter in the land of could-be-so-intense-and-snowy-and-icey-that-people-die-shoveling-sometimes so I really can't complain.

I was thinking about that this morning, complaining that is, and prepared my soul for the savagery of the Facebook posts, radio announcers and other complainy social stimuli that I'd hear once I left my home base. But then I remembered that I'm an aunt of a niece who loves snow falls. And since I take being an aunt more seriously than being anything else, my niece's love of snow trumps'em all. All those complainers, all those commenters, all those drivers-making-poor-decisions, and my eventual sore back from shoveling.

Because when you're an aunt, and you have a niece who loves snowfalls, the thought of her smile and sense of wonder makes everything else melt away.

Rave! Chastity Brown is an amazing talent.

I'm so not good at remembering to cross-post posts, but I did this time! Following is a review I wrote for the Twin Cities Daily Planet, an online source of news for the Twin Cities, MN. If you're interested in seeing more of my art reviews, click on my name (hyperlinked in the article) and you'll be taken to my page online with them. From there, click on the content tab and 'voila'! words ala Betsy. Enjoy. And as an aunt, if you happen to be Chastity Brown's aunt ... she's a gem of a person and performer! What a thrill to know that a long life of art is ahead for her. 

rauntandrave reviews Chastity Brown, Cedar Cultural Center, Mpls., MN, April 2013

Really? Still? Ack!

Occasionally I get the feeling that the American population thinks we don't need to pay too much attention to how much discrimination and stereo-typing still exists. We don't have to work as hard as say, our mothers and fathers did back in the '60's or 70's on getting us *some* civil or women's rights. But then I see the ads, hear the ads, and see the magazines that remind me of just how much work there still is to do! For instance, in a 'deal' coupon/letter I received I saw these services represented by these figures:

• Boudoir Photography: woman's torso in bra
• Spider Veins: woman in mini skirt (no head)
• Tool Shop: man (with a head) with, well, a tool
• Slimming 'treatment' (whatever the H that is): woman in bikini bottom (no head)
• Comics: man with head
• Eyelash extensions: woman's face
• Juice Cleanse (whatever the H that is): super skinny woman torso

This leads me to believe that as a woman, I DON'T read comics or buy tools but I DO pose half naked for strangers, want to strip my legs of a natural occurring phenomenon, starve myself by only drinking juice, 'slim' myself by standing around in a white bikini and well, I don't know, stand around? and then extend a part of body that is already, typically, quite elegant and lovely.

These ads tell me women are still getting treated as not-so-bright, need-to-fix-yourself-to-be-perfect, and starve-yourself-to-be-considered-valued human beings. This makes me so, so sad.

I am SURE there are men out there who want to pose, strip, cleanse, extend, and slim just as there are women who want to laugh and use power tools. Right?

If you are a person who uses any of the above products, please only support businesses who pay attention to their marketing and advertising efforts and have, for instance, equal bikini bottom "coverage". I know, I know ... that means more Speedos for all. But hey, a little coverage is better than no coverage at all. PAY ATTENTION AND SPEAK WITH YOUR WALLET!

Rave: A family who 'krauts together stays together.

Got sauerkraut? Do you even know what it is? In my family, it's more than a food, it's an adventure. Kraut is an experience that brings my people together (to make it), splits people up (you have stinky-breath ... get out!), and separates us into 'those who like' and 'those who don't like' it. There's always one 'kraut-quitter in the batch.

Sauerkraut has made a big impact on my family. Once when I was little, my big sister MT ate it raw. Not a big deal, usually, but it is when you have a gallstone passing. Poor MT. She screamed bloody murder (I can still hear it) with pain. I ran down 2 flights of stairs (I was playing in the attic, she was in the kitchen), saw her doubled over, and quickly called my dad. He got her to the hospital. She had her gallbladder removed. (I'm telling you, don't be messin' with 'kraut!) That was in the old days when they ripped you open from belly button to 'heart' level to take it out. She still has a scar. She still eats sauerkraut.

My old roommate told me she wanted to learn how to make sauerkraut, so would I please ask my cousin over sometime to help us make it. Ohhhh, yeah, she had a crush on my cousin, too. Perfect, crush cabbage while crushin' on my cuz. Niiiiice. (It worked. They're celebrating 15 years of wedded bliss-or something like that-this month.)

In my Joy of Cooking cook book that I inherited from my mom, there's dried 'kraut. Yup, right by the braised pork hock recipe. I'd clean it up, but I dunno, there's something about that stain there that adds the "this is a good recipe" seal of approval.

One of my dad's besties was named Mr. Kraut. Short for Mr. Krautkramer. I loved him. His pockets jingled. He brought stinky cheese and Ritz crackers and pickled herring. Sometimes he'd bring us 'kraut. But our 'kraut was better. We didn't tell him that though. He played cribbage and drank whiskey with my dad. He taught me cribbage rhymes: Cut'em slim you're bound to win. Cut'em think you think you're slick. Cut'em in the middle you'll play'em like a fiddle. Mr. Kraut was an icon.

So hey, you get the idea. Loving sauerkraut is a way of life: you either get it or you don't. When people tell me they don't like 'kraut, I just sigh and drop my head. If they'd had Uncle Leo's sauerkraut they'd like it. Uncle Leo's is crunchy, tangy, mellow. Other 'kraut is mushy, stringy, stinky. Yuck. People who've been abused by bad'kraut? I try to save those people from a 'krautless life. I invite them over and share some of Uncle Leo's with them. If they actually eat it, they reach the 'kraut mecca. If they don't, well, they don't reach the mecca, they don't learn to love 'kraut and most likely, they'll continue living a 'krautless existence. So sad.

Sauerkraut is cheap. It's cabbage, water, salt. That's it. You can, however, screw it up pretty badly if you don't know what you're doing when you let it 'rest'. If you don't get the scum off right, it'll all go bad. Skimming the scum is work. But you have to do it and mind how you do it. No spreading bad bacteria. Bad sauerkraut is one of those smells you never forget. So at least you never screw it up twice in your lifetime.

These pictures are from when I was with my cousins making sauerkraut, Uncle Leo's Sauerkraut to be exact. Uncle Leo grows his own cabbage so you know it's going to be good. Uncle Leo also has been making 'kraut for over, oh I suppose 80 years, so you know it's going to be made right. If you listen. And you want to listen to Uncle Leo. He'll tell you if you're messing up with a not-so-gentle 'hey, hey, that's not nice now'. You want the nice "Nice" from Uncle Leo.

Here's the recipe for how we make it:
Cabbage . . . Nice Cabbage
A shredder
Salt
A crock/bucket
A pounder/club
A plate
A perfect 'kraut rock or a jug of water
Water

Layer it: cabbage, 3 small hand fulls of salt, water (pound it), cabbage, 2 small handfulls of salt, water (pound it) ... etc. 'til crock is full. Press it all down and add a little more water so it's juicy. Leave room for the scum to bubble up. Place the big outside cabbage leaves on top. Press plate down on it *upside down*. Top plate with perfect rock. Let sit in cool, dry place for a while. Skim the scum. When it's ready, can it. (And if you're not sure if it's ready, it's not ready.) Eat it. It's nice!

Enjoy!

Rave! Hot Dish, Hot Dish, Rah Rah Rah

Last week, a gal pal emailed me and a few others about using the word 'hot dish' vs. 'casserole' in a piece she's writing. Her concern was about being authentic to Minnesota-speak. It set off a string of memories and emails that were hilarious. I'm sharing two here:

From me:

----

Eeek .. a toughie, but to me honestly, 'casserole' = fancy (as in my parent's gourmet food club (aka martini madness night) was called The Casserole Club) and hot dish (2 words) = all things tator-totty and mock-y (as in my Great Lehrer Aunts Mock Chow Mein Hot Dish). To this day, I never, ever say I'm making a casserole. Ever. 

*******************

From gal pal Molly (no edits to 'hotdish' vs. 'hot dish' vs. Hot Dish)

----

The 1981 Bethlehem United Church of Christ Centennial Cookbook, Maple Lake MN has equal numbers of recipes for hotdish vs. casserole. No authentic distinction between cream of mushroom and cream of chicken. No cream of corn anywhere and I've never had one with it as the binder. Creamed corn was a specific dish.  Mostly they used them when there were two people with nearly identical recipes for the same thing. Violet Fiedler's recipe used cream of celery soup ( :-p) for rice casserole and Arlene Strauleu's had cream of chicken hot dish. Man did that cookbook cause fights. My grandmother was the secretary of the women's auxiliary, and the cookbook was her last public effort. I don't think she lived to see it published.  But for more than a year they all argued about who got credit which recipes. Feelings were hurt lifelong friendships went silent.

The 1950 Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book has neither hot dish nor casserole. Everything has more exotic names like Turkey Divan....

My mother always used a more exotic name for them. Spanish steak had tomato soup; Bridget's Best had cream of chicken and cream of mushroom soup with croutons. Whoever Bridget was, she was quite the rebel.  Evan's mom uses the term hot dish exclusively.

The 1958 Spring Garden Lutheran Church (Plymouth? MN) has more hotdish than casserole, but also has exotic sounding items that end in supreme...

[Which is funny because there is a Colombian hot dish called Imperial Rice that is much like the Rice Supreme. The binder of both is mayonnaise not soup.]

The 1964 Betty Crocker’s New Dinner for Two cookbook has nine casseroles, no hotdishes and several bakes along with several of the exotic favorites from the 1950 cookbook.  I think Betty might be pretentious.

I can't find my 1997 Oakridge National Bank Cookbook from Buffalo MN. It's around. The major addition to the hot dish and casserole scene is that they included spaghetti sauce as a hot dish and casserole binder.  I've made the Pizza Hotdish from it once for a party.

Maybe these tidbits will make their way into the sequel. Because this was way too much detail for the question asked.

I think in the last decade there has been a unifying force that calls these MN classics hot dishes. Maybe it was just Andrew Zimmern or maybe it is a show of solidarity that we have relinquished the casserole vs. hotdish nomenclature battle for the greater good, pride in our regional cuisine.

PS: I wish I had a blog, I'd post this as Evolutions of Hotdish in Exile and then include my recipe that includes red and sweet peppers. Or maybe that's the title of my autobiography.

*****

Feel free to share your hot dish v. hotdish v. casserole stories below. It's all good, and we're all hot.

Raunt! Although smoking pot won't kill you, it is killing others.

Last night, I learned that a relative's relative was killed by drug traffickers in Mexico. He was about 20. I'm a believer in the "Mi Casa Es Su Casa" mentality and in this case, that saying translates to "Your Nephew Is My Nephew". Hearing about his murder set off a physical reaction in my brain that reaches all the way down into my soul. I'd like to scream: "By using illegal drugs you are contributing to drug trafficking which has created slave labor, oppression, and all-to-often the murdering of Mexican youth. You are literally smoking out a generation." But since I can't scream it loudly enough, I'm going to Blog it.

That scream is really how I feel. It's how I've felt for a long time. I think since I first read about a massacre in a parking lot somewhere near the Mexican-US border. The kids who were killed were tossed in a shallow grave and the photograph mimicked those you see of the Holocaust graves, except in this picture, you saw Levi tags and Nike logos, Hello Kitty purses and sandals. I'm tired of feeling like I can't talk about this because people will think I'm being preachy.

I am being preachy. And I mean this message like a religious zealot means "Jesus Saves". When you smoke pot/other drugs coming out of Mexico you are contributing to the killing of someone's relatives because that's how that business is. So STOP IT. I think it's just that simple.

(For those snarky, sarcastic pals with a source out of Iowa: sure, quit reading.)

There are a lot of things that tick me off this much: War, Starvation, Poverty, Human Trafficking, Child Abuse ... ya'know, stuff of oppression and horror. These things seem insurmountable to me. Putting down a joint doesn't seem insurmountable—especially since I've been told by people who use it that pot isn't addictive. It seems like a smart, socially responsible thing to do. Use your newly found time to petition for making it legal if you want. It's a free country.

Smoking pot is a choice, right? This nephew didn't have a choice about being killed. He was kidnapped in the middle of the day while working on his family's farm. He was held hostage as a slave laborer, he escaped and came home but was found and murdered by his kidnappers. This scenario is happening a lot. Enough that for the first time in my life, my relatives express fear about going to certain States in Mexico. I'm really sad that anyone's relatives are being kidnapped and murdered just because anyone else wants to smoke pot. In an overly simplistic and perhaps inanely stated scenario: if children in Portland were being kidnapped and forced to harvest grapes on the Oregon coast at gunpoint, I'd stop drinking wine. Come on, people.

My take on illegal drugs is simple: they are illegal. I'm not preaching a moral statement here, it's a fact: when a drug is illegal, the business around distributing it is nasty. When you use illegal drugs, you're breaking the law and you could go to jail and/or get fined. Sure, you might be willing to take a chance on getting fined or getting tossed in jail for a bit, but are you seriously willing to have a nephew killed just to smoke a doobie? 

This choice isn't all that different than choosing to drive drunk (illegal) which I also hope you don't do. Nor is it all that dissimilar to choosing to buy Apple products (legal) now that we know about the hellish factory conditions: you're contributing to a rise in Chinese suicides. We've cried foul before and made a difference ... like when we had knowledge of sweatshops being used by Nike and The Gap. Right now, celebrity men are holding up signs on YouTube protesting Child Prostitution. How about holding off on pot and protesting Child Execution? 

Illegal or legal, some personal actions/choices of ours contribute to horrible personal situations for others. The good thing is knowledge, which is often referred to as power. Once you know what you're contributing to, you have a choice about whether to make that choice again. This Blog's plea is to make a choice to not contribute to the killings in Mexico. I believe you will make a difference.

Raunt!

I hate toilet paper squares that tear off so easily it takes you 50,000 pats-o-da-roll to get a good size 'mitt'! Honestly. It seems to be a commercial toilet paper issue. You go into a stall where already, the tp is installed at the height for a leprechaun to reach it, and you give a little tug and one sheet pulls off. Then, you can't without "buns up," reach far enough to get more. You finally get a little corner of another sheet, and poof! off comes one more square. Ya'bun-up again, and meet with the same fate. By this time, you're basically air dry, so you say a 'whatever' and call it a day. But really, how crazy is all that. Time for the mass-toilet-paper-makers to stop being chintzy on the cheeks!

Review of "after the quake" ... a great play only open for one more weekend in Minneapolis!

Republic Restaurant

Guess I'm going to use this Blog for all things Betsy. Woot! And thanks to my aunt, Mitzi, who I know loves me so much that she will actually read everything I post.
Aunties rock, aunties rule,
aunties think that kids are cool!

1.30.11

Rave


I love coffee mugs with destinations illustrated on them. This morning, I went to Moose and Sadie's, one of my favorite coffee shops, without leaving home first, then I actually went TO Moose and Sadie's for more. It's a good morning. My aunt got me started on these little joys. Some mornings, I go to Florida, the Sunshine State, other days I take my coffee from Dean and Deluca in NYC, or Coffee Talk in Taylors Falls. These are really NICE mugs, porcelain with nice sippy edges. You have to draw the line somewhere! Some perhaps may be a little on the tacky side in terms of 'decor' but they all bring me to a place, at least in my mind and my mouth, that provides a great little respite to get the day started with. And for the evenings? Well, I take my chammomile tea with my "big sister who loves me," "the Buddah," or Van Gogh's Starry Night. It's not Paris, but it's not bad! Who needs a vacation or a staycation when you can have a caffination evey day?!

1.23.11

Rave and Raunt. A new idea for 2011.

I love people who put a lil'extra time in parking meters! It's like the ultimate urban pay-it-forward tactic. I think you'll all be in heaven sooner than I. I try to bring quarters, really I do. But I'm so sad that meters don't accept other coins anymore. It's really just like social classes, isn't it? The big and shiny take all. What's wrong with little faux copper pennies? NOTHING. What's wrong with slim, sleek dimes? NOTHING. What's wrong with chubby, tarnished nickels? NOTHING. But *sigh* ... only big, "designed" quarters rule on the streets. That's sad. I hate that only quarters rule on the streets. So, this is a raunt and a rave: I love people who are organized enough to have quarters with them at all times and are generous enough to "spare a quarter" for those of us who just might come up short in the change (or well, accepted change) department. And I hate that, even in the world of coin, there's an established hierarchy based on size. Harumph!

11.15.10

Eep! It's been a while.

Raunt

Call me sexist, but male bikinis just don't work. I mean, there's tmi and then there's TMI and males wearing bikini bottoms (aka 'speedos') are the TMI that hurts. I'm currently in Miami, land of the equal opportunity bikini ... if ya'knowwhaddImean. I've see too much hair, too much volume, too many shapes, and too much cleavage (and I'm not talking on the top half of the bod, although there's all'dat and some), too much well, information, and it ain't pretty. Especially all lined up on the beach. Little soldiers, take your marks! But, IMHO, no, no, no, well proportioned body or not (but particularly not), bikinis need ta'say 'bi-bye' as far as male swimwear goes.

Rave

Hugs from a 3 year old. There's a simple vivaciousness illustrated by 3 year olds that isn't 'quite' there at 2 and is gone by 4. It's a freedom that seeps out from their heart and passes along through their arms into their hands ... like a high voltage line. If you're lucky enough to be loved by a 3 year old, get right in the way of receiving that "seepage" and see what I mean. From their heart and hands to your soul the energy flows. A current event of epic proportions! I love hugs from 3 year olds!

10.25.10

Rave

Intelligence. Oooo, I love intelligent people. Especially when they engage me in conversation. They challenge my thoughts, they make me aware of things I'd typically either ignore due to "not hearing correctly" or be too lazy to look up. They share history with me, they share meanings of Latin word derivations with me, they simply talk ... and I listen. And I don't listen to everyone! But intelligent people rock. And I'd just like to say I love that you talk to me. Thank you, Smarty Pantz!

Raunt

Airplane seat belts. I'm not goin' too far with this other than to say you suck when you should stick, you pinch when you should cinch, and you are ugly. Even your buckles are dull. I hate you airplane seat belts.

10.20.2010 (oh what a lovely symmetrical set of numbers)

Raunt

Car problems. Geez I hate it when I have car problems. Could be a smallie: oil change; could be a biggie: sliced open the oil pan (yup! done that). But whatever it is, it's a pain in the tooshie. My current issue is a sunroof that doesn't stay closed. It's decided to have a mind of it's own, and springs back open *just* as it's closed. Irritating as all get-out (no, I don't really know what that expression means). And to fix it? Well, I read the manual and did what *they* say, but that didn't fix it. I Googled the issue, that helped with suggestions, but none of them worked. I made an appointment at the repair shop, but they were too busy. So now I wait for free time and no-drive time and loose a day or two of car-convenience to spend, no doubt, $200+ to get it fixed. Oooooo, I hate car problems!

Rave

Nephews who so very kindly point out that you are, in fact, wrong or well, mistaken. Oh yeah, it happens to every aunt. WE ARE WRONG. Granted, it rarely happens. But it just happened to me with an attitude I had about Twitter. I felt like it would be annoying and completely unhelpful in my work to be on Twitter. I monitor Facebook, I monitor a Blog. I have coworkers who not only could care less about either, but get a little angry that I spend any time on them at all (even though, HELLO!, I'm a marketing person!). So thinking about Twitter made me a-skitter. Had I ever really read about Twitter? No. Had I ever really seen a tweet? No. My ignorance was not bliss, and a nephew very calmly explained why it may behoove me to change-up on my Twitter-Ttude. He explained how it worked, and then (cue music) explained how it would help my business and help us establish a reputation for being 'on the cutting edge' of staying in touch. 

I was being rude. I was being stubborn. I WAS WRONG. Ooo, I now love my new TwitterTtude!

10.17.10

Raunt

People who speed up when you put on your blinker to change lanes. What IS that all about? Get a life people! Cars change lanes. It's a fact of life. Did you know that life changes lanes on you, too, sometimes? Yeah, it does. Deal with it. There will always be reasons to be polite and yield. Use traffic as a life metaphor for pete's sake: be nice, you'll live longer!

Rave

Car conversations. What is it about having a conversation in a car? Maybe it's the lack of eye contact, maybe it's the noise of the wind, maybe it's the spirit of ongoing movement. Whatever it is, it's amazing how you can have really great conversations with your passengers while driving. You can have THE talk and well, it's just easier. You can have a tender talk, and then they can't see'ya cry, or you can simply have an animated talk and use the steering wheel as a sounding board. Whatever you do, it's just a good way to exclaim . . . without being overwhelmed. Love those car conversations!

10.7.2010

Raunt

Messy restaurant restrooms. Eeuuww! Messy bathrooms period are a drag, and by messy, I don't mean the occasional cat-torn-toilet-paper-on-the-floor messy. I mean the "oh boy, whazz'at on the floor" kinda messy. But when you're in a restaurant, and you need to use the loo, and loo seems to be screaming "boo!" well, that's just scary. Today I went to a lovely new spot for lunch, quite chic, quite urban, and moderately expensive, but the bathrooom was frightening ... right down to the torn-off-real-lock-substituted-with-a-hook-n-latch-lock. Really? Add that to the super bad water pressure that made the go-go a no-go and well, let's just say that I was thrilled to have the experience after the meal or it woulda been an appetite killer. Hate messy restrooms!

Rave

People who can keep the conversation moving. At the same surprise lunch today, friends and I were were laughing and talking and talking and sighing and sighing and exclaiming and exclaiming and eating and eating and planning and planning to eat more :) Phew! All good, every minute, every bite, every word. What a joy to be out to lunch and find that you all have so much to say, you hardly get much said at all because you're trying to squeeze 15 conversations into each 15 minutes! It was a blast, and I so appreciated being with people who kept the talk buzzin'. Love conversation movers!

10.6.2010

Raunt

Using the word 'troops' while reporting. I don't get it. I wake up to the news often and the reporters are always talking about 'troops' dying. Then they go on to say that 6 troops died in a roadside attack. When I think of troops, I think of multitudes. Like an army. Fairly vague, lotta peeps, lotta uniforms, no real faces. But apparently *they* (you know, the big, invisible *they*) must think that we can't hear war personalized down to an individual and their name, thus they do not say the truth like "6 soldiers, Joe Smith from Ham Lake, Jack Smith, Bob Smith, Bill Smith from St. Paul, and Charlie Smith, Derrick Smith from Minneapolis died." It's harder to hear that personalized truth, but it is the truth. And truth about war is ugly. In my opinion, soldiers and the civilians who die deserve to be named. And we deserve the hurt while hearing those names since we're the ones who put them in harms way in the first place with our decision to go to war. It's ugly. You can't hide from the truth.

Rave

Geraniums. Geraniums were, I think, one of my mom's favorite flowers. She liked to paint them, I know that. I have a few around my house, and I'm in awe at their tenacity to just keep growing. Sun-in, sun-out. Hot-in, cold-out. They just keep growing. Those little cluster of petals create lacelike shadows in my dining room, too. Pretty, colorful, lacey. What a flower to rave about! Love geraniums!

9.30.10

Raunt

Elevator button placement. I mean the 'call this elevator' button. Why can you only push the elevator button when you get right TO the elevator? Why can't you push it immediately upon leaving a room down the long hall before you get to the elevator? Wouldn't that be nifty? Then, when you get to the elevator, it would be there—like magic! Love magic, hate last minute buttons!

Rave

SBD's. Because they make you laugh. Coming from a puppy or a person, when an SBD enters the territory, you just have to smile. Love that!

9.29.10

Raunt

Passwords. Oh man, I hate that technology has introduced a new way to have "senior moments" all day long by requiring passwords. Passwords to log-on, passwords to remind, passwords to reset a password, passwords for email, passwords for blogs! I try to use the same password often, but 'cha can't because there are password rules. Today I used a service that had a password checklist! Yup, a checklist: letters, numbers, a punctuation mark, etc. The checklist told me when to stop. It was too much. I hate being instructed on how to make up a password!

Rave

Hot water bottles. Yeah, they're old fashioned. Yeah, when they cool off if your feet hit'em in the middle of the night it's stinks, but ooo, when you are crawling into bed and you have a 2'x2' square of warm sheet(s) due to a toasty hot water bottle warm-up, it's a lil'slice o'heaven. Or what I hope heaven will be. I love hot water bottles!

9.28.10

Raunt
Batteries. Batteries drive me nutz. You either have too many double D's in your drawer and not enough AAA's or you have a drawer full various sizes, but a bunch of them are dead because the bag you typically put them in for hazardous waste broke and so they're ramblin' all over the place. They run out of battery juice (a term which also drives me nutz) just when you need them most: a fun night out with your nieces! or they're not *quite* dead so they fake you out and just make your 'action toy' stall out. I hate batteries.


Rave
Bite size brownies. Mmmm, delish! That's what I have to say about a lil'bite'l'do'ya brownies. Sometimes they come plain, sometimes they have some crazy good ganache frosting on them, sometimes they have a little cherry on top. All good, all the time, and no feeling bad about bites. I love bite size brownies!